“If we’re going to try moving anyone out who’s willing, Fox needs to talk to his family. If you want to ditch the idea from the get,” Cal continued, “no arguments.”
“Yeah, I want to ditch it, but I’m stuck with the old free will, make your own choices song and dance I was raised on. They’ll decide for themselves if they want to start a damn refugee camp. Which they will because that’s how they’re made. Damn.”
“I’ll need to talk to mine, too.” Cal blew out a breath. “First, people in town tend to listen to my father, give what he says some weight. Second, we’ll figure if their house or the center should be a secondary camp, or if they should stay out at the farm to help Fox’s family. And we’re going to need to push, and push hard on finding out how to use the stone. Having a weapon’s no damn good if we don’t know how to trigger it.”
“We’ve built on the past,” Quinn began, “and we have a handle on the now.”
“We need to look again.” Cybil nodded. “We’ve started on that, but-”
“We’re not going there tonight.” Gage’s statement came cold and firm. “No point in pushing on that,” he said before Cybil could argue. “It’s nothing you mess with when you’re already worn down. Go back to that positive energy crap you’re hyping. I’d say you’re running low on that tonight.”
“You’d be right. Rude, which is no surprise, but accurate. In fact, I’d probably be better off hunkering down with some research, solo, for tonight. I’ll do more digging on the stone because Cal ’s right, too.”
Eleven
SHE DIDN’T DREAM, AND THAT SURPRISED HER. Cybil had fully expected to be dogged by nightmares, portents, imagery, but instead had slept straight through the night.
Something accomplished, she supposed, as she’d gotten nowhere on the evening research. Hopefully, she’d do better today, rested and focused. Rising, she walked over to take a good, hard look at herself in the mirror.
She looked the same, she thought. She was the same. What had happened to her wasn’t a turning point in her life. It didn’t make her less, and it hadn’t broken her down. If anything, the attack had given her more incentive, made her more involved and more determined to win.
It may feed on humans, she realized. But it didn’t understand them. And that, she supposed, could be another weapon in their arsenal.
Now, she wanted a session at the gym to kick her energy level up. Sweating out the toxins, she thought, would be a kind of ritual cleansing. With any luck Quinn would be available for gym buddy. She pulled on a sports bra, bike pants, tossed what she’d need in a small tote. Stepping out, she noted Quinn’s bedroom door was open, and the room empty. So, she’d grab a bottle of water out of the kitchen, and catch up with Quinn and Cal at the health club in the basement of the old library.
She strode into the kitchen, pulling up short when she saw Gage at the table with a mug of coffee and a deck of cards.
“You’re out early.”
“Never left.” As she’d done herself, he gave her a long, hard look. “Bunked on the couch.”
“Oh.” It gave her a quiver in the belly. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Do what?” His eyes never left her face, adding another quiver. “Stay, or bunk on the couch?”
She opened the refrigerator, got out the water. “Either. But thanks. I’m going over to the gym. I want some cardio. I assume that’s where Quinn is?”
“Noises were made. Why don’t you stick with the Gumby routine?”
“It’s not what I’m after. Yoga relaxes me. I need to pump.”
“Crap.”
“What?” she demanded as he rose.
“ Cal ’s got half his gear here. I’ll find something. Wait,” he ordered and strode out.
If she was going to wait, she wanted coffee, so she picked up Gage’s mug and finished his off. He came back wearing a pair of gray sweats that had seen much better days, and a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt. “Let’s go,” he ordered.
“Am I correct in assuming you’re going to the gym with me?”
“Yeah, get it moving.”
She opened the fridge, took out a second bottle of water and shoved it in her tote. She doubted he could have done or said anything at that particular moment that would have meant more to her. “I’m not going to argue or tell you I can get to the gym fine by myself. First, because it would be stupid after yesterday. And second, I want to see what you’ve got.”
“You’ve already seen what I’ve got.”
She laughed, and felt better than she’d have believed possible. “Good point.”
She got a solid hour in, and had the bonus of watching Gage work up a nice sweat lifting weights. It was more than the very appealing view, she realized. Watching him gave her just a little more insight into him. He didn’t want to be there, particularly, but since he was, he put his time to use. Focused, thorough, patient, she thought. It might have been more the cat-at-the-mouse-hole kind of patience than the altruistic sort, but the results were the same. He waited.
Looser and energized, she walked back with him. “Where will you go when this is over?” she asked, then moved her shoulders at his quiet look. “That’s optimism, which is positive energy. Any particular destination in mind?”
“I’ve kicked around a couple. Probably Europe, unless there’s something happening in the States. I’ll come back for the wedding-Jesus, weddings now. You?”
“I’ll go back to New York, I think, at least briefly. I miss it, and that’s God’s truth, so I’ll give myself an infusion of crowds and noise and pace. Plus, I’ll need to get back to work that pays. But I expect I’ll put in considerable time here. The girl part of the weddings will be more demanding than your boy part of them. If I can swing it after Quinn’s, I thought a few days on a nice island-palm trees and margaritas, and balmy, tropical nights.”
“That’s a plan.”
“A flexible one, which is my favorite kind.” As they turned at the Square, she gestured to the Bowl-a-Rama. “I admire people like that. Cal and his family, who dig in and build and make a genuine mark on a place. I’m grateful they exist, and glad of the fact that by existing and digging in and building, they allow me to make flexible plans and visit lots of those genuine marks someone else has made.”
“No burning desire to make a mark?”
“I like to think I do make them, in my own fashion. I find things out. You need information to write a book, make a movie, rehab a house, build a shopping center, and I can get that for you. And I can get you information you didn’t realize you needed or wanted. Maybe all of those projects would have gotten done without me, but I can promise you they’re better with me. That’s enough of a mark for me. How about you?”
“I just like to win. I can settle for having played if the game’s solid, but winning’s always better.”
“Isn’t it just,” she agreed.
“But if I leave a mark, it gives the other players too much information, too much they might use if we faced each other over a pile of chips again. Better to have a blank slate, as much as possible. They don’t know you, it’s harder for them to read you.”
“Yes.” She spoke quietly. “Yes, that’s exactly right. And to bring this into our situation, I had a similar thought this morning. It doesn’t understand us. It can’t really know us. It can anticipate some. What it did to me, what it did to Fox years ago by killing Carly right in front of him. It knows how to hurt, how to use specific weapons to harm and to undermine. But it still doesn’t get it. It doesn’t seem to comprehend that the opposite side of fear is courage. Every time it uses our fears, it only pushes us to find more courage. It can’t read us, not accurately.”