Benjamin leaned against the door, his arms folded. “You should not have gone down there without me,” he muttered again, glaring out from under his dark emo fringe. As usual, he looked too handsome to be real. Pretty much all djamphir boys do, except Leon. “Reynard is going to kill me.”
The torn-open spot inside me still felt empty. But I could deal. I shook my head, managed to focus again. “So we don’t tell him.” I turned my attention back to Shanks. “Did it work?”
The long dark wulfen shrugged. He was pale under his tan, and he looked like moving hurt. Apparently both Nat and I had nailed him pretty good. “Not anytime I ever heard of. Dad doesn’t talk about it much, except when he gets mad and he thinks the cubs are in bed.”
“I can’t hide this from Reynard.” Benjamin was talking like Shanks wasn’t even here. I guess coming out of his door to find Nat dragging me and Shanks, and Dibs dragging a newly-boy Broken into my room, blood all over me and my hands shaking, had not put him in a good mood. “He’ll kill me.”
I pushed the ice pack more firmly against my forehead. “He didn’t tell me the whole Council was going out this morning. Fair’s fair.” Looked back over at Shanks in the window, who had hunched his shoulders and was staring at me. “But there had to have been something, right? Some method? Or maybe we just lucked out. I don’t even know what we did.”
“What you did.” Shanks was having none of this “we” business. “You did that.”
“I don’t even know how.” I could guess, though. At least some. That pressure on the other end of the chain—that had probably been Sergej. His will.
His master’s call. I shivered. Had Ash been feeling that pull the whole damn time? Fighting it off?
No wonder he’d gone nuts every night. I would’ve, too.
Right now I had an uneasy idea that that cut on my head was Sergej’s doing, at whatever distance. That was nastily thought-provoking, not to mention nightmarish. I could’ve lost an eye or something. Plus, I’d hurt something inside me by pulling so hard. I wished everyone would shut up for a bit so I could probe at the big raw empty thing inside my head, figure out what was going on. It wasn’t like the time Christophe drank my blood, where the touch had fled me and the entire world had looked two-dimensional. This was more like . . . some covering I hadn’t even known was hanging over me had been ripped away just like a scab, and I was raw underneath it. The touch still echoed inside my head, but faint and far away, like it was in a much bigger room than it was used to.
Like before it had been showing me the inside of a bedroom, but now it was echoing inside a cathedral.
“Hey! Hey!” Nathalie almost yelled. “Calm down!”
I was off the bed in a heartbeat. Benjamin let out a blurting sound, but I got to the bathroom door before him, despite my legs shaking like they wanted to walk off in the opposite direction.
Ash was, of all things, crouching on the toilet, clutching the heavy blanket from his room around his shoulders. The red and yellow plaid cloth looked too bright to be real. Dibs was holding the blood-pressure cuff, and Nathalie was standing on the bath mat. There wasn’t room for anything else.
And they looked different, too. Like I was seeing them for the first time, every hair and tiny line, even the weave of Nat’s T-shirt and the fine thin threads of gold in Dibs’s hair. I could’ve counted all the hairs on his head, given enough time.
Ash’s mad, dark gaze locked on me. He was so white he was almost transparent. It was corpse pallor, and it did nothing for him. His hair hung down in greasy strings, and if not for the scarring running up the left side of his jaw, he probably would have been handsome in a raffish sort of way.
Now that he was human again, you could see just where the bullet’s silver grain had plowed into his flesh. Looked like I’d hit him off-center, but at least the skin wasn’t weeping a raw clear fluid anymore. There were just pockmarks and white stars of scarring, which probably meant the silver had been pushed free and the allergic reaction had stopped. Unless there was still silver buried in his jawbone. That was a real possibility.
It must’ve hurt like hell. I felt bad about it, even if he’d just bit Graves and would have killed us both at the time. Because he’d been under Sergej’s control.
But he wasn’t now. Or at least, I was betting he wasn’t. Hoping he wasn’t.
Dibs blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t think he understands.” He gave me what passed for a Significant Glance in his book, which meant he looked at my face for a whole half second before dropping his gaze. He didn’t blush, though. “We need to get him cleaned up and dressed. And feed him. The change takes energy, and if he has another session he could relapse.”
