“Was I really out for two weeks?” Wyatt asked as they walked, still trying to get his head around that fact.
"Yeah, you really were. And back there, that was all bluster," Ryker replied, referring to Darby's house, "Darby was just as freaked out as Jools and me."
"It's so crazy. I still don't really know what happened. Were the werewolf injuries that bad?"
Ryker shot Wyatt a look that spoke volumes.
"Okay," Wyatt immediately understood, "they were bad. And I probably just made things worse, needing to see her. Damn! I practically killed myself. I should have just gone straight to Doc."
"Trust me, I tried getting you to do just that," Ryker explained as he touched The Academy doors and watched them swing open, flooding the boys with cool air, "but you were having none of it."
Wyatt stopped walking and looked at Ryker, a deadly serious expression on his face.
"Don't ever listen to me again."
Ryker waved him off with a laugh.
"You'll regret those words in a couple of weeks, when I throw them back in your face."
"I'm serious," Wyatt called after him.
Ryker turned and shot Wyatt a grin before continuing down the hall.
"So am I."
"Where are you going?" Wyatt called after him.
Ryker stopped walking and turned back to Wyatt.
“Well, I’ve got to call your sister and tell her to bring the food back to The Academy, then I’ve got to listen to her ream me out for the next couple of hours and then I’ve got to endure whatever further punishment she’s got in store for me.
“So I am going to the bar, for as a very wise man once said, 'I need a drink. I need a scotch-flavored drink.'"1
And with no further explanation, Ryker turned on his heel and headed back down the hallway.
Wyatt watched Ryker disappear and then headed for his parents' residence in the East Wing. He walked slowly and took in every detail of his surroundings, thrilled to be in the ancient building again, absorbing everything as if he had never seen it a million times over. He marveled at the height of the ceilings, easily fifty feet, if not more, and the carvings etched into the wood of the walls. All sorts of magical creatures, intermixed with the Gods and the Founding Families, depicting the blessing of the Code of Ten and the creation of The Sanctum. Enormous tapestries, centuries-old, littered the walls, a product of his mother's obsession. And books. Books were everywhere.
The Academy had an enormous library but Wyatt's parents never believed one could have too many books and as such, they could be found in every nook and cranny of the building, from the laboratory to the kitchen to the bathrooms. Wandering the halls, one could never be at a loss for something to read because there, resting against a ledge, would be the complete collection of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales or behind the living room couch, on the ledge next to the mirror, sat every book written by Zora Neale Hurston. The books were a comforting sight to Wyatt, a sure sign he was home.
As he neared his parents' wing, he slowed and pulled the hoodie Ryker had given him over his head, making sure to cover his new scars. He stopped in front of their door and knocked, forgetting the last place he left their keys.
The door opened and before him stood Jools, twenty-five years older. Sam Clayworth let out a squeal of surprise and then pulled her son into a tight hug.
"It's about time," Sam stated as she pulled away to properly inspect Wyatt, "I was beginning to think you were avoiding us."
Wyatt kissed her cheek and walked into the apartment, leaving a stunned Sam standing at the door, touching the spot on her cheek his lips just brushed. Ignoring Sam’s shock at his display of affection, Wyatt shouted upstairs for his dad, knowing Josiah was in his personal library, pouring over some secret fairy hideout or a recently discovered coven of witches.
"Dad!"
"You know he's hunched over his laptop, studying the portals the hybrid could have used to escape to NY," Sam explained as she passed him on her way to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner, “are you hungry?"
Wyatt didn't answer, caught up on his mom's prior statement. He followed her into the kitchen and sat at the table while she started opening cartons of Chinese food, setting them out for everyone.
“Has she been spotted?”
“Here and there, we get reports, like the wolf you and Ryker chased uptown, rumblings amongst the Magicals, but nothing confirmed. At least not yet.”
Sam sat down across from Wyatt and started piling her plate with food.
“Josiah!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, startling Wyatt, “sorry honey, but if I don’t yell for him, he’ll never come.”
