Niko did. He never said a word to me or indicated it in any way, but he did. So when the whole mess was over and we could lead a life, while not exactly normal, certainly a whole helluva lot more stable, I was glad he decided to go back to school. He was only twenty-two, even if he acted fifty. It wasn't as if life had passed him by or anything. It would've been pretty pointless for him to take sophomore-level classes, though. While we'd fled for our lives he'd kept his studies up while homeschooling me. Imminent death and destruction were no excuse for a wasted mind, he would say. Really, he would actually say that.
Can you believe it? Now with the help of a little creative paperwork he was taking grad-student classes at NYU. Robin had presented him with a fake degree from a university in Athens where the puck had an old acquaintance who still got a kick out of teaching, despite hemlock rumors to the contrary. Niko was now well on his way to a master's in history. Considering his love of old weapons and his archaic sense of honor, it was a good fit. Niko was smart as hell; brilliant was probably a better word. He needed to learn, to test his mind, to constantly strive. It was exhausting to watch.
I, on the other hand, was happy enough to just lounge on the couch and watch bad TV. I didn't want to take classes or go to college. We had our business up and staggering. It wasn't as if I needed letters behind my name or a piece of paper stuck up on the wall. That made perfect sense to me, but Niko wouldn't let it go.
Yeah, perfect sense… and a bit of a lie too, which was how I usually operated when it came to the twisty inner workings of my own mind. True, I didn't see a need for school, but that wasn't the only reason I didn't want to go. I'd come to terms with what… no… who I was. I wasn't a monster, my occasional melodramatic wailings aside. But neither was I human, not completely. Not quite a man and not exactly a monster. College, classes, dating—it all seemed a little like trying to make me into a "real live boy." And that wasn't so much pointless as it was tempting fate. That I'd survived the Auphe was miraculous… damn near unbelievable. Now was the time for being grateful and keeping my head down. Poking a stick in the eye of fate wasn't on the agenda.
I'd been swatted enough in my life, thanks so much. I was ready for the easy ride, the coasting. And damned if I wasn't due.
I was also due at a certain soda shop in a few hours. So I might as well take a shower and do a load of laundry to kill some time first. I didn't want to be too early. I was no Goodfellow, not on my best day, but I did have some reputation to protect. Okay, realistically, I didn't. But the plan itself was still sound, and I did know how to appreciate a good plan.
Two and a half hours—and three wasted trips downstairs looking for a free washer—later I had dragged a full bag of clean if newly pink clothes back to the apartment. I then grabbed the M15 bus to Pier 17 and the Fulton Fish Market and there I was, hammering futilely on the security gate over the storefront. "Geezer," I called out in exasperation for the second time. "Let me in already."
"Cal." The laughing disapproval came from behind. "How nice is that? Mr. Geever would be hurt if he heard that."
"But he never does, does he?" I grunted with one last rattling bang on the metal. "He's deaf as a post." I'd smelled her coming. Honey and oatmeal soap, the orange and clove shampoo, and underneath it all was the scent of Georgina. Sunlight. Don't ask me how someone can smell like sunlight. I don't know. It was corny and trite and simple truth. Luckily for me she also smelled of shockingly mundane toothpaste, minty and completely ordinary. It let me keep at least one foot on solid ground—at least that's what I stubbornly told myself.
Turning, I looked down at George. Granted it was only by a few inches; I was of average height at best. She stood wearing a white dress that fell to her ankles. Simple cotton and sleeveless, it glowed against the amber of her skin. Most girls her age were wearing jeans that settled precariously below hip bones and tiny tops so skimpy they showed as much skin as a bathing suit. Not that that was a bad thing in my book. I was a twenty-year-old horny guy; tight jeans and lots of skin were a God-given constitutional right as I saw it. But when it came to George, she was more than a girl three weeks past her high school graduation. She was a seer and a prophet.
I'd known her for almost three years now. When Niko and I had first come to the city we'd stumbled into her, a fifteen-year-old miracle, by accident. At least I thought it was accidental. George probably had a different opinion on the matter. The universe moved in ways that were frequently heartbreaking and for the most part unchangeable, but always for a grander purpose. At least it did in her eyes. And she'd kept believing that, although she'd lost her father to AIDS and her uncle to death at the hands of the Auphe. Despite it all she kept the faith that things were as they should be. I wished I had a tiny fraction of her belief in the greater good, no matter how cynically I discounted it.
She had her mass of copper curls pulled up in a ponytail at the crown of her head, an uncontrollable red-gold halo in the morning light. Many races mixed in her dark brown eyes, round face, and full lips. The freckles kept her from being classically beautiful and made her more than beautiful. They made her real… touchable.
For some people.
I unconsciously mimicked her posture, folding my arms and tucking my hands out of sight. "So, Freckle Queen, what's the story? I thought Geezer wanted me to watch the place for him today."
She opened a hand and dangled a set of silver keys before my eyes. "He decided to go visit his sister early. I told him I'd meet you and help you open up the shop."
The look on her face was pure innocence and my mental alarm kicked into high gear. Niko and Promise might be lost in a mist of uncertainty, but George knew she was my girl. She knew it though I'd never told her or given her the slightest inclination I thought of her as anything other than a younger sister. In fact I spent the majority of my time keeping her at arm's length. It wasn't a safe distance, but it was the best I could do. As I watched the glitter of the keys reflected in her dark eyes, I had the sudden feeling that the best I could do just wasn't going to cut it.
Silently, I held out a hand for the keys. She dropped them in my hand and I went to work unlocking the security gate. The warmth of her at my back could've been mistaken for the heat of a tropical sun if I hadn't known better. Knowing better… it was no goddamn fun. "You holding court today?" I asked, clearing my throat. I already knew the answer to the question; it was just something to say. Something to break what I would swear was a doubling of atmospheric pressure.
"Don't I always?" The touch of her hand resting lightly against my arm had me jumping in spite of myself. "There's a little girl," she said softly, her lashes dropping to screen her eyes. "She's in her pajamas holding a teddy bear. They're red, the both of them. All over red."
I jerked my arm away and said sharply, "Don't."
"I'm sorry," she apologized instantly. "God, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to, Cal. I swear."
George didn't "read" people without permission. It was an invasion of privacy, and no one knew that better than she did. The fact that she had read me unconsciously said very clearly that my oh-so-vaunted arm's-length distance wasn't worth a damn to either of us.
I shoved the gate up, scraping the metal across the abrasion I'd gained in climbing the Ferris wheel the night before. The momentary sliver of pain grounded me. It was no big deal. As long as that was all she'd seen, it would be okay. I fumbled with the keys and jammed them one by one into the lock of the door. George, no doubt knowing which was the right one, stayed silent behind me until I opened the door and stepped through.