He took a deep breath and looked at the clock.
The only thing that was keeping him breathing was nightfall. He absolutely would have killed himself by now-would have taken his Glock and put it in his mouth and blown the back of his head out-if it weren't for nightfall.
He was making it a personal mission to eradicate the Lessening Society. It was going to take the rest of his life, but that was fucking fine, because there was nothing else out there for him. And he would have preferred to leave the Brotherhood to do it, but Butch would die without him, so he was going to have to stick around.
Abruptly, he frowned and looked toward the door.
After a moment he wiped his cheeks and said, "I'm surprised you don't just come in."
The door opened without benefit of a hand. On the other side, the Scribe Virgin stood in the hallway, her black robes covering her head to foot.
"I was not sure of my welcome," she said in a low voice as she came into the room.
He didn't lift his head from the pillow. Had no interest in honoring her in any way. "You know what your welcome is."
"Indeed. So I will get down to the purpose of my visit. I have a gift for you."
"I don't want it."
"Yes. You do."
"Fuck you." Beneath her robes, her head seemed to drop. Not that he gave a shit that her precious little feelings were hurt. "Leave."
"You will want-"
He jerked upright. "You took what I wanted-"
A form entered the doorway, a ghostly form. "V…?"
"And I give it back to you," the Scribe Virgin said. "In a certain manner."
Vishous didn't hear a word she said, because he couldn't comprehend what he was looking at. It was Jane… kind of. It was Jane's face and Jane's body, but she was… a transparent apparition.
"Jane?"
The Scribe Virgin spoke as she dematerialized. "You need not thank me. Just know that your curse is the way you may touch her. Good-bye."
Okay, as romantic reunions went, this one was bizarre and uncomfortable.
And not just because Jane supposed she could be classified as a ghost.
Vishous was looking as if he were going to pass out. Which hurt. It was entirely possible he wouldn't like her like this, and then where would she be? When the Scribe Virgin had come to her in heaven, or whatever that place was, and had given her the option of coming back, the answer had been a real no-brainer. But now that she was standing in front of a completely shocked-out guy, she wasn't so sure she'd made the right choice. Maybe she'd over-
He got up out of bed, walked across the room, and put his glowing hand to her face with hesitation. On a sigh she leaned into the imprint of his palm and the warmth of his flesh.
"Is this you?" he said hoarsely.
She nodded and reached out to his cheeks, which were a little red. "You've been crying."
He captured her hand. "I feel you."
"Me, too."
He touched her neck, her shoulder, her sternum. Brought her arm forward and looked at it… well, through it.
"Um… so I can sit on things," she said for no particular reason. "I mean… while I was waiting out there in the hall I sat on the couch. I also moved a picture on the wall, put a penny back in your change dish, picked up a magazine. It's a little weird, but all I have to do is concentrate." Shit. She had no idea what she was saying. "The, ah… the Scribe Virgin said I could eat but I didn't have to. She said… I could drink, too. I'm not sure how it all works, but she seems to know. Yeah. So. Anyway, I think it's going to take some time to figure out the drill, but…"
He put his hand into her hair and it felt the same as it had before. Her nonexistent body registered the sensations exactly as it had before.
He frowned, then looked downright angry. "She said it required a sacrifice. To bring someone back. What did you give her? What did you bargain with?"
"How do you mean?"
"She doesn't give things away without demanding something in return. What did she take from you?"
"Nothing. She never asked me for anything."
He shook his head and seemed like he was going to speak. But then he wrapped his heavy arms around her and held her against his trembling, glowing body. Unlike the other times when she had to concentrate to find solidity, with V it just happened. Against him, she was corporal with no effort on her part.
She could tell he was crying by the way he breathed and the fact that he leaned on her, but she knew that if she made any mention of it, or tried to soothe him with words, he would stop on a dime. So she just held him and let him go.
Then again, she was kind of busy holding herself together.
"I thought I would never get to do this again," he said in a voice that cracked.
Jane closed her eyes and squeezed him, thinking about that moment in the fog when she'd let him go. If she hadn't done that, they wouldn't be here, would they?
Fuck free will, she thought. She'd rely on destiny, no matter how much it hurt in the short run. Because love in its many forms always endured. It was the infinite. The eternal. That which sustained. She had no idea who or what the Scribe Virgin was. Had no idea where she herself had been or how she had come back. But she was sure of one thing.
"You were right," she said against V's chest.
"About what?"
"I do believe in God."
Chapter Fifty-three
The following evening John didn't have class, so he sat down for First Meal with the brothers and the females. The mood in the house was considerably lighter than it had been for weeks. But sure as shit, he didn't share in the levity.
"So anyway," Phury was saying, "I went to the Scribe Virgin and told her about the bullet."
"Jesus Christ. The Directrix." Vishous leaned forward, taking Jane's hand with him. "I'd assumed it was a lesser."
V hadn't let go of his doctor since they'd sat down together, as if he were afraid she'd disappear. Which was kind of understandable. John tried not to stare at her, but it was hard not to. She was wearing one of V's shirts and a pair of blue jeans and filling them out as normal. But what was in them was… well, a ghost, he supposed.
"Of course you did," Phury said as he turned to Bella and offered her the butter plate. "We all did. But that female had one hell of a motive. She wanted to stay in charge, and yeah, with a Primale on the scene, that just wasn't going to happen. Classic power-play scenario."
John glanced at the silent blond female who sat on Phury's other side. Boy, the Chosen was beautiful… beautiful in the ethereal way of angels, with an unearthly glow emanating from her. But she wasn't happy. She picked at her food and kept her eyes down.
Well, except for when she glanced at Phury. Which was usually when he spoke to or looked at Bella.
Wrath's voice was hard from the head of the table. "The Directrix has to die."
Phury cleared his throat as he took the butter plate back from Bella. "You can consider that… taken care of, my lord."
Holy shit. Had Phury-
"Good." Wrath nodded as if understanding perfectly and approving. "Who's going to replace her?"
"The Scribe Virgin asked who I wanted in the role. But I don't know any-"
"Amalya," the blond Chosen said.
All heads turned in her direction.
"I'm sorry?" Phury asked. "What did you say?"
As she spoke, the Chosen's voice was lovely in the manner of wind chimes, sweet and melodic. "If it would not offend, may I suggest the Chosen Amalya? She is warm and kind and of appropriate seniority."