She shifted, two bites into gnawing her lip when she answered. “Asleep.” The poor woman couldn’t have sounded less casual if she’d tried.
“Asleep?” I said, pausing my knife mid-slice. “The last time I remember William sleeping was…” My face scrunched in concentration. “Never. I don’t remember the last time he slept. In fact, I’m not even sure William Hayward is capable of sleep.” Chosen One duties have a way of eating into a man’s personal time.
To complement the lip biting, Bryn flushed crimson.
“Bryn, Bryn, Bryn.” I clucked my tongue, taking immense pleasure in her discomfort. “What have you been doing to my big brother that he would require nothing short of the recuperative qualities of sleep to restore himself?”
She rushed to the sink, distracting herself with washing a spotless faucet head. She was either pretending she hadn’t heard my question or was ignoring it.
“You fox, you,” I said, whistling through my teeth.
“Grow up, Patrick,” she said, flicking a few droplets of water at my face.
“I tried it once. Wasn’t really my thing.”
“Then why don’t you keep that large mouth of yours clamped shut?” she said, sliding the second plate behind the one I was two bites away from clearing.
“I didn’t even need to try that to know keeping my mouth clamped shut wasn’t my thing.”
She sighed. I received a lot of sighs throughout the course of a day. “You are exasperating.”
I met her eyes. “Ditto that, Mrs. Hayward.”
That had her squirming again. Not because she wanted me or I wanted her anymore, but because we had history. Well, for my part, we had history. Histories have a way of tainting your present, no matter how fully you heal from them.
“How’s jail?” she asked, smiling devilishly. “Meet any nice single guys in the shower room?”
I nearly choked on my food. “Is it just me, or have you become an exceptional smartass since joining this family?” I asked, pointing my fork at where she stood smirking at me.
“What can I say? I learned from the best,” she said, tying her hair into a high ponytail. “My former strength instructor wasn’t only a master of martial arts, but a master in the art of smartass.”
“Now that sounds like a fine specimen of a man,” I said, digging into the second plate and taking no hostages.
Bryn made a sound of acknowledgement, but not one of agreement. Would it kill her to admit I was a pretty decent guy? I was no William, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I wasn’t some derelict tube sock.
“Who’s been training the newbies while I’ve been busy fraternizing with the Mortals?” I used to cringe over that phrase, but that was before “fraternizing with the Mortals” included talking, touching, embracing, kissing, and every other “ing” with Emma Scarlett.
“Some guy based out of north Idaho,” she answered, lifting a shoulder. “I haven’t met him.”
“Well, even if he lacked the badass strength instructor, I’ll-rip-your-arms-off-and-beat-you-with-the-bloody-stumps aura, him being from north Idaho should be enough to intimidate any newbie.”
“Ready for thirds?” she asked, a clean plate and a scoop of potatoes at the ready.
“Is there dessert?”
“Of course.”
“Then, nah. I’m good,” I said, demolishing the last chunk of steak. “So, did you get your cap and gown for graduating from talent training? Things were a wee bit accelerated with you and things since have been a little hectic. Plus,” I said with a lazy shrug, “I doubt anyone wants to piss you off given you could kill them with one touch.”
Bryn was a Taker, as in a taker of life. Practically unheard of amongst our kind and the strength of her gift was unparalleled. I was probably the only instructor who was brave, or dumb some might argue, enough to take her on as my pupil. But where a gift of her substance was involved, I preferred that she was with me rather than against me.
“I guess so,” she answered, cutting a deep dish apple pie in half. “Your dad’s actually been working with me lately.”
Bryn was a solid bluffer, about a hundred times better than Emma, but about a million times worse than I was. She might be trying with all her might to keep the apprehension from her voice and face, but she wasn’t fooling me for one sly second.
“Chancellor Charles Hayward has been filling talent instructor shoes? Giving private lessons?” It didn’t add up to me, but I knew father had already solved the equation. He was meticulous with his time and where he expended his efforts—Bryn had become of some value to him, outside of being a daughter-in-law.