“What are you going to do if you find her?” Wyatt asked cautiously.
“I’m supposed to kill her,” Sam stated with a twinkle in her eye, “but you know me. I’m not too fond of wanton death and mayhem. Or listening to anything Carter Breslin has to say.”
Wyatt stared at his mom, not sure what to make of her statement.
“Oh Wyatt, relax. Don’t look so serious. Like your sister says, that wrinkle between your eyes is going to become permanent pretty soon,” Sam laughed lightheartedly.
Wyatt made a conscious effort to appear calm, not wanting to attract any more of his mom’s attention.
“I’m relaxed,” he smiled and even laughed for good measure, “just wondering whether we’re going to be sent on more search and destroy missions, looking for this girl.”
“According to Breslin,” Wyatt’s dad, Josiah, entered the kitchen and joined them at the table, imitating Breslin’s voice, behaving positively Ryker-like, “this thing is not a girl but a veritable killing machine.”
Josiah rolled his eyes and hugged his son.
“Dammit Wyatt, when did you get so tall?” Josiah asked with a grin as he scruffed Wyatt’s hair.
“Dammit dad, when are you going to get a new joke?” Wyatt retorted with a laugh.
“Very good joke, son,” Josiah returned to his Carter Breslin imitation, “you will make a most profound and funny leader of The Sanctum one day.”
“Stop it, Jo,” Sam laughed, knowing she shouldn’t.
“You will be a most excellent improvement upon your antiestablishment parents,” Josiah continued, enjoying his own joke.
“I take it you didn’t score any brownie points at the European meeting,” Wyatt stated the obvious.
“Not this year,” Josiah replied, “but you wait, next year the Clayworths will make Breslin proud.”
Sam’s laugh came out short and sharp, causing her to almost spit her food across the table.
“Enough, mister,” she warned, “you are so bad.”
“No, you,” Josiah pointed at Sam with his chopsticks, “are bad. I just follow your lead.”
“You’re both evil,” Wyatt interjected.
“Hey, how was upstate? Or the Berkshires?” Josiah changed the subject, suddenly recalling his son’s schedule. “You know your mom was convinced you were hiding something from her.”
“Geez, Jo,” Sam admonished her husband.
“It was all right,” Wyatt lied, “we managed to get out of there a few days early, which was good. I didn’t feel like staying the entire three weeks.”
“I was surprised they asked you two,” Josiah stated, “that’s a pretty serious treat for those kids, training with you and Ryker.”
Wyatt laughed.
“Spare me, dad. I know you think all this training and killing and whatnot is ridiculous. So do I.”
Josiah looked up from his food and studied his son.
“Since when?”
“I don’t know,” Wyatt replied, not wanting to elaborate.
“Well, keep it to yourself. Last thing you want is one of these Sanctum nuts to catch wind of your feelings and report it to Breslin,” Josiah warned.
Wyatt could not help but grin.
“Like father, like son, no?”
Josiah smiled and continued eating his dinner, studying
his son from the corner of his eye, wondering about his change of heart. Since a young boy, Wyatt had loved the rigidity of The Sanctum. He thrived in The Academy and rose through the training ranks at lightning speed, quickly becoming one of The Sanctum’s premier Class A Warriors and distinguishing himself from the politics of his parents.
Where Sam and Josiah questioned every move Breslin and his family made in their single-minded pursuit of control of The Sanctum, Wyatt not only supported them but applauded their leadership. Josiah never criticized his son for his beliefs, feeling that children should be allowed to blaze their own trails, but now, hearing Wyatt’s apparent disillusion with the very institution he had grown up in and loved sparked Josiah’s interest. He could not quite decide if it was cause for concern.
“It’s about time you started listening to your dad,” Josiah joked.
“Smartest man I know,” Wyatt winked at his mom as he pushed back from the table, stuffed to the gills with Chinese food and wanting to do nothing more than curl up in his bed and sleep.
“Are you leaving already?” Sam asked.