“Okay.” I could almost feel my tired, cotton-fogged brain click over to working. Everything else could wait while there were immediate problems in front of me. Maybe in a little while I could lay back down and go to sleep. That sounded awesomely good. “Nat, you think you could scare up some food? I’ll get Benjamin to find him some clothes. Or wait . . . some of Graves’s stuff is around. Dibs, just relax. Ash?”
He cocked his head, still watching me. Something about him reminded me of a feral cat, trapped and just waiting to see how everything would go down. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. The streak in his hair glowed, sun through the skylights drenching the entire white-tiled bathroom. Maybe it was the light making everything look so hyper-real.
“On it.” Nat squeezed past Dibs—who would have folded in on himself to make himself smaller if he could—and slipped past me.
“Be careful.” Benjamin now, fussing from behind me. “He’s dangerous, Milady.”
I snorted. Laid the ice pack down on the old-fashioned sink’s rim. “If he didn’t hurt me then, I don’t think he’s likely to now. See if you can find some of Graves’s clothes, or anything that’ll fit him, huh? Please, Benjamin.” I didn’t have to work to sound weary. The torn place inside me was beginning to hurt, like the novocaine on a tooth wearing off. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”
“You should really keep icing that—” Dibs piped up.
“It’s iced enough.” I eased into the bathroom. Ash stared at me. “Hey. Bet you’re pretty weirded out. It must feel strange to be smaller now, and not so furry.” The edges of the words slurred. My mouth wouldn’t work quite right.
“Dru.” Benjamin sounded queerly breathless, and he was suddenly at the bathroom door. “Milady—”
The bone-rattling growl that came out of Ash surprised everyone. Dibs squeaked, flattening himself against the tiled wall and a towel rack. Ash’s lip lifted, showing white teeth. A tinge of orange ran through his dark irises.
“Now stop that.” I tried to sound firm, but I only sounded tired enough to lay down and pass out. “He just wants to help. Cut it out.”
The growl cut off midway. The orange died in his eyes. Ash cocked his head. His lips moved soundlessly, as if he was trying to speak. The scarring made one half of his mouth a grotesque smile.
“It’ll help if you sit down.” I slid past Dibs, who tried flattening himself even further. I was close enough now to reach up and touch the blanket around Ash, wrapping it more securely. He was bareass underneath it, and I didn’t want to look. I’d be embarrassed, if I wasn’t so goddamn exhausted. My head was really starting to pound now, too, and that empty torn place was sending little daggers of sharp bright white through me. Especially my joints. I felt like I had what Gran always called “the rheumatiz.” “Look, we’re trying to help you. It’s all going to be okay.”
His lips moved again. I waited. His shoulders came up, and a hiss of air escaped him. It mutated into a word, one I knew.
“Sssssssvedosha.” His chin dipped. He nodded at me, his greasy hair falling over his face.
“That’s me. Your friendly neighborhood girl djamphir.” It felt odd to say it out loud. I made sure the blanket was wrapped nice and tight, and guided him down to sit on the toilet. Wished I could sit instead, told myself n
ot to be such a wuss. “I’m Dru. You’re Ash, right? Can you say that? Can you say your name?”
“Shhhhh.” Frustration turned his mouth into a downward curve. “Osh. Osh.”
My heart squeezed painfully down on itself, adding to all the other pain. But I put on a bright face. “Yep. Ash. Now look, Dibs has to take your blood pressure. I don’t know why, but he’s got a good reason.” I pulled the blanket aside, making sure it was bunched up securely at his waist but loosening it at his shoulder. “All right? Give me your arm.”
He did. He kept staring at me while Dibs messed around with the stethoscope and the blood-pressure cuff. Ash’s mouth worked silently, but at least we knew he could talk now. The light was starting to get glaring, and the inside of my head felt scoured clean. I swayed a little bit, but made my knees stiffen up each time.
“I don’t think he’ll regress,” Dibs finally said. He glanced at me, stopped, looked again. “Dru?”
