by Ren Hamilton
“Fuck that,” Joey said. “Why should I save him? Let him die.”
Shep’s body moved so fast that Litner jumped. It was like a blur, then Joey was pressed against the wall, and Shep had him by the neck. “You are my Sword. Do not question me now. This is a time that you must obey.”
Litner ran to the kitchen and dug through his silverware drawer. All logic told him that Shep was wrong, and Wesley would be fine at the hospital. Shep had tried to kill Wesley once, he wasn’t exactly trustworthy. But he believed him, that was the bottom line. Shep was the mad chemist that altered people’s blood, and in the case of Wesley, he was the expert.
When he returned to the bedroom with a bowl and knife, Shep was kneeling over Wesley, running his hands an inch above his face. “Fuck,” he said. “Allisto took a lot.”
“How will you do the transfusion?” Litner asked.
“It’s not like that,” he said. “He needs to drink it. Don’t worry, it will absorb instantly. Joey?”
With eyes like cold stone, Joey stepped forward, his lip curled into a sneer. But he squatted down and offered Shep his arm. Shep looked up. “Litner?”
Shaking himself out of his shock, he gave Shep the bowl and knife. Placing the knife under Joey’s arm, Shep made a deep slice, and Joey cursed, wincing. “Easy,” Shep said, massaging Joey’s other shoulder as he caught the blood that dripped from his arm into the bowl. “Easy, Joey. You’ll be fine.”
Joey looked up at the ceiling, eyes closed, mouth tightened to a straight line.
“Are you sure this will work?” Litner asked.
“If we can get him to drink it, yes. How long has he been unconscious?”
“About ten minutes.”
Finally, Shep turned Joey’s arm, easing it away from the bowl, now filled almost to the rim with fresh blood. “Margol, tend to Joey.”
Carefully, Shep set the bowl down beside him, then took Wesley, lifting him to a sitting position. Wesley’s head wobbled on his neck and fell forward. “Hey,” Shep said, giving his shoulders a shake. “Wake up.” He slapped him. Wesley’s head jerked, but he remained still, eyes closed. “Hey!” Shep said, shaking him. “Come on.” He gave his cheeks little quick slaps. “Come on, wake up.”
“Can’t you just pour it down his throat?” Litner asked.
“He’ll choke on it. We need to wake him.”
“What if you can’t?” Litner asked, his voice rising in panic. He stared down at Wesley’s handsome face, now sickly pale. He cared for him, perhaps even more than he’d realized. He’d helped Wesley learn to live again. He couldn’t let him die now. He’d never felt so helpless. And he hoped like hell he was doing the right thing, trusting Shep. He’d seen him stop the bleeding from Patrick’s bullet wound once, and that was all his faith was riding on.
Moving to the other side of Shep, Litner took Wesley’s limp hand, slapping at it. “Wake up, Wesley. Wake up,” he said. “Come on buddy.”
“Come on!” Shep shook him hard, his head wobbling.
“Don’t break his neck!” Litner shouted. “You don’t know your own strength.”
“Yes, I do. But your little love taps aren’t working.”
“Say his name.”
Shep scowled at Litner. “Huh?”
“Say Wesley’s name. Let him hear it. In your voice,” Litner said. “Shout it, the way you would in the past if you were angry at him. It might trigger him awake.”
Shep sighed, but hesitated only a moment before screaming, “Wes!” He gave him another shake, then, “Wes, you open your eyes right now!” With an open hand, Shep wound up and slapped his cheek with a loud crack.
Wesley coughed, then spit a glob of vomit onto Shep’s shirt. “Okay,” Shep said, grabbing the bowl. “You need to drink this, Wes, okay?”
Wesley’s eyes fluttered open. He winced when he saw Shep. “No,” he slurred, a limp arm trying to push Shep away.
“It’s all right,” Litner said. “You need to do as he says.”
Wesley turned to Litner. “Sick,” he said, and coughed.
“This will make you better,” Shep said gently, and lifted his chin.
Wesley frowned at Shep. “The fuck...you doing here.”
“Drink this,” Shep said, lifting the bowl.
