Niko faltered for a second, then strengthened his hold. "Yes, Cal, your eyes are gray." He tightened his lips, then turned to Rafferty and demanded, "Do it." The healer had already moved to our side. Eyes troubled, he let his hand hover over my head as he hesitated. Niko apparently wasn't in a patient mood. His voice harshened instantly. "He can't remember. He cannot. Now do it, goddamn it."
The healing hand settled on my hair and I heard a soft voice beside my ear. "I can't make you forget, Cal. The memories are horrible, I know, but they're your memories. And you may need them someday. I can't make them disappear." Then more firmly, "But I can make them fade." The words shifted from my ear to a dark and still spot inside my head and became but one word. It was silent yet heard nonetheless. "Fade."
We both faded, the memories and myself. Faded like an ancient sepia portrait. And then just like Darkling, we faded until we were no more.
Chapter Twenty-three
I didn't want to wake up.
Yeah, I know. That's not exactly a news flash when it comes to yours truly. But this was different. It wasn't rolling over and burrowing under the blankets because it was too cold to put your nose outside the covers. And it wasn't the entire-body hangover that kept you mattress bound because you worked too many late shifts. Last, but certainly not least, it wasn't the abject laziness that came from the love, the sheer adoration, of sleep. As much as I wished it were, it wasn't any of those things. The reason I had now wasn't nearly as easy to admit to.
I didn't want to wake up because then it would be true. Concrete and inescapable. I would have to come face-to-face with the fact it hadn't been a dream. I would have to accept that the past days hadn't been a nightmare, that they had been real life. And that good old real life had made me the nightmare.
Who the hell would want to wake up to that?
As in most things lately, I had no choice. The distinctive odor of dog breath puffing into my face dragged me to a place I didn't want to go: consciousness. Giving in to the inevitable, I gagged and waved a hand weakly in front of my nose. "I know you can lick your own balls, Catch. You don't have to prove it to me."
A wide grin of immaculate ivory teeth paired with a happily lolling pink tongue greeted my bleary vision. A healthy bushel of air was blown out light brown nostrils, spraying icy cold droplets directly in my face. "Gah." I rolled over and moved to a sitting position on the bed. "I'm up. I'm up. Jesus, cut it out, would ya?" A huge paw nearly the size of a small soup bowl plopped on my leg, the claws scoring my skin lightly even through the cloth of the scrub pants. "All right. All right. You win." I stood hastily and Catcher promptly took my place, curling nose to tail. Smug yellow eyes laughed at me before closing for a nice nap.
With one hand on the waistband holding my pants up and the other combing through what felt like the nest of the last dodo, I took a look around. No wonder the wolf was so insistent. This was his room. I recognized it from a long-ago visit. Apparently I'd graduated from the surgery, or maybe they just thought I might not want to wake up there. They were right. No amount of bleaching and scrubbing would clean the floor or my mind of what had lain there.
"Sleeping Beauty awakes. Did your furry prince there give you a kiss? No tongue, I hope."
Goodfellow stood in the doorway, looking disgruntled yet pleased at the same time. The reason for his annoyance was immediately clear. Dressed in some very old castoffs, he was wearing worn jeans and a sweatshirt that had once been a bright, bright blue. Now it was a bright bleach-spotted blue. It had the logo of a long-gone amusement park on it complete with roller coaster and happy, waving cartoon figures that had made me cringe even in my younger days.
"Looking good, Papa Smurf." I gave a not entirely genuine yawn, almost desperately relieved at the distraction.
"Aren't you the humorous one?" He scowled. He couldn't hold the grimace long, though. It transmuted to a smile not often seen on Robin's lips, I was sure. There was no mockery, no sly superiority, no "Hey, sailor, you in town long?" There was only deep pleasure and an honest relief. "You look well yourself, Cal. You seem well."
"Yeah?" I looked down at my feet, toes a bit blue themselves against the cold wood floor. Seemed well. It was a big step… a huge step… from seeming well to actually being well. But even seeming well was a step in itself, and any step forward at this point could only be a good thing.
I remembered it all. From the point of Darkling's merging with me up to Rafferty's making fresh, raw, and unbearable memories seem like old ones. Everything I had done, everything I had attempted to do, it was all still there… only slightly removed. That had kept me in my right mind and kept me alive. I might not be well, but I was sane, and damn… as far as I was concerned that was a full-fledged miracle. "I think I am okay." My lips twitched lightly before I amended, "More or less." For now anyway. "Where's Nik?"
"Still asleep." He leered and I saw the Robin I'd come to know come rocketing back. "Maybe I can be his prince."
As hilarious as it would be to see Niko chasing Robin through the house with a sword and vengeance on his mind, I didn't believe Rafferty was ready for any more disruption in his life. "I think Nik already has his sights set on a nice lady vampire," I pointed out with a true sympathy. My brother… he did leave a trail of broken hearts. All my girlfriends in school, Promise, Meredith. Ah, Jesus, Merry…
"I know," he said breezily, cat eyes teasing. "I just like to play."
I didn't have to depend on any latent Grendel blood to smell that lie. I had wondered why Robin had helped us these past weeks. What I'd seen in his eyes… that god-awful, devouring loneliness had hit a very real and true note, but now I knew there was something else. That it had been unrequited and an impossibility considering Nik's sexual orientation didn't change the way Goodfellow had felt. That the puck was probably thousands of years old and had known better didn't either. Thousands of years old or only a short sixteen of them, your heart will always have one up on your head. We stood there for a moment, each trapped in our own thoughts of what could've been and thoughts of what actually was. Robin broke the silence. "About Niko." Dropping his eyes to my stomach, he shook his head in unconscious denial. He couldn't see where Niko's blade had punctured me, not through the scrub top, but I imagined he could picture it in exacting detail. "He never would have. If there had been any other way… anything else he could've done. You have to realize…" he said thickly before stopping.
"Robin—" I started before he cut me off firmly.
"If you could've seen what the week was like for him," he stated with an earnestness that contrasted sharply with his normal flippancy. "If he slept, I never saw it. We scoured the city looking for you. Nik shook down anyone who was even remotely part of the family. If their great-grandma had ever given her neighbor the evil eye or a case of the warts, that was enough for him. He had them up against the wall. He even went to that little psychic and begged her to—" Abruptly he thought better of that subject, remembering what I had sent the werewolves to do. The silence was probably for the best.
The attempted murder of a teenage girl is always touchy conversation. Go figure. "Sorry," he offered quietly.