I didn't know if it would help; I was no psychologist. But if it'd help me regain the crown of nightmare king, I'd give it a try. Niko needed his sleep. It took a huge amount of energy to mercilessly nag me day in and day out. Mind settled for the moment, I pushed away from the wall. It was time for another sweep. The locks on the door were excellent, but nothing was foolproof—in locks or life.
Chapter Ten
Niko slept through until morning. It was proof positive he'd needed the rest more than I did. Being injured knocked a person down a peg or two no matter how much a superninja he fancied himself. My good turn didn't count for much, however, because when Superninja finally rolled out of bed he was pissed.
I looked up as an inarticulate growl rolled through the kitchen, and raised cheerful eyebrows. "Is somebody a cranky monkey?"
"You didn't wake me." He stood by the table, sweatpants slung low on his hips, bandages still mostly in place. The burn on his neck had darkened in color and looked less painful. "I told you four hours. Did you lose the ability to count sometime during the night? That is, assuming you ever had the skill to begin with."
"I lost my watch. You want some breakfast?" I rose from the chair and moved to the refrigerator. "We never did make it to the store, but I think there's a couple of eggs left."
A hand fastened on to my short ponytail and held me firmly in place. "The perfectly ticking watch on your wrist?" The silky smooth voice tightened, as did the hand on my hair. "Is that the one you're referring to?"
"Okay, you're not in the mood for eggs," I said mildly. "How about some cereal?"
His hand released my hair. "I could put your watch in a place it would be much harder to ignore, Cal. Do not push me." Turning, I watched as he dropped into a chair and rubbed a hand over his face before reluctantly admitting, "Cereal would be all right."
Searching the cabinets, I found a box that wasn't geared toward five-year-olds, and filled a bowl. "No marshmallows or cute little prizes. It's your lucky day." Placing it in front of him, I fetched the milk and poured it over the cereal. "There you go, Mikey. Dig in."
He took a spoonful, chewed, and swallowed without pleasure. "I hope I'm safe in presuming there was no trouble last night."
I sat down opposite him, slouched over the table, and rested my chin on folded arms. "Actually I beat off a horde of zombies, all by myself. Even had one hand tied behind my back. It was quite a show."
A disparaging snort was the only comment on my imaginary heroics. "At least tell me you've started packing. Throw me that crumb, if you please."
"No reason to pack. I'm not going anywhere," I remarked amiably, then added before he could get a word out, "Nik, about Abbagor…"
The spoon was slammed down on the table with force. "Absolutely not. You are not changing the subject just like that, little brother. We decided this last night. We are leaving as soon as we obtain transportation. Today or tomorrow, no later."
"You decided, Niko. There was no 'we' in that decision." Since he seemed to have given up on his cereal, I snaked a hand over, pulled the bowl close, and helped myself. "But forget about that for a second. I want to talk about what happened under the bridge."
"Forget?" Niko wasn't at a loss for words. How could he be, with that overgrown vocabulary? But he was as stymied as I'd ever seen him. "Forget?" he repeated incredulously. "Forget that you're all but throwing your life away? That should be quite the trick. Do you have any suggestions how I'd go about that?"
"You could talk to me about Abbagor. That might take your mind off it," I pointed out promptly, licking milk from the spoon.
His eyes took me in with disbelief before he shook his head and pushed his chair back. "I'm going to wash up. When I'm finished we'll discuss this in more detail… while we pack."
I stretched out a leg to hook the leg of his chair and hold it in place. "I don't think so."
"If you value that leg, Cal, I'd remove it." His tone was icy, sharp, and utterly serious.
"I can get around on just the one." I was just as serious and just as determined. "Troll. Talk. Now."
He stared at me for a long, silent moment before his chest expanded in a lengthy exhalation. "Fine. Abbagor is the subject on the table. What do you want to know? What is so important it simply can't wait?"
You, I thought to myself. Aloud, I said, "It's those hands." I didn't have to fake the repulsed curl of my lip. "I can't stop thinking about the people, you know? Were they still alive? How long were they trapped like that? Shit. Were they even still people at all?"
Unblinking, Niko replied neutrally, "There's no way of knowing."
I pushed the cereal bowl away. "Yeah, probably not. But… shit… what the hell must those poor bastards have felt?" That was the question, and it was one only Niko could answer.
"Felt." He rolled the word around on his tongue and laid his hands flat on the table. No nervous twitches for my brother. "How they felt. I imagine they felt like Jonah in the belly of the whale—only Jonah had some breathing room. He wasn't smothered by crawling, pulsing flesh. He wasn't wrapped so tightly he couldn't move even an inch, couldn't breathe even if there'd been oxygen. There were no tentacles probing at his mouth, trying to get inside and pump him full of God knows what." This time he did blink, just once. "And I don't think Jonah heard a thousand voices telling him, 'Welcome, brother. Welcome home. Welcome to hell.'"
I'd been wrong. It could be put into words after all, words that almost made me wish I were deaf. "I guess Jonah was one lucky son of a bitch, huh?" I said numbly.
"I guess he was," he commented, as matter-of-factly as if he'd been talking about the weather.
What the hell could I possibly say that would make that better? Nothing. Nothing I could say could blunt the horror of what Niko had experienced—but maybe… maybe there was something I could do.
The soggy clump of shredded wheat flew from my spoon and hit Niko's cheek dead on. It clung there for a second before slowly sliding down, leaving a milk trail behind it. Then I scooped up another spoonful and ate it with relish, as if I hadn't a care in the world. Frozen as an ice sculpture, Niko stared at me silently, the color leaching into a face that was still a shade too pale. The wad of cereal dropped off his chin to hit the surface of the kitchen table with a splat. I raised my eyebrows innocently. "Problem?"
He didn't bother to get up and go around the table. Instead, he came over it. The bowl went flying, cereal and milk falling every which way. My chair and I also went flying, results of a tackle that would've done the NFL proud. I managed to get a knee in Niko's stomach and flip him off. Before I could move, his hand latched on to my ankle. Swiveling my hips, I turned, planted a foot in his abdomen, and pushed hard enough that he slid several feet on the cheap linoleum floor. Scrambling to my feet, I ran. Two steps later he caught up with me and I was tossed through the air like a child's Frisbee. Landing on the couch, I was struggling to sit up when the heel of a hand jammed under my chin with ruthless force. It was a good move, kept your opponent's head hyperextended. Could be painful if done wrong, could be lethal if done right.
I grinned up into narrowed, steel-colored eyes. "Feel better?"
The eyes narrowed even further to nothing more than molten slits. Niko lowered his face until it was a bare inch from mine. "There was one thing Jonah didn't have, however," he said with chilling calm, forcing my head back another half inch.