by Rob Thurman
The painter was now asleep in one of Promise’s spare bedrooms. Robin was hosting something large and loud, from the shouting Cal had to do to be heard over the phone, so he was most likely safe. At least in the respect that by the time the Auphe killed all the partygoers he’d be long gone. Georgina had her wolves and her anonymity, thanks to Cal’s refusal to see her. It was all we had and all we could do.
We gave Promise’s wolves the night off, and as they left, I had thought that we couldn’t live this way. Not for long. Trying to encase every second of our daily lives in safety glass. You could see through it, see everyone else walking, breathing, living, but you couldn’t live yourself. You were caught like a fly in amber. It wasn’t a life; it was an existence. And that wasn’t much of a substitute. Even when Cal and I had been on the run for three years, it hadn’t been like this. We knew the Auphe were after us, but we didn’t know why they were, other than Cal having their blood. We knew it would be a bad thing if they caught us, but we didn’t know how bad . . . not until they finally did.
We’d thought that they didn’t know where we were most of the time. Thought we’d lost them time and time again. I didn’t know if that was true. I did know no matter where we went they eventually found us, but they were only biding their time. All along they had been waiting for Cal to mature physically, to be able to build the giant gate they needed and travel, as he called it. And so they had trailed us from place to place, and when they finally actually did want Cal they simply reached out and took him. That easily.
I couldn’t imagine underestimating the Auphe, but I had. And because I had, we had lives, Cal and I. That delusion had let us breathe. We had watched over our shoulders, given fake names, practiced the martial art of staying alive daily, stayed ghosts to everyone we came into contact with, but we had still lived. We hadn’t hunched under the knowledge that every second could have been the killing one.
Faith; it could support a life if you had it. It was the undoing of one if you didn’t.
I always had faith that things would end up as they should. We would escape the Auphe. When that didn’t happen, I had faith I’d get Cal back, because I literally couldn’t accept anything else. He was my responsibility. My brother. They hadn’t taken him, I had lost him. Twice in my life I had lost him.
I’d forced myself to believe I would get him back. There could be no doubt. I would get him back.
Faith again.
And I had gotten him back. But in the process, I had learned something. I had my eyes opened. I’d seen the Auphe up close. I’d seen what had happened to the people around them, people the Auphe cared nothing about one way or the other. They died. They died very easily—killed by something that barely knew they were alive to begin with.
And the Auphe knew we were alive. Like the eye of God, their sight was on us. Inescapable.
They hated Cal with all the passion of a betrayed race. They knew Robin and I had taken Cal away from them. Promise was simply swept up in the murderous wake. No matter how we’d gotten there, we were all under the eye.
And now I thought there might be something far worse. I suspected, but . . . no, I was wrong. I had to be. Even an uncaring universe wouldn’t allow that. Death, yes, but not that.
“Niko?”
I’d closed my eyes as I told Promise what had happened on the beach. And when I’d stopped talking I left them shut, just for a moment. A denial of the tightening noose. Something I rarely allowed myself. I opened them now and looked up at her. Large eyes, skin a little too pale, a mouth a little too wide, and eyebrows that winged upward like a bird in flight. It was an imperfect beauty and all the more beautiful for it. She put the multitude of pearls to shame.
“Niko?” she said again, cupping my face with her hands.
I took one of her hands, kissed the palm, and gave her the truth.
“We are fucked.”
She laughed, showing the small pointed incisors of a predator in her own right. “It seems you weren’t the only teacher over the years. Cal taught you something as well.”
He had. He’d taught me many things, but first and foremost, he’d taught me that faith. Sophia never would have. Cal had given me a reason to have faith. How would I honor my teacher if I deserted that faith now?
“But Cal says we’ll get through it.” I kissed her hand again, this time lightly nipping the skin at the base of her thumb. Without Cal I wouldn’t have faith. I wouldn’t be the man I was today.
I wouldn’t have this.