“I’m beat, mom.”
Sam studied her son, picking up on things only a mother would, but knowing not to push Wyatt. He would talk to her when he was ready. If she came at him too early, he would only clam up and become more closed off than he already was.
“Stop studying me like that,” Wyatt grinned, knowing his mom was going over every inch of his body with a fine-toothed comb. He stood up and kissed the top of her head.
“I’m fine.”
“He looks fine to me,” Josiah agreed with a wink.
“Dad, mom said you think the hybrid entered New York by way of a portal?” Wyatt casually asked as he headed for the front door.
“I don’t think,” Josiah called, “I know. Now I’ve just got to find her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Wyatt climbed into bed, staring up at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep, a million thoughts running through his head, replaying themselves in a sick cycle. Somewhere in the city or, for all he knew, the world, she was out there, running, hiding, fighting. His parents wanted to find her, but why? What did they want with her? His mind raced with endless thoughts, questions, concerns until he finally collapsed, falling into a deep sleep.
Dev fingered the blade at her hips, her thoughts returning to Wyatt, as they often did. She laid on her back, glamoured deeply and hidden from sight, so tired she could cry. She could not recall the last time she slept. Not catnapped with one eye open, but really slept. It had been days.
She thought she found the perfect hiding place, deep underground in the old, abandoned subway tunnels, amongst the forgotten and ignored Mole people, but her peace of mind was short-lived. Also amongst the Mole people were many Magicals and none of them was happy with her appearance. Thankfully they were not seeking to expose her, but they made it plenty clear she was not welcome.
Since then, she had roamed the city, constantly looking over her shoulder, forever fighting the urge to see Wyatt. Be close to him. Touch him.
Now, lying on the warm ground under a dense copse of shrubs in Riverside Park, the intense connection to Wyatt returned and threatened to overtake her senses. She wondered whether he was asleep or up late, chatting with his parents after returning to the watchful and loving embrace of his family. She also wondered if he had given up on her.
For reasons unknown to herself, the thought of Wyatt forgetting her stung, but she knew it was wrong to expect him to pine after her forever. Especially when she left him the way she did, hurrying towards a freedom and destiny that she believed didn’t involve him. And she did it without a thought.
Except that it hadn’t been without a thought. In fact, ever since leaving him, Dev found it difficult to do much else but stay alive and contemplate Wyatt.
She sat up and considered her options. Sick of fighting the desire to be close to him, tired of pushing every thought of him from her mind, lonely for a familiar face, Dev did the only sensible thing she could think to do: she geared up and headed downtown.
Wyatt kicked off the sheets in his sleep and rolled onto his back, snoring lightly. Dev sat in his windowsill, absolutely still, mesmerized. He was so perfectly beautiful and even more so now with the brutal scars painting a crazy, crisscrossed, Pollock-like picture on his body. His hair fell across his eyes, messy and unkempt and probably needing a haircut, just as he needed a shave. But it made no difference. In any state, he was perfect, she thought to herself as she moved quietly across the room, removing her holster and setting her blades down on his desk.
She slipped out of her light jacket and shoes, leaving them in a pile, unaware of what she was doing and yet, so completely focused.
Dev stood over Wyatt and watched him as he slept, feeling the pull towards him more intensely than ever. She gently pushed his hair out of his eyes and touched his cheek. And then admonished herself profusely, rushing back to her perch on the windowsill, telling herself she had absolutely no right to invade his bedroom and his privacy. But she could not help herself. Before she knew it, she was back, having tiptoed across the room again to find herself standing near his bed, longing to feel his skin against her own, his touch, his very essence.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing to do, she climbed into bed with him, all the while so scared he would wake up, so thrilled when he didn’t. Dev listened to Wyatt’s steady, deep breathing, safe in the knowledge that he was blissfully unaware of her presence. She carefully curled against his chest and felt the rhythm of his heartbeat, lulled by its steady thump-thump, thump-thump. She told herself she just needed these few moments of being near Wyatt, touching him, feeling him next to her and then she would leave. That if she could periodically have these types of moments with him, she would be happy. She then proceeded to fall into the deep sleep of the exhausted. And the protected. She didn’t stir again all night.
