But here, between them, it was quiet.
Lyssa’s mouth tightened. “The witches you encountered today are not the Cruor Venator. They’re her servants. But if you thought they were frightening. . if just their presence was terrifying. . then keep in mind that whatever you feel around the true Cruor Venator will be a hundred times worse.”
Eddie swallowed hard. “Understood.”
“No,” Lyssa said, with a hint of sadness. “You don’t.”
She looked away from him and took a deep breath. “Maybe I’ll lose my nerve. Maybe I’ll run again. But if I do leave New York with you. . there are some things I need to do first. Or else I’ll never be able to live with myself.”
“Again?” he said. “Just how long have you been running from these people?”
“Ten years,” she said, giving him a flat look. “Since the night my parents were murdered.”
They walked toward Washington Square Park. Eddie didn’t know the way, but Lyssa had no trouble navigating the streets. No one paid attention to them. New York University was close, and they could have been just another pair of college kids.
Few words passed between them. Lyssa hadn’t elaborated about her parents and seemed uncomfortable having told him anything at all. Eddie understood her loss, which meant he knew better than to respond with anything more than a simple, “I’m sorry.”
Because he was sorry. Sorrier than he could express in words.
Daphne, he thought, shivering as old memories filled him. Good and bad.
Lyssa glanced at him. “Are you okay?”
No, he wanted to tell her, but that one little word refused to crawl from his throat. Her problems were big enough without him turning into some emotional victim. Maybe it was old fashioned, but while he could — while he was able — he wanted to be her broad shoulder. Her guy she could depend on. Her wall.
Walls did not hurt. Walls didn’t break.
Lyssa needed to feel safe with him. No matter what.
He focused on all the NYU banners hanging in the distance, and said the next thing that came to mind.
“Did you ever try going to school? All these years?”
Lyssa gave him a lingering look as though she knew he was changing the subject. Eddie’s cheeks warmed, but instead of calling him out — she hunched deeper inside the charred leather jacket.
“No. I was home schooled, and then. . later. . I spent a lot of time in libraries. You can learn pretty much anything you need to, that way.”
She sounded wistful. Eddie said, “That’s how I survived. My formal education ended when I was thirteen. I never went back. Sometimes I wish I could have had that experience. High school. College.”
“You still could,” she said. “Maybe not high school. . but this, college.”
He looked at her, surprised. “Would you?”
Lyssa hesitated. “No. I have what I need. I’ve been. . educated in my own way.”
“Yeah,” he said, remembering watching other kids with parents and money, and books — being less envious than sorry that he was not home, where he knew he would be welcome, and needed.
None of which would have made his thirteen-year-old self feel less awful, or frightened.
“After the things I’ve seen,” he told her, “I’m not sure I could sit in a classroom. It might feel like the opposite of learning.”
Lyssa gave him a gentle, wistful smile. “And yet.”
“And yet,” he agreed.
They passed in front of a small café. The door stood partially open. Eddie heard a radio blasting the news and slowed to a stop as a harried voice detailed the explosion off Lexington. A police source had confirmed that investigators were looking for evidence of suicide bombers — a man and woman seen just before the detonation. So far, however, their bodies had not been recovered.
“Didn’t anyone see me carrying you away?” he asked, mostly to himself. “Or see me stealing that car, or speaking with Nikola and Betty?”
He didn’t really expect a response, but Lyssa seemed to seriously contemplate those questions.
“Maybe not,” she said. “If the Cruor Venator’s women wanted me — and, by extension, you — it would have been in their interest to obscure our presence.”
“Like the illusion that Lannes casts on his body, except over a wider area?”
“Exactly.”
“But how?”
She frowned. “You imagine and will it to be. It’s not quite that simple, but that’s the essence. All you need is the power to back up the desire.”
“But there are limits.”
“That depends.”
Eddie’s cell phone rang. Both of them flinched.
He checked the screen. The call was from his mother. Another kind of dread filled him. A million little nightmares.
When he answered, she didn’t wait for him to say hello.
“I know this is a bad time,” she said in a low voice that reminded him so much of his sister. “You’re at work.”
“It’s okay,” he said, as Lyssa looked down at her feet, pretending to give him privacy. “What’s happened?”
She laughed, but it sounded like a sob. “Nothing new. I just needed to make sure you’re okay. Now that. . he. . is free, I’m afraid. . I think he might. .”
“I know.” Eddie bowed his head, staring at the scars on the back of his left hand. “I asked some friends to keep an eye on things. But. . you be careful, okay? Doors locked. Security system on. Tell Grandma the same.”
“Yes.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m sorry I did this to you, Edward.”
“You didn’t.” Eddie closed his eyes. “I have to go. Call if you need anything. If it’s an emergency, 911 first, then Roland. You have his number.”
“Yes, and yes,” she said, but with a trace of sadness — and perhaps, disappointment — that made him feel terrible. He was an awful son. He’d abandoned his mother after Daphne’s murder, and even if his reasons were good. . he’d never told her why. She had blamed herself for losing him. Blamed herself for bringing Matthew Swint into their lives.
Deep down, Eddie still blamed her, too.
Hanging up exhausted him. He stared at his phone, heartsore, helpless. What was he doing here, with Matthew Swint on the loose?
Lyssa said, quietly, “That was your mother?”
He glanced at her. Embarrassment flickered over her face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”
He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I know you must have. . sharp ears.”
“Too sharp, maybe.” Lyssa gave him a hesitant look. “Is she okay?”
“Been better.”
“She sounded scared.”
“There’s a man,” began Eddie, but after that, he didn’t know what else to say. . how much to tell her. He wasn’t even certain he could talk about Matthew Swint. Or his sister. The wound was too raw.
“There’s a man,” he repeated himself, hoping she would understand.
Lyssa gave him a long, thoughtful look. “That’s the worst kind.”
He swallowed hard and nodded.
Both of them stayed silent for the remainder of the walk. Eddie watched the city: neighborhoods that transformed from one block to another — gritty to chic, to sleek, then back again.
But the people never changed. Everyone walked fast, expressionless, lost in their own worlds. No one looked anyone else in the eye.
He studied them all, and noticed Lyssa doing the same: quick assessing glances that never stopped, never looked down. She was, he thought, completely aware of everything around her. Including him.