The night haze swam across her eyes again, this time for a different reason. “And what do you say?” she asked as her finger lazily traced the line of my jaw.
“I have faith,” I said simply.
And in Cal, I did.
Of course, the next day the cause of all that faith was trying to kill me before the Auphe had their chance. The morning sun drifted through the tinted windows as, after my shower, I padded into the kitchen, dressed in one of the pair of sweatpants I kept at Promise’s. Leaning over Cal’s shoulder as he stirred, I frowned at the bumpy kaleidoscope of red, yellow, and pale brown in the bowl. “What could you possibly be concocting there, Dr. Frankenstein?”
“Chocolate, cherry, banana pancakes. Want some?” He pulled the spoon out and licked it.
“Very hygienic.” I nodded at the sink. “I can explain the use of the tap again for you if you like.”
“Like the doctor takes advice from Igor,” he snorted. He yawned and licked the spoon again. “You want some or not?”
“I think one bite might lodge in an artery and stop my heart,” I said truthfully.
“Worse ways to go,” he pointed out with a dark grin as he poured the batter on the griddle. “We were nearly eaten by vengeful sushi last night. Live a little.” He boosted himself up and sat on the counter. “How are the ribs? They don’t look too bad.”
I pulled on the black shirt that I’d been carrying in my hand and replied, “Bruising. Nothing more.” He was moving with only a little stiffness, and I knew his back was no worse. He’d showered not long before I had. I could tell by the still-wet black hair and the water spots on the T-shirt that I’d lent him last night. The sopping washcloth half covering the drain, the toppled shampoo bottles, and the towels on the floor had been a clue as well.
He gave another grin, this one not as dark. “I was going to ask if she was gentle with you, but I think I’ll sit here and smirk instead.”
“You’re a gentleman without compare.” I went to the refrigerator, saying over my shoulder, “Your pancakes are burning.”
There was a curse, a thud of feet on the floor, and the smell of singed batter. By the time I sat at the table with my juice and yogurt-granola mix, he had a plate of half-runny, half-burnt pancakes and was squirting syrup over them. The typical feeding habits of the Cal Leandros in his natural habitat. I was long used to them.
“No Promise?” He took a sticky, dripping bite. “I made enough for her.”
“So you plan to poison her and leave me a celibate and lost soul. Cunning.” I dipped a spoon in the bowl. “She’s sleeping in. Centuries of habit are hard to break.” I studied the yogurt before me, then made a decision. Cal was right. I should live a little. “I’ll take some after all.”
“You’re shitting me. Really?” He slid the plate closer. “Help yourself.”
I reached over with the spoon, carved off a piece, and took a bite. I chewed, swallowed, and made the best decision of my life. I went back to my yogurt. We ate in companionable silence. Cal was not a morning person. I was surprised he was as coherent as he was this one. When I finished, I pushed the bowl away and looked at him. This time I wasn’t looking at wet hair and shirt or the casual slouch as he chased the last bite of pancake around the plate with his fork. I was looking past that—past the still-sleepy gray eyes to where Cal could be his own worst enemy. The place where he stuffed all his fears, his misplaced guilt, his anger . . . his rage. Hid them away. Tried his very best to forget about them. I
looked there for the beach we had stood on last night.
I didn’t find it.
“So, then.” I tapped my spoon on his plate to get his attention. “We’re going to be all right, are we?”
“Yep,” he said agreeably, giving up on that remaining bit of pancake.
“And if we’re not?” I wouldn’t give up my faith, but it had to be factored in with reality. Believe, but be ready.
“Then we take those bitches with us.” The eyes weren’t sleepy anymore. They’d gone from drowsy to dark, savage, and ruthless.
“There’s my brother.” My lips twitched. “I was afraid you’d taken all my Zen.”
“Like I’d want it,” he retorted. “Jesus. I’d need a pack mule for all the granola.”