There was a certain awareness before he awoke. The impression of another.
Of her.
Wyatt believed he was dreaming.
Of her.
Wyatt felt her.
Literally.
Lying on his chest, her soft skin against his, her breathing calm and deep. He refused to rise, convinced his mind was playing some insanely perverse trick on him. She shifted slightly and he slowly opened his eyes, grasping the reality of her in small pieces. Her black, curly hair tied in a thick knot on top of her head. The brown skin of her arm, draped across his body, covered in intricate designs from her shoulder to her elbow. Her face, absolute perfection.
He closed his eyes and slid out from under her, hoping not to disturb her. She sighed, but did not wake, instead curling into herself, resting her head on her hands, completely at peace. He watched her in hushed awe, still unsure what to make of her appearance. Everything about her attracted and frustrated him, on so many levels, in so many ways. Wyatt wanted to help her.
Protect her.
Banish her.
Know her.
Fight her.
Touch her.
It confused and confounded him. She made it impossible to think straight. She made it necessary to always be ready.
Dev felt the morning sun on her back and the soft, cotton sheets under her body. She relished the comfort of the bed, so different from the endless nights spent seeking refuge in parks, subways and abandoned buildings.
She paused mid-thought. There was that moment of realization and then her eyes flew open, filled with horror.
Wyatt didn’t move a muscle, knowing if he said or did anything, she would flee. He simply watched her, calmly and quietly, and waited.
Dev was at a loss. She never intended to fall asleep, she simply wanted some comfort, a little contact with the one person left with whom she felt connected. She knew she had no right to steal into Wyatt’s room in the middle of the night, like a common thief. She also knew he had every right to damn her to hell and tell her to get lost. She expected as much.
>
They lay facing each other in stunned silence, each wondering what the other was thinking. The tension between them palpable, a mixture of fear, excitement and wonder. Neither knew what to do or say, so they simply watched one another, each quietly pleased to be in the other’s presence.
“Good morning,” Wyatt cautiously broke the silence, speaking in a hushed whisper, so as not to startle her.
As soon as the words escaped his lips, Dev started speaking, a torrent of words erupting forth.
“I am so sorry. I had no right to come into your room the way I did, uninvited, unexpected and…”
Wyatt gently placed a finger on her lips, shushing her. Dev’s eyes widened with the gesture and she stopped speaking.
“I just want to know your name. The rest doesn’t matter.”
Dev digested his words and then slowly reached up, wrapped her hands around his and lowered his quieting finger so she was free to speak.
“The rest doesn’t matter?” she asked, a slight smile curving her lips.
Wyatt shot her a look, a mixture of annoyance and humor.
“Your name, thank you very much.”
She smiled and looked down at her hands, still holding his in both of hers.
“Dev,” she whispered.
Her name washed over and through him, filling a void, crossing a threshold. He closed his eyes with the knowledge and let it sink in, suddenly unsure of his footing, completely unsteady, unmoored. Her name was that tiny piece of information that until this very moment, had maintained a vast distance between them. Now, in a matter of moments, in a breath, with one syllable, that distance was breached and they were together.
“Dev,” he repeated, listening to it roll off his tongue.
She watched him lying there, with his eyes closed, saying her name and she smiled. This boy, this annoying, determined boy. This nosy, bothersome boy. This tall, lanky boy. This beautiful, intelligent boy. This warrior. This leader. Wyatt.
He was hers.
And she his.
Dev reached out and lightly touched his neck, tracing the trail of scars her magic had worked on his body. She felt him tense immediately, but that didn’t stop her from running her finger down his neck, along his shoulder and his arm, following scar tissue until she reached his unmarked hand. She interlaced her fingers with his, admiring the play of their skin tones against each other.
Book One: The Girl (The Sanctum) Page 13
