“Dent would have made sure of it, wouldn’t he?” Layla suggested. “He wouldn’t have sent Ann away without knowing she was safe. Ann, and their sons.” She glanced at Fox. “And those who came after.”
“She knew what was coming.” As he had no taste for beer or wine, even Coke, Fox drank water. “She knew anyone there when Dent made his move was dead. Sacrificed.”
“Who gets the blame?” Gage demanded. “They wouldn’t have been there if Twisse hadn’t brought them. And if Dent hadn’t made his move, they’d have torched him.”
“They were still human, still innocent. But,” Cybil continued before he could argue. “I agree with you, for the most part. We can add that if Giles had done nothing, or whatever he’d done hadn’t worked, the infection would only have grown until they ended up killing each other and feeding the beast. Ann accepted that. Apparently, I do, too.”
“She mentioned the bloodstone.” Quinn picked up her neglected wine. “Three into one, one into three, all that’s easy enough to get. Three pieces of the stone, to each of you. The trick is making one again out of three.”
“Blood.” Cybil scanned the faces of the three men. “He told her blood. Have you tried using your blood? Your mixed blood?”
“We’re not stupid.” Gage slumped in his chair. “We’ve tried that more than once.”
“We haven’t.” Layla raised her shoulders. “Its, ours, theirs. We-Quinn, Cybil, and I-have its blood. Fox, Cal, Gage, that’s the ‘our blood’ portion. It seems if you add them all, you get the theirs.”
“Logical, smart, a little disgusting,” Quinn decided. “Let’s try it.”
“Not tonight.” Cybil waved Quinn back to her chair. “You don’t just jump into bloodletting. Even at ten, these three knew such things required ritual. Let me do a little research. If I’m going to bleed, I don’t want to waste it-or worse, call up the wrong side.”
“Good point.” Quinn settled back. “Pretty good point. But Jesus, it’s hard not to just do something. It’s been five days since the Big Evil Bastard has come out to play.”
“Not so long,” Gage said dryly, “when you’ve done a couple seven-year waits.”
“It used a lot of juice-the fire at the farm, infecting Block.” Cal glanced toward the front window, and the dark beyond it. “So it’s juicing back up. The longer it takes, the harder it’s going to come back at us.”
“On that happy note, I’m heading out.” Gage pushed to his feet. “Somebody let me know when I need to slash my wrist again.”
“I’ll send you a memo.” Cybil rose as well. “Research time. I’ll see all you handsome men at the O’Dells’ tomorrow. I’m looking forward to it,” she added, and gave Fox a brush on the shoulder as she passed.
“Cal, I need you to look at the toaster.”
Cal’s brows drew together as he glanced at Quinn. “The toaster? Why?”
“There’s this thing.” She wondered how an intelligent man could be so dense. Didn’t he see it was time to clear the room and give Layla and Fox a minute alone? She grabbed his hand, tugged, rolled her eyes. “Come take a look at the thing.”
“I guess I’d better get going, too,” Fox said when they were alone.
“Why don’t you stay? We don’t have to… We can just sleep.”
“Do I look that bad?”
“You look a little tired yet.”
“Too much sleep does that, too.”
And sad, she thought. Even when he smiled, she could see the shadow in his eyes. “We could go out. I know this nice little bar across the river.”
He framed her face, touched his lips to hers. “I’m lousy company tonight, Layla, even for myself. I’m going to go home, and do some research. Of the kind that pays the bills. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll come by, pick you up tomorrow.”
“If you change your mind, just call.”
But he didn’t call, and she spent a restless night worrying about him, second-guessing herself. What if he had another nightmare and she wasn’t there to help him through it?
And somehow he’d managed to get through much worse than nightmares for the last twenty years without her.
But he wasn’t himself. She rolled in bed to stare at the ceiling. He wasn’t Fox. The dream, the memories, the telling her about Carly-all of that had just snuffed out the light inside him. Comfort, anger, understanding, rest. None of those had brought the light back. When it came back, because she had to believe it would, would she put it out again if she told him her thoughts about Carly’s connection? If her thoughts proved to be fact, would it be worse for him?
Because the thoughts and worries wouldn’t stop circling, she got out of bed. Downstairs, she brewed herself a cup of Cybil’s tea, carried it up to the office. While the house slept, she selected the correct color index cards to note down the key words and phrases she remembered from the reading. She studied the charts, the graphs, the map, willing for something new and illuminating to jump out at her.
She frowned over Cybil’s notepads, but even after the weeks of working together she couldn’t decipher the odd shorthand Quinn often called Cybilquick. Though she’d already told both her friends the details, she sat now and typed up a report on Fox’s dream, another, longer one of Carly’s death.
For a time, she simply watched out the window, but the night was empty. When she returned to bed, when she finally slept, so were her dreams.
FOX KNEW HOW TO FEEL ONE THING AND PROJECT another. His profession, after all, wasn’t so different from Gage’s. Law and gambling had a lot in common. Many times he had to show a certain face to a judge, a jury, a client, opposing counsel that might not reflect what he had in his heart, his head, his gut.
When he arrived with Layla, his brother, Ridge, and his family were already there, as was Sparrow and her guy. With so many people in the house, it was easy to deflect attention.
So he introduced Layla around, tickled his nephew. He teased Sparrow and hunkered down with her live-in, who was a vegan, played the concertina, and had a passion for baseball.
Because Layla seemed occupied, and he could feel her trying to scope out his mood, Fox slipped off to the kitchen. “Mmm, smell that tofu.” He came up behind his mother at the stove, gave her a hug. “What else is on the menu?”
“All your favorites.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“If I wasn’t, how could I have passed the quality on to you?” She turned, started to give him her ritual four kisses, then frowned into his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Worked late, that’s all.”
Someone had talked Sparrow into picking up the fiddle from the music room, so Fox used the music as an excuse to dance his mother around the room. He wouldn’t fool her, he knew, but she’d leave it alone. “Where’s Dad?”
“In the wine cellar.” It was a highfalutin name for the section in the basement where they stored homemade wine. “I made deviled eggs.”
“All is not lost.”
He lowered his mother into a dip as Layla came in. “I thought I’d see if there was something I could do to help.”
“Absolutely.” Jo straightened, patted Fox’s cheek. “What do you know about artichokes?” she asked Layla.
“They’re a vegetable.”
Jo smiled slyly, crooked her finger. “Come into my parlor.”
Layla did better when put to work, and felt very at home when Brian O’Dell handed her a glass of apple wine, and added a kiss on the cheek.
People came in and out of the room. Cybil arrived with a miniature shamrock plant, Cal with a six-pack of Brian’s favored beer. There was a lot of conversation in the kitchen, a lot of music outside of it. She saw Sparrow, who lived up to her name with her sweet, airy looks, walking her nephew outside so he could chase the chickens. And there was Ridge with his dreamy eyes and big hands tossing the boy in the air.