The realization should have been less concerning than it was.
“I suppose that’s what you could say,” she said, focusing her attention on balancing half the pie on a spatula as she flopped it on the plate. “Although there are no guidebooks we’re consulting for our lessons. It’s more of a speculate as we go and test our theories by trial and error.”
She slid the slab of pie in front of me, continuing to look everywhere but in my general direction. This act might have worked on William, but it didn’t stand a chance against my BS detector.
“Vagueness doesn’t become you, Mrs. Hayward,” I said, shifting in my seat until I caught her line of sight. She was seven shades of disturbed.
“Yeah, and letting a girl brush something under the rug might become you if you gave it a chance once an eternity.” Her eyes flicked northwards.
“I doubt it,” I said, diving into the pie as Bryn scooped half a gallon of French vanilla ice cream on it. “I’m one of those people who like the truth.”
“Good for you,” she grumbled, retrieving her cup of coffee and leaning across the counter from me.
“So,” I said, arching a brow, “what has the good Chancellor been trial and erroring with the most gifted Taker in known existence?”
“Stop being so dramatic,” she said, taking a slow sip of her coffee.
“Start telling the truth.”
She sighed, the exasperated kind. “I’m assuming you’ve heard of the Reversal Project?”
That was a truth of Immortal history I’d been happy to keep swept under the rug.
“If you’re talking about a certain low point in Immortal history where a bunch of nut-jobs thought they could transition an Immortal back into a Mortal, then yeah, I’ve heard of it,” I said, scowling into my pie. “But I’d prefer not to take a stroll down that memory lane and I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it.”
“Good,” Bryn said all matter-of-fact, “neither do I, so…moving on to the next topic?”
If I wasn’t already convinced, women were infuriating creatures.
“How the hell does the Reversal Project have anything to do with what my father and you are doing?” I said, for the first time in a long time losing my appetite. “Because it better have nothing to do with it. The RP was like the dark ages of our kind and I’m not about to revisit that.”
“Down, boy,” she said, leaning away from me like my outburst had surprised her. “Just take a few calming breaths and keep the beast caged, all right?” She paused, giving me the opportunity to breathe, argue, or punch a hole through the wall, I didn’t know. “We’ve done nothing more dangerous than talking.”
My eyes narrowed. “Genocides start by talking.”
“Again with the drama,” she mumbled into her cup.
“Dozens of Immortal lives lost warrants drama if anything does,” I argued back, not sure why I was taking my anger out on Bryn. Maybe because I knew she could take it and return the favor, or maybe because I’d done everything a man could to repress this memory into the cobwebbed corner of my memory attic.
It’d started with a question, a hundred and some odd years back. What if we could phase an Immortal into a Mortal as we could a Mortal to an Immortal? I don’t recall there being a reason for wanting to try, other than our egos and general worldview that we were capable of anything. The sa
me teams that were skilled in the art of Immortal creation were called together, and the experiments commenced. There were more than enough volunteers at the start. Men and women eternity weary from the centuries-long fight, those outsiders that never took to Immortality for one reason or another, good friends who saw it as the ultimate adventure…
And ended up paying with their lives. All of them. Every last one.
“Stop looking at me like that, Patrick,” Bryn scolded in a small voice.
“How’s that?” I asked, shoving the pie aside and staring at her. “Like you’re a potential mass murderer?”
Her face flashed red, but not the embarrassed kind, the I’m-so-pissed-I’m-going-to-kill-you-with-my-words kind.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again,” she said, her jaw clenched. “I’ve had more than enough opportunities to make myself a mass murderer and have restrained myself, even when I knew restraining my gift would mean Guardians would lose their lives.” Her eyes flashed with reminders, not that I needed them to. “Nothing your father, the Council, or the whole damn Immortal world could say, do, or bribe me with could turn me into a merciless killer, you got that?” She stood taller, glaring down at me in my seat. You would have guessed I was sitting on a stool of stinging scorpions from the way I wanted to squirm. “Although I might make a special exception for you if you continue to point the killer finger in my direction.”