“I am stunned with your witty riposte. Give me a moment to recover.” I took another spoonful of yogurt that I didn’t particularly want, but my body required. I needed to ask Cal something, and it was a memory that wasn’t going to do much for either of our appetites, which is why I’d waited until he was finished with his pancakes. Pushing the almost-empty bowl and spoon away, I asked, “The Auphe you killed last year, the one that attacked us on the way back from Florida”—when George had been kidnapped and we’d needed help from a Rom clan to obtain her ransom—“was it a male or female?”
For a second, his eyes went blank. Completely. For a moment Cal was gone. I reached over and squeezed his wrist hard and said his name as forcefully as if we were in the midst of a battle—which, for all intents and purposes, we were. I was about to repeat his name when he blinked. “Sorry.” I let his wrist go and he used both hands to scrub at his face. “Yeah . . . Florida. I was a little . . . distracted.” “Distracted” was Cal’s way of saying “walking a very fine line between sanity and the alternative.” “Shit.” He shook his head. “I don’t remember. Male, I think.” His pupils dilated and I could see the past sucking him down. The Auphe trying to drag me through a gate to Tumulus. Cal all but disintegrating its head with the entire clip of his gun while the door to hell stood hungry and open only feet away.
Enough. I’d needed to know, but I wouldn’t make him see anymore. He’d seen too much already. I took his plate and promptly pushed it into his stomach. “Enough ancient history. Cleanup time.”
He was slower to come back this time, but he did come, grumbled, glared, and cleared the table. What he didn’t do was ask me why I’d wanted to know. He may not have remembered my even asking, or he may not have wanted to know the reason. Either way . . . I was grateful. Because I still could be wrong.
Let me be wrong.
Forty minutes later, the wolves were at the door, literally. I left Promise with a kiss to her bare shoulder, and we were gone. Outside, the sky was blue for the first time in days. With the sun the day felt warmer than it really was. Cal didn’t seem to notice. He kept sliding a glance at me from the corner of his eye as we went down the stairs. It was a look both alternately worried and confused. Finally, I said with mild exasperation, “Enough. I feel like the last movie I forced you to watch that had subtitles. What is it?”
He didn’t snipe back in our usual give-and-take of his cultural, scholastic, or martial arts lack. We had just passed through the front entrance to Promise’s building and taken a few steps when he shook his head, growled, grabbed two handfuls of my coat and shoved me up against the stone facade of the building. Then he pressed his nose to my neck and jaw and smelled me. I ignored the looks of the people jostling by. I knew my brother. He did some odd things, but he always had a reason . . . maybe not a safe reason or a particularly good reason, but he always had a purpose of some sort.
“I think you may be spending too much time with either Delilah or Robin,” I said equably.
He didn’t react to the humor. Letting go of me, he backed up. “Jesus, Cyrano.” He seemed both disgusted and angry. “You smell like him. You smell like that goddamn Seamus.”
Seamus, who, although I had spent time with him in his loft and later at the art show, I would’ve showered away his scent at least three times by now. The last shower was this morning before we left, but it hadn’t been the last thing I’d done before leaving the apartment. I’d kissed Promise’s bare skin in good-bye. I hadn’t asked where she’d been when Cal and I had been fighting a giant eel. We hardly kept track of each other’s every movement. She very well could’ve met Seamus to further discuss his case. It would’ve been a professional courtesy.
But she hadn’t mentioned it.
Considering that we’d decided last night that everything was to be put on hold until the Auphe were dealt with, it skirted along the border of suspicious. If it had been anyone but Promise, it would’ve been far beyond the border and seeking, no doubt Cal would say, a fake green card. But this was Promise. She and Seamus were old friends, old companions. I had no reason to think “old” had changed to “current” or that she was keeping anything from me. I had never seen anything like that in her. And being suspicious of her now would only taint everything we had. I wouldn’t do that—no matter what Sophia had taught me all her life: that everyone lies. Everyone deceives. Cal didn’t—not unless it was to save my life; then he would lie like the proverbial dog. But otherwise, Cal wouldn’t deceive me.
Neither would Promise. If I believed she would, then I let Sophia win.
