Slowly, as if he wanted her to have time to object, he lowered his head to replace the touch of his hand with his lips. He slicked his fingers through her hair and tipped her head back to kiss her neck. “I’d give the rest of myself, all my words of love, everything I am, for you.”
She closed her eyes as the water beaded along her lashes.
He knelt, streaming kisses down between her breasts to her belly. He spanned the small of her back, eased her toward his mouth to kiss her navel. “I’d give my other hand, my life, my soul, for you.”
“Just give me this.”
“Always.” He traced the lines of her reven with his tongue, and his kiss slipped lower yet.
He brought her to climax against the wall of the shower, eased into her, and rocked her hard until she came again. Then he kissed her gently once more. “I’ll see you tonight. Maybe we can go out in the boat. Far out.” And he left her standing there.
The water had turned to ice before she stopped crying.
She left a note on Mobi’s tank: Rats are in the fridge. Label says “yogurt” so Ecco won’t eat it. She added a smiley face, which looked really lame, considering he’d be reading the note because she was dead. So she sketched the smiley into a heart. Then she just ripped off that part of the paper and tossed it in the trash.
What he’d said in the shower . . . He knew her in ways no one else ever had. He’d touched her when that had been the one thing she’d forbidden.
Now she remembered why. A touch could hurt. And it hurt worse when the touch was gone.
She left her hopelessly disgusting sneakers in the bathroom, found the strappy new heels she’d bought with an angel’s money, and teetered down the silent hall on her toes so the heels wouldn’t click.
She’d made it as far as the front door.
“Going somewhere?”
She stopped, pivoted slowly, not to be coy but because the five-inch spikes prevented anything else. “Out.”
Ecco appeared from behind one of the columns supporting the inner walls. Walls, she knew, that had been cross-braced the last time the league had confronted Corvus and almost lost. The big talya swept her with a rude gaze. “Nice shoes.”
“Thanks. They don’t come in a size eleven.”
He smiled, sharp as his missing gauntlets. “Size fifteen, sugar.”
She didn’t think she could take Ecco, even without his gauntlets. She didn’t want to take him on. If she never saw another single drop of talya blood . . . She tossed her head, wishing she had the dreads to lash around. “I’m meeting Jonah later.” There. That would explain the sandals and shut the man up.
She gestured at the box in his arms. “Moving out?” She managed to infuse it with the tone that said, Running away? Insults would make him glad to see her go.
“Leftovers from last night,” he said. “Sera wanted to run some experiments. She thinks Corvus was up to something superbad.”
“No doubt,” Nim muttered.
“Worse than usual. Tenebrae, encased in glass . . .” He shook his head. “Strange way to keep them fresh.”
“I’m sure Sera will figure it out,” Nim said. “If you’d take her the stuff sometime this century.”
Ecco’s gaze fixed on her again. “We’ve got forever.”
Not necessarily. Corvus had said “tonight.” “Trust me, us female talya aren’t that patient.”
Ecco snorted. “Seems to me you girls put up with far too much.”
“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “Someone will find you one day.”
His face tightened. The broken glass chimed in the box under his grip. He turned on his heel and left.
That had been almost too easy. A man rocking gauntlets shouldn’t wear his heart on his sleeve.
The heat tried to flatten her as she stepped out onto the street. Luckily, her spiky heels kept her upright. A passing truck driver honked his horn, and she flipped him off. It was good to be out in the city.
She walked the streets like a hooker looking for a trick. And it would be a trick to see how Corvus contacted her. How would he even find her? He couldn’t exactly call the @1 number and ask for her.
Somehow, come night, she didn’t think he’d have a problem. Which left her with a few hours to kill.
Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t used quite that phrase.
She couldn’t even shop, since she hadn’t taken Jonah’s wallet. Well, she’d taken twenty bucks, but only so she could catch a cab to her doom, as soon as she figured out where her doom was.
In the meantime, the new sandals were wearing a blister on her heel. She needed a place to sit while the demon did its patch work. So she walked to the Congolese diner.
The dinner rush was on, but there were still a few open seats at the counter. She slid onto the stool and reached for a menu. Ms. Mbengue had the page in her hand before she could complete the gesture. “Thanks.”
The woman nodded. “Coffee?”
Nim hesitated. “Chai, please.” She concentrated on the list of odd items so she didn’t have to meet the other woman’s gaze. “I guess I’ll have whatever Jonah ordered before.”
“That was breakfast. Would you like to try something more substantial, since it’s getting late?”
Nim let the menu drop, wondering at the edge in Ms. Mbengue’s voice. Nothing so simple as jealousy; that was easy to recognize. Not pity or disgust either; those were easy to pick out too. The woman was watching her with something like . . . yes, it was kindness.
Nim wrinkled her nose. She had enough kind women in her life now to start her own support group. Somehow she doubted they’d give her a “you go, girl” cheer on her plans for the evening. “Whatever you think is good.”
Ms. Mbengue gave another brisk nod. “It’s good you trust Mr. Walker. He is a good man.”
“Good, good, good,” Nim muttered under her breath as the woman bustled away. That’s exactly why she had to track down the evil djinn-man on her own. Because the good man had rubbed off on her, got his goods all over her, and see where she was now?
Unfortunately, blaming Jonah for loving her didn’t make her feel any better than sitting at his favorite diner without him. Bad enough she had to save his life—a life he was so damned eager to throw away because of her mistake. She also wanted to save him from loving a woman who could never be good enough.
Ms. Mbengue brought a bowl of steaming stew along with the chai, iced this time. The woman hovered, until Nim realized she was supposed to give some indication that the choice was to her liking. She took up her spoon with a silent sigh. Her breath kicked up the scent of potent spices. Oh, so that was how kind the lady was.
Nim tweaked her demon to standby and took a sip.
Fires of hell. Tears sprang to her eyes, too quick for the demon’s healing.
“Jonah prefers his pepper soup with more chili sprinkles.” Ms. Mbengue hefted a small pot of red flakes. “Would you . . . ?”
Nim gestured silently at her bowl, and Ms. Mbengue added a pinch. “He says it brings out the flavor.”
“The flavor of hot?” Nim asked hoarsely.
Ms. Mbengue smiled. “Ginger and tamarind.”
“Ah yes. I taste it now.” She’d never taste anything again, since she’d been told the teshuva couldn’t restore what had been permanently removed, like her tongue.
Ms. Mbengue gazed over her head. “Doesn’t the day feel cooler now?”
“Pretty much anything would be cooler right about now.”
The woman’s smile deepened. “Try the tea.”
Nim did as ordered. To her surprise, the chai, lightened to the color of Jonah’s hair with milk and sugar, took the edge off the burn. “It’s very good.” Good, good. Just like him. She wished she could kick herself, but she might cause real damage with these heels.