I took a chug of root beer to clear my throat. “Turn the anger waves down a few stations,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean for that to sound the way it did, Bryn. I know what you’re made of just as much as I know what you’re capable of. I know you’d never intentionally hurt anyone. But there are ancient, sly Immortals who have mastered the art of deception and bending others to their ways.”
She huffed. “I’ve never been a girl who bends easily to others.”
I wanted to shout, “Understatement!” but refrained.
“I know, you’re right,” I said, caving. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to be a dick about this, but I lost a close friend to the Reversal Project and it’s something I’m determined to never let happen again.”
“Yeah, William mentioned you lost a fellow strength instructor,” she said, laying her hand over mine. The quivering stilled instantly—a women’s touch was the ultimate calming salve. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t let anything like that ever happen again.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I exhaled. “I’ll quit acting like a sensitive schmuck so you can tell me what, exactly, father and you have discussed.”
Her eyes flicked to the stairs, like she wished William would make his way down them right now to save her. “Charles harbors a lot of guilt for all those lives lost,” she said, ambling over to the nearly empty pot of coffee. “I mean, he’s never said that, in so many words, but it’s there in his face whenever we talk about the Reversal Project and what went wrong.” She upended the pot, emptying the last of it into her cup.
Caffeine wasn’t only an addiction for Bryn, it was a coping mechanism.
“So he regrets it, feels bad that dozens of our kind were eradicated on his watch, how cathartic,” I said, reminding myself why I was a fan of these kinds of memories staying repressed. “Then why in the hell is he revisiting the topic with you, Miss Walking Death?”
Bryn’s face crumbled. And she was a strong girl, not the kind that was devastated because she’d chipped a nail. I was reminded, yet again, why I was an ass.
“Damn it,” I cursed, running my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry. That was a crap thing to say.”
She waved her hand, running the other arm over her face. “It’s—”
“No, it’s not all right,” I said, having completed enough rodeos with Bryn to know her M.O. She was hurting, but trying to keep it suppressed. “You couldn’t control what gift the universe bestowed upon you, and you weren’t around the horror that was the Reversal Project.”
She ran another arm over her eyes, turning away from me and busying herself with putting the leftovers back in the fridge. She was still hurting thanks to my latest display of insensitivity at its finest.
I didn’t have a way with words like William to dig myself out of this crap hole I’d buried myself in, but I was acutely aware that, sometimes, a solid hug took the place of a million lines of poetry.
“Come here,” I said, shoving out of my stool and walking over to her. “Let’s hug it out.”
I didn’t wait for a response—I just wrapped her in my arms and pulled her tight against my chest. It was intimate—as any touch was—but it didn’t ignite a fire in my stomach that spread to every nerve in my body. I’d loved Bryn, no doubt about it, and I still did, but not in that way. I loved another woman in that way., I could now be close to Bryn without feeling an ache in my chest that threatened to tear me apart.
“I know you’re good, nothing but good,” I whispered into her dark hair. She still smelled like Bryn, but the undertone of William was there too. He clung to her everywhere she went, as it should be with the two of them. As I hoped it would be with Emma and me. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone. Just chin up, okay?” I leaned back, lifting her chin so I could look her in the eyes. “I know Father wouldn’t do anything intentional to hurt anyone either, but he’s tainted by politics and democracy. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Just say no.”
Her mouth broke into a smile. All would be right again. “You know, my parents gave me the ‘just say no’ talk about ten years ago, but thanks for the refresher course.”
“That was pathetic, Hayward,” I said, making a face. “The entire world of comebacks at your disposal and that’s what you throw at me? I’m disappointed.”