“No!” Shep ducked aside as Wesley tried to swipe the bowl away, managing to keep it from spilling. “Not your blood. Never again,” he slurred.
Litner sat behind Wesley, pulling him back into his chest. “It’s not Shep’s blood,” he said soothingly. “I promise it’s not. But you need to drink it. Please, buddy. Trust me.”
Wesley relaxed against him. “Feel sick,” he whispered.
Shep lifted the bowl to his lips, looking into his eyes. “Please. I made you. I know what you need.”
Wesley scowled at him, then closed his eyes and opened his mouth. As Shep tilted the bowl, he swallowed, then coughed, a spray of blood hitting Shep in the face. “You have to drink it all,” Shep said. “Come on, you can do this.”
“Can’t.” Wesley grimaced. “Gonna throw up.”
“No, no, no, two more sips and your stomach will soothe. Come on.” He brought the bowl to Wesley’s lips again, holding his jaw steady. “Open.”
“Can’t.”
“Come on Wes,” Shep said. “Be a good boy for me. This will make you strong. Come on, my brave boy. You can do this.”
Wesley coughed. “Okay, I’ll drink it, just stop talking to me like that, you freak.”
Shep smiled as Wesley drank, Litner holding him firm from behind. “I knew I could annoy him into finishing it. That’s it. Just a little more.”
After another long moment, Shep held the bowl up, looking at Litner. “He did it. Hold him up, don’t let him puke.”
Wesley’s head fell back against Litner’s chest. He spit, a trickle of blood and water. “Keep it down,” Litner said. “Take a deep breath.”
“’Sfucking gross,” he said, then spit again.
Relief rushed through Litner as he watched the color return to Wesley’s cheeks. He felt the pulse in his neck, beating steady.
“Don’t let him puke,” Shep said softly.
“Breathe, Wesley,” Litner said. “Deep breaths.”
Wesley took in a lungful of air, and relaxed. “Feels better.”
“How do we know it’s enough?” Litner asked.
“It’ll do the job,” Shep said. He unwrapped the bandage from Wesley’s arm and examined his wound. “Son of a bitch. Allisto really gored him.”
Wesley huffed, eyelids fluttering. “Monsters,” he whispered. “You’re all fucking monsters.”
“Allisto said Wesley’s blood would mask him so you can’t locate him,” Litner said. “Is that true?”
Shep’s brow furrowed as he studied the wound. “Allisto’s gone, can’t read him. This is vicious, crude, but it was a smart thing to do in his position. Allisto maybe half insane, but his mind is certainly functioning.”
“Can’t feel him,” Klee said softly. “Can’t feel Allisto anymore.”
Shep’s eyes found his brother’s. “Won’t last forever. We’ll find him.”
“But how much damage will he do before then?” Litner asked. “He may be newly born, but he’s strong,” he said, glancing down at Wesley. “And vicious.”
“Well, he won’t get far with those damn demon wings in public,” Shep said. “That’s one good thing. And he’ll be recovering for several days. He’ll find someplace to hole up.”
“What if he...” Litner frowned. “You know. Cuts them off. Like you all did.”
Shep looked sad, his lower lip quivering. “My brother is not one to give up his wings easily. I’m sure he’s not pleased the powers that be saw fit to leave him with those atrocious things, but they’re the only wings he’s got at the moment. He’ll keep them as long as he can.”
“He said he was going to finish the job. I heard him say it to you outside. What if—”
“Litner,” Shep interrupted. “We
will find him. Now help me get Wesley into bed. His body chemistry is regenerating, it’s going to take all of his energy. He needs rest.”
On the other side of the room, Margol examined the cut on Joey’s arm. “Joey’s healing fast,” he said. “He’ll be fine. You dizzy?”
Joey shook his head. “I’m fine. Just a little thirsty.” His eyes were hard as he watched Shep and Litner set Wesley down on the bed. “Will his wound heal, too?” he asked, his tone venomous.
Shep glanced at him. “It should. It will just take longer.”
“Huh,” Joey said. “Guess we’re not so alike after all.”
