TO BLACK WITH LOVE: Quentin Black Mystery #10

by Andrijeski, JC

  My jaw hardened.

  I didn’t answer at first, not even with a nod.

  “Can you do that?” he said, equally soft. “Can you be in a room with him, doc? Believe me, I would completely understand if you can’t be. If you don’t want to be there, I’ll handle it without you… or maybe we can do something remote, with you in my ear, on the other side of one-way glass. You don’t have to sit across a table with the son of a bitch. None of us would expect that of you, Miri. None of us. Certainly not me.”

  That time, I nodded.

  I felt a harder knot in my chest loosen somewhat, but the pain in my gut and throat only seemed to be getting worse.

  I knew no amount of bourbon would smooth that away.

  Anyway, I had to stop drinking.

  I’d told Black I would do some actual work that afternoon.

  I wondered if I’d already drank too much to be able to keep that promise.

  Somewhere in the spaces where I’d been thinking the bourbon wasn’t affecting me and the two or six shots I’d done since that time, I’d tipped past cold sober and buzzed and now skirted the edges of full-blown drunk.

  I was pretty sure the food wasn’t doing much to sober me up, not yet anyway. Maybe after a nap and some coffee, I could pull it together. I didn’t need to work during office hours. I could work into the evening.

  I could get up early the next morning.

  “You’re not working today,” Black said, his voice grim. “You’re not working tomorrow either, doc. I’m giving the assessments to Yarli for now.”

  Frowning, I started to shake my head.

  Black held up a hand.

  “What would you do, doc?” he said. “If you had nothing else to do today. What would you do? Where would you go?”

  Still frowning, I tried to think about his question.

  My mind went to the ocean, to surfing with Nick.

  That sickness in my chest worsened.

  I thought about the last time we’d been out there, when I managed to brain myself with a rented surfboard, and Nick laughed so hard he choked.

  My stomach turned so fast, I didn’t have any warning at all.

  Luckily, Black must have seen it on my face.

  “Whoa, whoa… doc…”

  He had the garbage can in front of me even as my stomach heaved violently. He was on my side of the table before I’d even wrapped my head around what happened.

  Then I was hanging off the table with one arm, Black holding back my hair as I threw up in the garbage can below my chair.

  It felt like that went on forever.

  I threw up all the butter chicken and rice. I threw up my few mouthfuls of naan and palak paneer, and vegetable korma. I threw up every drop of bourbon my body hadn’t yet absorbed into my bloodstream. I probably even threw up some of the yogurt I’d eaten that morning, and the coffee I drank after that.

  Eventually, there was nothing left in me to throw up.

  I heaved for a while longer anyway, until my eyes were watering, my throat and stomach burning from the painful, strangely-violent spasms.

  Black knelt there with me, despite how bad it must have smelled.

  He rubbed the small of my back, his light wrapped in mine as he murmured in my ear, kissing my neck and face when I paused between spasms.

  At the end of it, he handed me a bottle of water. I chugged down half of it without taking a breath. I felt Black watching me worriedly as I did, probably afraid I’d throw that up, too.

  I didn’t though.

  On the negative side, I was also cold sober.

  I also felt like I’d been hit by a truck.

  “Yeah, no more drinking for you today, doc,” Black muttered.

  He took the empty water bottle away from me once I’d finished it off, setting it on the table near the Indian food, which was difficult for me to even look at––much less smell––after what my stomach had just done to me. I looked at it anyway for some reason, staring across the spread of dishes, grimacing.

  I was still doing that when Black caught hold of both of my hands.

  He pulled me gently to my feet.

  “Come on, doc,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist. He began leading me towards the door. “We’re getting you out of here.”

  I didn’t ask him what he meant.

  I didn’t ask him where he was taking me.

  I just followed the gentle tugs of his hands and arm.

  Truthfully, I didn’t much care where we went. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. I wanted to run, and run, and never stop running until that feeling somehow left me.

  16

  Santa Cruz

  “WE NEED TO tell Angel.”

  I blurted it, staring sightlessly at the horizon as I bobbed gently up and down, my feet dangling in the cold, salty water. Despite the intensity behind my words, the ripple of waves rolled silently under me, soothing, systematically wearing away my resistance to their pull.

  Black looked over. He wiped salt water off his face with a bare hand, shaking his wet hair from where he bobbed gently on a longboard next to me, wearing a black wetsuit with sky blue lines down his arms and legs.

  He gripped the board briefly, adjusting his position on it.

  “We will,” he said. “We can call her tonight, if you want.”

  I frowned.

  So we weren’t going home.

  I’d figured that, but he hadn’t said it until now.

  “I got us something down here,” he explained, maybe feeling my thoughts. “I thought a night away from all of that would be good.” He added, “We can drive back, if you’re rather.”

  My lips pursed.

  I didn’t tell him I wanted to go home, though.

  The thought of going back there brought up a sharp, throat-clutching wave of sickness, what bordered on depression. The thought of staying down here depressed me too, but less somehow. As usual lately, Black seemed to have a better idea of what I needed, even if it wasn’t what I thought I wanted.