“Sorry. My study of comebacks has been lacking as of late. I’ve been a little busy.”
I felt the corners of my mouth curl. “I bet you have, newlywed.”
My inflection wasn’t missed, as the screaming red color of her face attested to.
“What have you and Mr. Chancellor been discussing about reversal?” I asked, back to the point at hand.
She lifted a shoulder, her face recomposing. “He thinks that someone like me, with the gift I have,”—she swallowed, looking down—”I’d be more in tune to the subject’s body—their life force. Better able to recognize when they were passing from Mortality to death.”
I forced myself to reply, although my insides were twisting speech right out of me. “You do realize that instance, passing between Mortality and death, is a line so thin it’s all but invisible, right? It’s not like the transition from Immortality to Mortality, and Mortality to death, is identical. The first part takes a great deal of focus, energy, and time. The second part,” I took in a breath, although I needed it for nothing more than courage, “one fraction of a second longer than necessary and you kill the subject,” I repeated her words; well, my father’s words. The Immortals whose deaths I’d witnessed weren’t subjects; they were brothers and sisters who hadn’t deserved the fate that’d befallen them.
“I know, Patrick,” she said in a small voice. “I know. I’m positive I’m too new and uncertain of my gift to be able to keep from killing someone at the first touch when I’m buzzing. However, Charles thinks that, unlike the teams we use to create and, once upon an evil time, used to reverse an Immortal, one person would be able to better sense that line between Mortality and death than a group.”
“Yeah, and if you kill someone, there’re no other members of a team to share the blame with either,” I huffed. “Come on, this is crazy talk, Bryn.”
“You’re right, it is,” she said, giving me a look that I’d seen dozens of times from her—a drop it, Patrick face. “Besides, this is all just theory and speculation. Charles has not once mentioned putting words to action, nor would I agree to it if he did ask. So take a chill and be nice.”
I grinned. I liked this Bryn, the spunky, don’t-mess-with-me one. “Does Wi
lliam know?”
“Of course he does.”
“Of course I do what?” an all too familiar voice asked before he rounded the corner into the kitchen. Taking an exaggerated look at the two of us, William said, “Nice to see you hugging my wife.”
I pulled back, but only because our embrace had come to an end; there was no threat in William’s voice.
“I had a bout of verbal diarrhea and she was in the way,” I said, clapping his shoulder in passing as I headed back to my pie. My appetite had returned now that reversal was back where it should be—in a jar with a tightly sealed lid.
“How many times will I have to tell you,” he said, running the backside of his hand down Bryn’s face as he stopped in front of me. “Use this,”—his index finger drilled into my temple—”before you use this,” he finished, staring at my mouth.
I cracked a dry smile before shoveling a heaping forkful of pie into my mouth. “Considering you’ve told me that at least once a day for the past two centuries,” I said, my words muffled from my mouthful, “I’d say I’m a lost cause. I’d consider my verbal diarrhea chronic.”
William shoved off the counter and back from the lost cause and mouthed, “So would I,” over to Bryn.
“I can read lips you know,” I said, flicking a piece of crust at his bed mussed hair.
Catching the chunk of flaky pastry, he glanced back at me. His damn eyes were all but twinkling. “I know.”
“Not you too,” I grumbled, stabbing the pie with my fork. “I’m already a man on the verge, incarcerated and surrounded by felons that think itching, spitting, and one syllable cuss words are the height of civilization, I haven’t been able to touch my girl in months despite seeing—”
“Spying,” Bryn inserted, grinning like a fox.
I continued my rampage with a glare aimed her way, “despite seeing her every night, and then every night when I finally get a reprieve from prison life, I have to dodge and deflect insults from Breathes Fire and Farts Sunshine.” Nathanial would have been pissed and Joseph would have laughed had they been here to hear their latest nicknames. “I don’t need to be on my guard with you too, brother.”
Fusion (The Patrick Chronicles) Page 3
