"Abby's nothing if not a bad influence." I slumped down in the chair, a combination of aches and exhaustion making an upright position not too desirable. "Pretty much a shithead too, if you were wondering."
Niko gave a reproving snort, then commented, "I believe all that he is has become all that he was. He was ill to begin with. He couldn't have survived the cave-in."
I wouldn't have thought he could've survived an entire clip to the brain either, but he'd proved me wrong. This time, however, the troll had wanted to die. When he'd thought the Auphe's time had passed, he was ready to follow. They must've been lying extremely low for him to have believed they were truly gone. Either that, or the sickness had affected his mind. "Here's hoping," I muttered, resting my chin on my chest and rubbing the back of my neck. The movement felt clumsy, as if my hand were moving through a thick fluid instead of air. "Loman says he can find the Gypsies." I closed my eyes against the eye-searing brightness of the kitchen light.
"How long will it take to locate them?" That was Nik… who suddenly sounded far, far away. I didn't hear Robin's reply. 1 didn't hear anything at all. When I woke up, the light was off, and I was covered with that comforter from my bed. There was also the taste of fermented garlic in my mouth and a god-awful crick in my neck. I straightened my head and was rewarded with the howling protest of abused muscles. Hissing at the discomfort, I checked my watch. Five hours. I'd slept five hours. Goddamn it. I threw the blanket off, put my hands against the table, and pushed up. I staggered for a moment, as stiff as a ninety-year-old man. It'd been a long day. Long week.
Long, Georgie. So damn long.
I made my way through the darkened apartment back to my room to ask Niko what had happened after I'd fallen asleep. Pushing open the door, I took in the spill of sable and silver on the pillows and the curve of a naked shoulder. I smiled to myself. About damn time.
"You feel better?" I turned at my brother's low voice at my ear.
"The question is," I countered with a knowing grin, pulling the door shut between Promise and us, "do you?"
He'd come out of the bathroom and now motioned me back toward the living room. "You nearly died once today. Are you so anxious for a repeat showing?"
I didn't bother with the overhead light, instead relying on the light coming through the window from the street. Sitting on the couch, I took in the blanket and pillow piled with hospital neatness at one end. The cushions had been scrubbed with ruthless efficiency and smelled of nothing but soap and water. No mud, no Abbagor… nothing of that remained. Nik. He couldn't fix George, couldn't fix me, so he concentrated on the little things. Until he could get his hands on Caleb, he'd impose order on the chaos available to him. "I'll pass on the beatdown, thanks." I watched as he leaned against the wall, still as a statue, but something was different. He wasn't completely happy. He couldn't be, not under the circumstances, but he was relaxed. And my brother was never relaxed. He might appear at ease on the surface, but underneath he was always taut, always ready. Always walking the edge of constant vigilance. But now… who would've thought?
"That's probably wise."
When I'd woken up I'd been panicked at the time lost. Five hours sleeping was five hours waiting for Caleb to find out what had happened. It was five hours that I wasn't trying to find George. Worse yet, it was five hours that I wasn't thinking of her, wasn't imagining what she might be going through. It felt like a betrayal, but… I exhaled and fell backward onto the couch. There was more involved here than just George and me. Above, the ceiling was striped gray and milky white. It was never dark in the city. Never. You think that'd be a comfort to someone who knows the things that giggle insanely in the dark. It's not. At least, not always. Sometimes a blanket of swaddling black velvet would be… nice. Sometimes not seeing is better than seeing. Then again, sometimes seeing isn't so bad. I turned my head toward Niko and smiled at the recollection of striped hair and long lashes resting on pale cheeks. "She's beautiful."
"Inside and out." He bowed his head, a strand of hair falling across his eyes. Rumpled and disheveled, completely unnatural for my brother.
I grinned again. "It took a vampire to make you human, Cyrano. What are the odds?" Then the grin melted and I went back to watching shadows crawl sluggishly across the ceiling. So, George, who's going to make me human?
The cushion dipped under Niko's weight as he settled on the edge. He sat quietly for a few moments before asking, "Can you do it again?"
I had no trouble following the change of subject. "I don't know. I don't know how I did it to begin with." Didn't know… didn't want to know. All I did know was that being able to rip a hole in reality was no kind of inheritance. Where was the gold watch? The hefty life insurance payout? Monsters, they never thought ahead. "Could be that the next time the world falls in on my head, it might kick in again."
"And then again it may not."
"Mystery." I shifted my shoulders. "That's what life is all about, right?"
"I know you'd rather not hear it." The dim light gleamed on his bare back and was in turn swallowed by the inky blackness of his sweatpants. "But I wouldn't mind you having the equivalent of a parachute."
"A get-out-of-jail-free card?" I snorted and rolled over onto my side. "I'd rather do without."
"Stubborn." The cuff on the back of my head that I'd imagined in Abbagor's cavern materialized. "Get some more sleep, Cal. There's nothing we can do until Goodfellow gets back to us, and we need you rested and sharp. Georgina would tell you the same."
Ever read those books? See those movies? Someone will be missing or presumed dead, yet their loved one will "feel" them. They'll know, without a doubt, that they're out there… alive. Sense the unbreakable glowing bond between them. Feel the touch of their invisible hand. How nice for them. As for me… I didn't feel shit. Okay, the big black hole where George had once been, that I felt. Emptiness and the ground falling away beneath my feet. Yeah, that was pretty goddamn palpable. But George? A honey-colored hand on my shoulder? The softness of her hair against my face? Those were nowhere to be found. Nowhere.
The present came the next day.
Wrapped in expensive paper of muted blues and greens and tied with a thin silver cord, it waited in the hall outside the door. I'd been on my way outside to grab some breakfast for Niko and Promise, who were still warming the sheets at six a.m. That was serious sleeping in for my brother, but, damn, who could blame him?
Nudging the package with my toe, I eyed it suspiciously. It was about the size of a shoe box, and I knew instantly who had sent it. Pricey wrapping paper, innocent exterior—it had to be Goodfellow. I couldn't begin to guess how he'd known this night had been the night for Niko and Promise. Maybe he'd picked up on some subtle verbal cue between them that I'd missed when I'd dozed off. Hell, maybe he'd smelled it on them.
If Robin had a sixth sense, it was focused solely on sex… a radar for arousal so powerful that it could pick up a horny Martian across the vast emptiness of space itself.
However he knew, it would be just like him to send them a little "gift." Probably one picked up in the type of store that used to grace Times Square. Or could be it came from his own personal collection. Gah. I picked it up gingerly with the tips of my fingers and carried it back to the kitchen table. I didn't have much choice. The coffee table had gone to an early grave. It didn't change the fact I was having serious doubts about ever eating in the kitchen again. The box wasn't addressed to anyone, so, braver than any hero of legend, I threw myself on the grenade. Oils, things that buzzed and vibrated, tiny scraps of leopard-spotted cloth—I was expecting pretty much anything.