  I don’t know how he got me to come down here with him, truthfully.

  I don’t know how he got me out on the water.

  I don’t know how he coaxed me into a wetsuit of my own, after throwing a small bag in the trunk of the MacLaren with clothes for both of us and driving us down the coast to Santa Cruz, where Nick first tried to teach me how to surf. I didn’t know how he’d known exactly which surfing area to take me.

  I tried to remember if it came up during our bonding in Thailand…

  But that made me feel sick too.

  Not the bonding.

  More the memory of what had been happening to Nick while we were bonding.

  I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing here.

  I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing out on this water, at one of Nick’s favorite surfing spots.

  “You’re paying homage,” Black said. “Both of us are.”

  When I didn’t answer, he caught hold of my arm, tugging me and the surfboard I sat on closer to him. Once I was close enough, he kissed my mouth, wrapping his arm around me and hugging me to his chest.

  His tongue was hot, salty; it flooded me with his light.

  Pain hit at my chest.

  I wanted him, but I could only feel like shit about that right then, too.

  “I love you,” he said, gruff, raising his head. “Let me help you, doc. Just let me help you with this. Even if it doesn’t make sense to you right now.”

  I nodded, fighting the closing of my throat.

  That pain was starting up again in the middle of my chest, the longer he held me, the longer he immersed me in that heat and density.

  I knew he was right. Being down here was better.

  It hit me again that he’d already called ahead to get us a room, probably in some fancy bed and breakfast on Highway 1, probably some place that would be beautiful and quiet. For some reason, as that realization sank in, I found myself fighting tears. I knew he was right, but it wasn�
�t only that. I’d never had anyone take care of me like this, not since I’d been a kid. The closest was when I got back from Bangkok, when Nick––

  I cut off the thought.

  Shaking my head to shove the vision away, I clenched my jaw.

  Black was right.

  Getting away for a few days was the right thing, especially with Brick coming here, especially with Brick about to take up space in my city, in my head, probably with that walking corpse Dorian at his side.

  I knew Black was right.

  But nothing felt right, not now.

  Also, Black hadn’t exactly chosen neutral ground.

  Thinking about the last time I’d been out here, I let out a low gasp, feeling that pain abruptly worsen in my chest. I gripped the front of my wetsuit, and the flood of Black’s light intensified, pulling me deeper into him.

  I saw wings. Those wings wrapped around me, bright green and violet and blue behind my closed eyes, and my heart hitched sideways in my chest.

  We’d never talked about what happened in those caves, either.

  We’d never had time to talk about any of it. I remembered all of that light, inside that grim dragon temple on Koh Mangaan. I remembered those wings that came out of Black, how his voice sounded––how his voice felt in my light.

  “None of that matters now, doc,” he said, soft, wrapping me in that hot, dense light, wrapping me in those wings. “It’s your light now too. Rest on it. Rest on me.”

  I fought to make sense of his words.

  I fought to comprehend what he was telling me.

  I couldn’t seem to wrap my head around anything though. Not the fact that Nick was dead. Not the fact that I’d never see him again, that I probably wouldn’t even see a body. Not what I’d seen my husband do in Thailand. Not what I’d felt off him when we were bonding on that beach. Not the fact that Coreq, the strange voice I heard inside my husband’s light, who claimed to be a part of both of us now, had gone silent ever since we’d left that island.

  I couldn’t believe Nick was really gone.

  I kept expecting to see him out here.

  I looked for him in the face of every surfer with roughly the same build, with dark hair, with broad shoulders, with anything that reminded me of Nick, even just a gesture or mannerism. I kept expecting him to call, to see his annoyed, semi-grumbling text messages on my phone. I’d caught myself thinking I needed to tell him we’d come down here, that we’d gone to his favorite stretch of surf near the lighthouse.

  I hadn’t lived without Nick in over ten years.

  He was like my conscience. Maybe my guardian angel.

  I spoke before I knew I meant to.

  “He was there for me,” I said, staring out over the waves. “After Thailand. After you left. He was there for me, Black.”

  There was a silence.

  I felt my words sink in.

  Then I felt a hard stab of pain cut into Black, enough to close his eyes.

  I flinched, feeling it through him.

  I hadn’t said it to hurt him. I didn’t mean to hurt him… I didn’t want to hurt him. After I’d said it, though, after I turned over my words, I realized how cruel they were. I hadn’t meant to be cruel, but I had been.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, still gripping the front of my wetsuit. Reaching out, I gripped him too, catching hold of his arm, still not looking at him.

  “Don’t be sorry, doc.” He sounded sad. I heard real grief in his voice, and that pain in my chest worsened. “Don’t apologize for that. It’s true.”

  I nodded, even as tears ran down my face.

  I stared down at my legs, still gripping Black with one hand, and the front of my wetsuit with the other. I watched the seawater lap against my thigh.

  “He made me see someone,” I said after a pause. “He didn’t know about seers yet. But he noticed… things. He got me to talk to him, to admit what happened. Then he made me see someone. That psychologist I went to for a while.”

  “I remember, doc.”