Shep did a double take at him. “You had a small cut. Allisto nearly severed his artery. Are you actually making this a competition?”
Wesley’s head slowly turned on the pillow, and he stared over at Joey. “It was your blood?”
Joey started toward the door. “Yeah. You’re welcome. I hope you choke on it,” he said, and left the room.
Wesley coughed. “Well, he got that wish.” He looked up at Litner. “I feel better.”
Litner smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grinned. “Thank you.” He looked at Shep. “I’m not thanking you. This is your fault. Like every other bad thing that’s happened in my life.”
Shep stared down at him for a moment, then looked at Litner. “We need to talk.”
“I was on vacation, Shep,” Litner said. “I despise you. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a vacation? I really hate you.”
Shep shrugged. “I had hoped this was over with Preet.”
“Should someone watch him?” Litner asked, looking at Wesley, who’d closed his eyes, breathing steadily.
“He’ll be fine. But I can leave Margol with him while we talk if you want.”
Wesley stirred. “No,” he said, licking his dry lips. “I’m okay. I’m not having one of you blood sucking freaks playing nursemaid, thank you very much.”
Litner sat on the bed. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
He nodded. “Not sick anymore. Just...tired.”
“All right. I’ll check on you in a while.”
Litner stood and Wesley called out, “Steven? Could you leave the light on?”
Shep scowled down at the bed. “Still afraid of the dark, Wes?”
Wesley chuckled softly. “Yeah. That happens when you know the boogie man is real.”
Shep left the room with Margol and Juris following. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Litner looked back at Wesley. “Light stays on. Anything else you need? Should I wrap your arm up again?”
Wesley held his arm up, then froze. Litner stared. The wound was healing fast, had shrunk to half the size. “Um, I think I’ll be okay,” he said. “Keep them out of here. Please.”
“You have my word,” Litner said, then turned to leave. Klee startled him, standing just outside the room, peeking in at Wesley. “Klee. Let’s go.”
Klee blinked his fringy white lashes. “Agent Litner,” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“Things have become...confusing. Haven’t they?”
Litner let out a long breath. “Come on. Let him rest.”
When they stepped into the kitchen, Shep was at the sink, cleaning the blood off his face. The brothers sat at the dining room table with a sulking Joey. Klee went over and joined them, clinging to Juris like a frightened child.
“Are you all right?” Litner asked Shep.
Turning off the tap, Shep removed his tee shirt and wiped his face. Litner tried not to stare at the raised, horseshoe shaped scar between his shoulder blades. He faced Litner, leaning against the counter. “Fuck no, I’m not all right. Are you?”
Litner shook his head. “No.”
He jerked his chin at Litner. “What happened to your lip?”
“Allisto happened.”
Shep stared at the floor, chewing his thumbnail. “I don’t know what to do.” His face crumpled, and tears slid down his cheeks. “I just...” He lifted a hand and dropped it. “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
“That’s a first. You’re usually the man with the plan.”
“This is…” Shep grimaced, more tears leaking from his eyes. He opened them and looked at Litner. “Even if Allisto failed to assassinate me…he’s still killing me. This is killing me.”
Litner nodded, putting hands in his pockets. “You should stay here tonight.”
Shep frowned at Litner, wiping his tears. “Stay here?”
“I doubt your brother Allisto will be up for killing anyone tonight, if that’s his intent. But we shouldn’t take chances. He seems...unstable. Wait until morning to go back out. I’m going to reassign security for Patrick and the rest of the followers in the vicinity. But you’re at as much risk as they are. Probably more.”
“I didn’t know,” Shep said. “How could I have known? That they’d thrown him in the void? I didn’t know.”
“You should stay here tonight. I’ll help keep watch.”
“I can take care of myself, Agent Litner.”
“Really? Then why do you keep ending up at my door?”
He hung his head. “I can’t feel Allisto right now. But he can still feel me. Us.” He looked at Litner. “I don’t want to put you and Wes at risk. And I can’t let any more of my brothers get hurt. I can’t.”