“So he’s okay? He’s going to be okay?” I couldn’t believe it. For months I’d been looking forward to this. Now he was crouched on the toilet, thin and white and blinking furiously like a newborn. It had actually happened. Score one for the good guys, and all that. “Really okay?”
“He’s shifted back. That’s all I can say.” Dibs was looking at me now, steady and worried. “You don’t look so good. Let’s sit you down.”
It was a great plan, except for the most obvious flaw in it. My mouth felt funny, loose and awkward like it wasn’t really part of me. “There’s no place to sit.”
That was all I remember saying, because the white glare took over inside my head and I keeled right over. I’d’ve hit my head on the sink if Dibs hadn’t caught me, and the next few minutes are kind of confused. I could hear myself from a very long way away, saying I’m okay, I’m okay, over and over again, in a breathless funny little whisper. Benjamin, almost screaming. Ash growling. Dibs, his voice breaking as he cried out, miserably.
I came to about a minute later with my head in Dibs’s lap, lying over the bathroom threshold. He looked scared to death, his eyes wide and his mouth wetly open like a little kid’s during a horror movie. My teeth were chattering, and for a moment I couldn’t figure out why.
Then it occurred to me: I was cold. So cold. My body was leaden; I couldn’t even lift my arms. The torn-open spot inside me was getting bigger, and I suddenly understood it was a mouth, and it was going to swallow me whole. What the—
“Do you smell that?” Dibs whispered, and for a mad second I was thinking I’d puked or something when I passed out. But the taste in my mouth was blood, not acid bile. The copper in it whispered to me, and a shiver went through the center of my bones. I caught a breath of spice, but it wasn’t Christophe and it wasn’t Anna. It was the heavy aroma of cinnamon buns boiled down to its essence, and it was bubbling up from my skin in waves.
“I think I pulled something,” I whispered. Everything slurred inside my mouth, and the reality of what I’d done caught up with me.
Ash was human again. He was going to be okay. Great. Except something inside me was torn up now.
“No shit.” Dibs clicked over into “bandage it up” mode. “You need food and rest. I don’t—”
“He’s going to kill me,” Benjamin muttered darkly. “Just kill me.”
And right on cue, someone hammered at the door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leon’s eyebrows nested in his hairline. He’d just swept the door open and stalked in, pretty as you please. Seen in full sun, his hair became a mass of fine golden threads over a well of rich fine brown, not mouse-colored at all. “What the hell—” he began, and caught sight of Ash crouching by my feet, still cocooned in a blanket and the bathroom’s white-tile glare. “Gott im Himmel. That’s the Broken.”
Ash’s ruined lip lifted, but he didn’t snarl. He just went very still, looking up at Leon, muscles slowly tensing. Orange flashed in his eyes.
“What’s going—” Benjamin had his hand halfway to his shoulder holster.
“Milady.” Leon folded his arms, looking down at me. “I have executed your commission. Shall I report now, or when we have privacy?”
I lay there blinking for a few seconds. Nothing made any sense. “Um.”
“I rather think privacy would be a good thing. But it’s also something you’ll want to hear soon.” A significant pause. “Very soon.”
I am lying on the floor, Leon. Obviously this has not been a good day. “Uh-huh,” I managed.
“You have to smell that.” Dibs bent over me, his thumb peeling my right eyelid up. I wanted to shove his hand away—it was my eye, dammit—but I couldn’t muster up the moxie to move. “Right? Tell me I’m not the only one.”
“Oh yes. She’s cresting and will bloom soon, the primary changes have started.” Leon stared down at me. A curious expression drifted over his face, part bitterness, part something I couldn’t define. “What happened?”
Oh, so now he wanted to know what happened. “Ash,” I whispered, and the world turned into shutterclicks of light as my eyelids fluttered.
The werwulf boy crouching at my feet made a low, unhappy sound.
“Help me get her on the bed,” Dibs said, and the shutterclicks turned into a dozy bruised darkness.
* * *
I was pretty out of it for most of that day, and even now I can’t tell what I really saw and what was . . . well, fever dreams. Or nightmares, as my body struggled to cope.