  Biting my lip, hard enough for it to hurt, I added,

  “He showed up at my door. Every goddamned night.” I let out a choked, bitter laugh. “Even after I yelled at him. Even after I told him to stop coming over, to leave me alone, he came over anyway. After that thing happened with me and him, he brought Angel… but he never stopped coming. He never left me alone.”

  Black stroked my hair, not speaking.

  I knew he understood that, too.

  He knew what I meant, including the parts I’d left out, that I hadn’t said aloud.

  That thing that happened was the night I kissed Nick.

  It was the night I basically jumped Nick, mostly to get back at Black for leaving.

  I’d been drunk. We’d both been drunk enough that we’d nearly slept together.

  Somehow, even as drunk as I was, I realized what I was doing halfway through. I had enough of a flash of sanity and clarity to stop things before we went all the way.

  By then, we’d both been half-naked. I’d been in Nick’s lap, my hand on his cock, my other hand in his shirt. Both of us had been breathing hard. Both of us had been turned on, flushed, confused. Nick had been hard. He’d been in the process of undressing me for real when I called a halt to things.

  I’d felt enough off his mind and light to know he had pretty mixed feelings about me stopping things, given where we were, where it was going. Even so, he practically ran out of there not long after, making some excuse about work the next morning.

  I’d felt like shit about that.

  Not so much because of Black––not then, anyway.

  I felt bad for doing that to Nick.

  I felt like I’d used him.

  Fuck, I had used him.

  It also confused me, and confused Nick, who seemed to struggle with his feelings about me for at least a few months after that. According to Black, he’d been confused about me for longer than just those few months.

  But I couldn’t think about that, either.

  Black nuzzled my face, kissing my neck, then my cheek.

  I love you, doc. I love you so much. Pain left his light in a cloud, even as he gripped my hair in one hand. He loved you, too… and you loved him. Don’t punish yourself. Don’t beat yourself up for every single thing you did wrong with him. We all make mistakes. We make the worst fucking mistakes with the people we love.

  I let out a choked sound, one that hurt my chest.

  It wasn’t a laugh, not even a humorless one.

  I don’t know what the hell it was.

  Forgive yourself, doc, Black sent, soft, stroking my wet hair. Forgive yourself. You know he would have forgiven you. He loved you, doc… he loved you…

  I tried to feel it. I tried to believe it.

  I couldn’t, though.

  I just fucking couldn’t.

  * * *

  BLACK DROVE US to the actual town of Santa Cruz for dinner.

  We parked near the boardwalk, and walked down to the pier, holding hands as we walked to the end of it, where a number of seafood restaurants lived.

  I must have eaten.

  I did eat. I remember eating.

  I remember Black ordering for me after I spent probably ten minutes staring at the menu without seeing or comprehending anything written on it. I remember him urging me to eat bread, and then urging me to eat the grilled salmon and pumpkin mash he ordered for me.

  I remember asking him about Charles, about the riots.

  He was reluctant to discuss it at first.

  I knew he would have stayed in touch with everyone in San Francisco, though. He was at least checking in periodically with Kiko. He had to be, and I didn’t blame him. He couldn’t afford not to, not with Brick coming in three days.

  “Don’t worry about any of that, doc,” he said, kissing my fingers.

  I shook my head though, staring past him at the night sky over the lapping ocean.

  “I can’t just think about nothing, Black,” I said. “The silenc
e is fucking deafening right now. It’s making me want to crawl out of my skin.”

  He gripped my fingers tighter.

  I felt conflict on him, as he felt my light.

  I knew he was being careful with me. I could almost feel that brain of his calculating the best ways to help me. How hard to push. When to push. Where to push. When to distract me. When to let me sit in it, even when I was clearly miserable.

  Some part of me appreciated it.

  Mostly, I felt like some kind of science experiment.

  In the end, he talked to me a little.

  He said the riots were spreading, mostly to large urban centers in the East so far. Vampire sightings and attacks had grown more frequent. He said Kiko and Dex were both pretty sure those attacks were also more legitimate now. Kiko said their agents, those who were following the violence on the ground, suspected Charles had his people deliberately attacking known vampire enclaves, forcing them to defend themselves when they were flushed out.

  I listened to him describe the reactions on the news.

  I listened to him repeat back what talking heads were saying.

  I listened to him tell me what government officials were saying.

  He ate a pasta seafood dish with white sauce and drank wine, describing the discussions occurring on the major media outlets by political pundits and eye witnesses and victims, by scientists and political experts and lawyers, the arguments back and forth about whether the creatures were real or some kind of hoax, or even a psychological and military attack by a foreign entity.

  Black expected Charles to continue to escalate things.

  I knew he was right.

  I wondered when Charles would be sending someone to visit us, too.

  “Yeah,” Black said, hearing me. Resting his hands on one another, he gauged my face in the candlelight. “I’m wondering that, too.”

  Before we could talk about that in particular, four college-aged looking kids walked up to our table, asking Black for his autograph.

  He accommodated them, tossing a few jokes and smiles back and forth with them, but I could feel him pushing at them with his light to get them to leave, so they didn’t linger long.