“I didn’t catch it last night. I just went flying past her to the guest room while telling Robin to watch his ass. I wasn’t paying attention. What the hell is wrong with me? You should kick my ass for it. I actually deserve it this time.” He moved back away from the sidewalk, toward me, and leaned against the wall next to me. “I’m sorry,” he said, his mouth twisted.
In all his life I think I was the only one Cal had said that word to, and he said it more often than our acquaintances might think. He didn’t need to now, although I don’t think he himself knew why he said it: for not noticing last night or for noticing this morning.
“It’s Promise, little brother. He’s a part of her past. I wouldn’t tell her who she could or couldn’t see, no more than she would tell me.”
He straightened as the wind carried a candy bar wrapper across his boot, snagged it there, and then took it on down the street. “She told you, then?” he asked, relieved. “Told you they met?”
“No.”
The relief in his eyes transmuted to suspicion so quickly that there wasn’t a split second between of thought. He didn’t say anything, but then again he didn’t have to. I knew that expression, borne of our mother years ago, and I knew my brother. He didn’t trust Promise to tell the truth about Seamus, and he didn’t want to hurt me by saying so.
I took his shoulder and pulled him away from the building and into motion. “This is Promise, Cal. In the past year there were several occasions she could’ve died because of us or we could’ve died if she hadn’t helped us. Don’t be this way.”
“What way?” he demanded.
“Yourself.” I gave him my customary affectionate tug on his ponytail. “And whatever you do, please don’t sniff her like a wayward dog when we get back. She might not be as understanding as I am.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right. It is Promise.” It sounded much more dubious when he said it, but it was an effort, a considerable one for him, and I appreciated it as such. “Although you didn’t see the look Seamus gave you when we left his loft.”
“I saw it.” He’d been sizing me up. Let him. “But we don’t have to trust him, only Promise. And she’s not given us reason not to.”
He frowned, but let it go for now. Checking his watch, he said, “You know, we have enough time before your first class to go to Central Park.”
“And why would you want to do that?” I asked dryly. “I would want to run or practice, but why would you want to go?”
“More revenants.”
“Revenants?” Not that there were as many as you’d think in Central Park. Boggle and her brood ate most of them. But the revenants couldn’t help themselves. The draw
of all those people running, walking, Rollerblading, all those people just begging to be dragged into the trees and devoured—it was too much temptation for them. They kept going, and occasionally they did get a runner here and there, but mainly they were the equivalent of Meals on Wheels for Boggle and her children, who were faster and more predatory than a hundred revenants.
“Yeah. Spearguns, giant eels, the Auphe. I think we need to kick some ass just to prove we’re badder than somebody in this city. In the past two days even an old lady with a walker could’ve taken our asses down,” he grumbled in disgust.
“Exaggeration served up with a fine whine. Entertaining as always. And we don’t have a time issue. I called the university yesterday and told them I was taking leave. Family emergency.”
“And if this doesn’t count as an emergency . . .” He shook his head and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. I’d never been able to break him of that, to always have your hands free, just in case. As often as I’d swatted the back of his head or pinched a nerve cluster, he just couldn’t remember. You have to pick your battles, and I’d realized years ago Cal was most certainly his own person. He wasn’t me, couldn’t be me.
I have a bigger sword.
We took the subway to the Ninth Circle, where Cal was going to tell Ishiah he needed a little time off as well. Right now we needed to focus on our situation and nothing but that. Seamus would get the same speech from Promise. This one I knew about, at least. It was a petty thought and I pushed it away. Yes, Seamus would have to deal with his mystery stalker himself. Normally, we kept working, regardless of the situation. The world didn’t stop because this or that was trying to kill you. That happened too frequently in our lives. You had to work or you would be on the streets and starving in no time. This . . . this was an exception. I knew it the minute that gate had opened on the beach and those nightmare monsters had come boiling out to kill what Cal and I couldn’t. And they had done it in less than thirty seconds.