“Well, at least this threat is flesh and blood. Not that I have any desire or intent to kill Allisto. But at least he’s afraid of guns, unlike the first assassin that tried to take a chunk out of Wesley.”
Shep smirked. “You didn’t like that much, did you? When we took on Preet at the hotel? I’m guessing you’re not accustomed to that gun being useless.”
“I like to be able to defend myself. And other people if need be.”
Shep crossed his arms. “You’d really let us stay here tonight? Help protect us?”
“You saved Wesley. He’s a friend. I care for him.”
Shep blew out a whistling breath. “Yeah. I do too.”
“I noticed. So why did you shoot at him? The night of the siege. You tried to kill him.”
“I wouldn’t have been killing him. I’d have been freeing him. He’d be in a better place. He’s…he’s earned some peace.”
“Yeah, well he has friends now, and we like having him around. So don’t do that again.”
“I won’t.” Shep shot him a dark look. “I just saved his life, like you said.”
“And I owe you one, so I’m willing to help you. If you can assure me that Joey won’t try to kill Wesley in his sleep.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Joey will behave.”
“Then I’ll get some blankets and sleeping bags. You can crash in the living room if that’s all right with everyone.”
Shep wiped his face with his shirt, then jerked back suddenly. “Oh gross, I forgot Wesley puked on this shirt.”
“I’ll give you a clean shirt,” Litner said, heading out of the kitchen.
“Agent Litner,” Shep said. “I’m sleeping with my gun. We all are. If that’s a problem for you, we’ll leave.”
Litner stopped and turned back. “I always sleep with my gun.”
Shep chuckled. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Some of us can’t explode people’s heads with our minds.”
He got Shep a clean shirt, then set out sleeping bags for his guests. The brothers eyed him warily as he did, muttering to each other, and to Shep. Then he went back into the kitchen, pulled out his phone and called Patrick.
Patrick’s groggy voice croaked out, “Why do I break out in a cold sweat whenever I see your number come up on my phone, Litner?”
“Hi. I’m sorry to wake you.”
“What shit sandwich have you got for me now?” he asked, yawning.
He explained the situation, and Patrick went silent on the other end. “I’m sending someone to watch your apartment, but you can come over here if you’d
feel safer.”
Finally, Patrick chuckled softly. “Um, no. I’m not having a sleepover with Shep and his goon squad, thanks anyway. I’ll take my chances with the previously dead, blood-sucking brother.”
“We’ll find him,” Litner said. “One way or another, I’ll find a way to end this.”
“Yeah,” Patrick said. “That’s what you keep telling me. Can you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Could you maybe kick Juris really hard in the face while he’s sleeping? Really hard.”
Litner frowned. “Why Juris?”
Patrick didn’t respond for several moments. “Never mind. I’ll call you tomorrow. If I’m not dead.”
“Fair enough.”
He hung up and looked through the entryway into the living room, where the brothers huddled together, whispering under their blankets. He went in and checked on Wesley, who snored softly, then he went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He had more calls to make, and a house full of monsters. It was going to be a sleepless night.
Chapter Nineteen
Robin had gone into work an hour early so she could take an extra long lunch. She needed serious gym time, endorphins to combat the viral battery of emotions plaguing her every waking thought. She hit the treadmill for forty-five minutes, then free weights, followed by a long, hot shower.
After buying a bagel sandwich at the deli next to the gym, she walked across the street and sat at a park bench. Boston was enjoying unseasonably warm weather for autumn, and a group of young men in shorts played Frisbee over by the fountain. She removed her sweater and rested it on the back of the bench. When she unwrapped her food, pigeons came bobbing over, their fat little bodies getting too close for comfort. “Buzz off!” She waved her arm at them, and they scuttled off, tiny sloped heads twisting, seeming to shoot her dirty looks over their feathered shoulders.
She’d just taken a bite when someone sat down beside her. She stopped chewing as she turned her head. Shep stared straight ahead at the park, shoulders slumped, squinting in the sunlight. Her eyes trailed over him, trying to process that he was really sitting there, in a loose red tee shirt and brown baggy shorts with sandals. She caught his familiar scent as a breeze lifted his corkscrew curls.
