The Chosen Amalya approached quietly. "If it would not offend, I would speak."
"You have no need to. I know what he said. Leave me now and return to the sanctuary."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
The Scribe Virgin waited until the Chosen had retreated then she turned and looked across the white expanse of her suite. The rooms were largely for naught save pacing. As she did not sleep or eat, the bedroom and dining area were but square feet to travel over.
Everything was so silent now.
She floated from room to room, disquieted. She had failed her son in so many ways, and she couldn't blame him his refusal of the name. Yet the hurt was there.
Joining another.
With dread she looked to the far corner of her quarters, to the place she never went. Or least, had not been for two centuries.
She had failed another, hadn't she.
Heavy of heart, she went over to the corner and willed free the double-locked door. On a hiss the seal was broken, a fine mist wafting out from the shift in humidity. Had it truly been so long?
The Scribe Virgin stepped inside and regarded the shadowed form that hovered in suspended animation over the floor.
Her daughter. V's fraternal twin. Payne.
The Scribe Virgin had long subscribed to the notion that it was better and safer for her daughter to so rest. But now she was unsure. The choices she had tried to make for her son had ended badly. Perhaps it was the same for her young of a different sex.
The Scribe Virgin stared at her daughter's face. Payne was not like other females, hadn't been since birth. She had her father's warrior instinct and urge for battle and was no more content to dally with the Chosen than a lion could be caged satisfactorily with mice.
Perhaps it was time to free her daughter, as she had freed her son. It seemed only fair. Protection had indeed proven to be a dubious virtue.
Still, she hated to let go. Especially as there was no reason to expect that her daughter would have any greater love for her than her son did. So she would lose them both.
As she struggled under the weight of her thoughts, her instinct was to go out to the courtyard and be soothed by her birds. There was no succor awaiting her therein, however. No cheerful calls to ease her.
And so the Scribe Virgin stayed in her private quarters, floating through the still, silent air in an endless track through the empty rooms. As she passed the time, the infinite nature of her nonexistence was like a cloak of needles lying upon her, a thousand little pinpricks of pain and sadness.
There was no escape or relief in sight for her, no peace nor kindness nor comfort. She was as she had always been: alone in the midst of the world she'd created.
Chapter Fifty-four
Jane had been in Manny Manello's apartment once or twice. Not often, though. When they'd been together it had always been at the hospital.
Boy, this was serious guy stuff here. Serious guy stuff. Any more sports equipment hanging around and it would have been a Dick's.
Kind of reminded her of the Pit.
She went around his living room looking at his DVDs and his CDs and his magazines. Yup, he would get along just fine with Butch and V: He evidently had a lifetime subscription to Sports Illustrated, just like they did. And he kept the back issues, just like they did. And he liked his liquor, though he was a Jack man, not into the Goose or the Lag.
As she bent down, she focused her energy so she could pick up the most recent issue of 57 and realized that she'd been a ghost for exactly one day. It was twenty-four hours ago that she'd appeared with the Scribe Virgin in V's room.
Things were working out. Sex as a member of the undead was just as good as it had been when she'd lived. Matter of fact, she and V were meeting at his penthouse toward the end of the evening. He wanted to be "worked out," as he'd put it, his eyes shining with anticipation-and she was more than willing to indulge her man.
Abso-fucking-lutely.
Jane dropped the magazine and paced around a little more, then took up waiting by one of the windows.
This was going to be hard. Saying good-bye was hard.
She and V had talked over how to handle her departure from the human world. The car accident he'd staged would provide some explanation of her disappearance. Sure, her body would never be found, but the area the Audi had been left in was wooded and mountainous. Hopefully the police would just close her file after a search was conducted, but it wasn't like the consequences were material. She was never going back. So it didn't matter.
As for her shit, the only thing of value in her condo was a picture of her and Hannah. V had gone back and gotten the photograph for her. The rest of her stuff would eventually get sold by the lawyer she'd named executor of her estate two years ago in her last will and testament. The proceeds would go to St. Francis.
She would ache for her books, but V had said he would get her new ones. And although it wasn't quite the same, she had faith she would over time become connected to her new ones.
Manny was the only open issue…
The jangle of keys going into a lock sounded, then the door opened.
Jane stepped back into the shadows as Manny came in, dropped a black Nike bag, and headed for the kitchen.
He looked exhausted. And bereft.
Her first impulse was to approach him, but she knew the better course was to wait for him go to sleep-which was why she'd come late, hoping he'd already be in bed. Clearly, though, he was working until he couldn't stand up.
When he came out into the hall he had a glass with some water in it. He paused, looked her way with a frown… but then kept going down to his bedroom.
She heard the shower. Footsteps. Then a soft curse, as if he were stretching out on his bed, but was stiff.
She waited and waited… then finally went down the hall.
Manny was on the bed, a towel around his hips, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The man was not going to sleep anytime soon.
She stepped into the light thrown by the lamp on the dresser. "Hey."
His head snapped toward her, then he jerked upright. "What-"
"You're dreaming."
"I am?"
"Yeah, I mean, ghosts don't exist."
He rubbed his face. "This feels real."
"Of course it does. Dreams do." She tucked her arms around herself. "I wanted you to know I'm okay. I really am. I'm okay and happy where I ended up."
No reason to mention that she was still in Caldwell.
"Jane…" His voice cracked.
"I know. I'd feel the same way if you'd been… taken away."
"I can't believe you died. I can't believe you…" He started to blink fast.
"Listen, it's all okay. I promise you. Life… well, it ends okay, it really does. I mean, I saw my sister. My parents. Some of the patients we lost. They're all still around, just not where we can see-I mean, you can see them. But it's all right, Manny. You shouldn't be afraid of death. It's just a transition, really."
"Yeah, but you're not here anymore. I have to live without you."
Her chest ached at the tone of his voice and the fact that there was nothing she could do to relieve his suffering. It also hurt because she had lost him as well.
"I'm really going to miss you," she said.
"Me, too." He rubbed his face again. "I mean… I miss you already. I'm sick from it. On some level… hell, I thought we were going to end up together, you and me. Felt like destiny. Shit, you were the only woman I knew who was as strong as I was. But yeah… guess it wasn't meant to be. Plans of mice and men and all that shit."
"There's probably someone out there even better."
"Oh, yeah? Gimme her number before you go back to heaven."
Jane smiled a little, then got serious. "You're not going to do anything stupid, right?"
"You mean kill myself? Nah. But I can't promise you I won't get sloppy drunk a lot over the next couple of months."
"Just do it in private. You have a reputation as a son of a bitch to uphold."