The visions were odd—brightly colored fragments, each with their own static buzz around them, like and unlike what Gran called “true-seein’s.” Clear, so clear. Technicolor bright and sharp-crisp. They had weight. The touch echoed inside my head, showing me maybe-was, is, and will-be, like it was suddenly in a space much too big for it, spinning like a mad carnival ride through time.
Christophe, leaning against a tree in a shadowed clearing. His eyes turned blowtorch-blue as he watched, and the expression on his face was chilling. Because under the set grim look of a guy watching something distasteful, there was faint, scary amusement. He watched as the struggle took place, and when it was over, his smile was a ghost of itself.
“Just get it out of my sight,” he said, and their narrow white hands lifted the other boy, his long dark coat flapping as he struggled uselessly.
Blackness, cutting between the scenes like a knife blade.
The naked boy crouched in the stone cell, his fingertips resting against the weeping wall. He coughed, his ribs heaving, and the faint shine on his skin told me he was sweating in the damp. That wasn’t a good sign. He turned his head, sharply, as if he heard something, and I saw the flash of paleness at his temple.
His eyes fired green, and Graves sniffed suspiciously. That set off another round of coughing; he spat something into a corner of the cell. I lunged forward, trying to reach him.
Another knife blade, this one loaded with static. Chop.
The white bedroom was full of golden afternoon light, and there was a body on the bed, a mess of curled hair. Dibs paced, nervously watching the Broken. The mirror watched it all, a blind eye. I was inside the reflection, screaming and pounding my fists on its slick clearness, as Nathalie leaned over the too-still body and glanced up at Ash.
Who crouched next to the bed, staring at me inside the mirror with orange-flecked eyes, like he could hear me.
Chop.
Christophe knelt motionless at the head of the stairs, staring unblinking down a filthy, dusty hall. Beside him, Benjamin also crouched, his mouth moving. Explaining something. But instead, I looked at Christophe’s hands. They hung, flexing and releasing, like he was wishing he had someone’s neck in them. And I began to feel . . . odd. Not afraid, but like I was missing something.
Chop. More maybe-was and will-be, pouring into my head like they intended to stretch out my skull. Gran’s face, wise and wrinkled; Dad spinning in a field of daisies while I shrieked with laughter, his big capable hands under my arms and the entire world rotating around
us; Graves lighting a cigarette; Benjamin slumping against an alley wall and slowly going white as blood slid out of the hole in his shoulder; Augustine’s face a rictus of horror as he screamed, his arms stretched out; my mother’s face brighter than the sun, laughing as she tickled me . . .
One last image, slowing down and cramming its way into my overloaded head. It hurt, shoving its way past a confused jumble of memories and physical misery. My heart labored under the strain, climbing uphill in steady beats.
The long concrete hall stretched away into infinity. I saw him, walking in his particular way, each boot landing softly as he edged along, and the scream caught in my throat. Because it was my father, and he was heading for that door covered in chipped paint under the glare of the fluorescents, and he was going to die. I knew this and I couldn’t warn him, static fuzzing through the image and my teeth tingling as my jaw changed, crackling—
—and Christophe grabbed my father’s shoulder and dragged him back, away from the slowly opening door. The sound went through me, a hollow boom as the door hit the wall and concrete dust puffed out.
BANG.
“Bang,” someone whispered, and hot breath touched my cheek.
I shot straight up, clawing at the air and screaming. Ash went over backward in a flurry of pale limbs. Nat, dozing on the chair she’d pulled up, shrieked and jumped to her feet. The bathroom door flew open and Dibs leapt out, wild-eyed, his little black medibag in one hand and his narrow chest furred with wiry golden hair. He was stark naked, and most of him was wringing–wet. Lather stood up in his hair, and I heard the shower running as I gasped, trying to make my lungs work. The room looked strange, every angle askew and the light somehow wrong.
I choked on glassy air. Nathalie leaned over and whomped me on the back. The blow stung, but somehow, it worked. I sucked in sweet air, blinking as the touch turned around and settled inside my skull, nestling like a feathersoft bird.
A really big bird.
“Jesus,” I husked. “What the . . .” The light was all weird, and after a moment I realized why. It was dusk-gold, not the glare of noon, lying over the room like honey, which meant I’d been out for a while.
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