by Kelly Meding
Phin landed just outside, on the narrow strip of concrete and metal that served as a balcony. It was empty of furniture or personal items—the view wasn’t much, so I can’t imagine she’d spent much time outdoors.
He let me go and stepped backward, breaking our contact. My skin felt cool and raw, like I’d stripped off a warm angora sweater on a chilly fall day, only to realize I wore nothing but a tank top.
“Thanks for the lift,” I said.
“My pleasure.”
No doubt.
He grinned. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and leapt from the balcony in a rush of air.
His back-breeze ruffled my hair and pushed around the curtains just inside the broken door frame. I put the cross back on, then stepped closer, drumming up the courage to step inside. A slab of jagged glass was stuck to the bottom of the frame like a line of teeth, sharp and knee-high. Bloodstains on the carpet had dried to black. The candlestick still lay on its side. Broken glass littered the interior.
Alex had handled himself well during that scuffle, with two other Hunters intent on my arrest. From start to finish, he’d held it together better than I expected.
My stomach knotted; I balled my hands to keep them from shaking. I was going back into that apartment. No, into our apartment. With Chalice firmly floating around in my psyche, I had no idea how I’d feel when I went inside.
I raised one leg and tucked it through the opening. Glass crunched beneath my sneaker. I drew my upper body through, mindful of the protruding glass waiting to shred my skin, pivoted, and then brought my other leg through. It left me facing the broken door, my back to her old life, but it didn’t block out the scents.
Scents I’d identified the last time—stale beer, cleaning products, a vanilla musk that might have been a candle—were not diminished by two days of airing out. The air was warm and humid, like a cellar. Just shy of ripe, and the unemptied trash can was surely to blame.
Another rush of wind preceded Wyatt and Phin’s arrival. Wyatt locked his gaze with mine, his eyes wide and cheeks a little pale. He must have seen something in mine, because his expression softened. Concern overtook his own discomfort.
“Evy? You okay?” he asked.
“Yep,” I said. Liar.
“Liar.”
Phin stepped sideways, just behind Wyatt’s right shoulder. Amazingly, his wings had vanished. Not just tucked down low but completely gone. My day was getting more and more surreal. “Is she all right?” he asked.
“Just give her a minute,” Wyatt said.
“To do what?”
“I don’t need a minute,” I said, more confidence in my voice than in my heart. I turned, took three steps deeper into the apartment, and fell to my knees. Glass pricked through the fabric of my jeans. I gasped. My vision blurred as images and odors and sensations assaulted my senses, each one building on the last.
Sitting on the sofa and eating chips; watching television and laughing at stupid sitcoms; perched at the kitchen counter with soda and textbooks; heaving those texts across the room in frustration; sobbing on the floor, exhausted and confused; drawing a hot bath while prying a blade from a disposable razor. Greasy food and red wine and blood and flowery perfume and spicy aftershave, and dozens of other odors that were imprinted in Chalice’s memory. All of the things her body had experienced in that apartment, including her violent death, blending together into a potent memory cocktail.
I shuddered. Sharp pain stabbed behind my eyes. Everything seemed to dissolve as I flew apart. The carpet beneath me changed consistency. Nearby, someone shouted.
The sense of movement ceased. I opened my eyes and stared at a white-painted dresser drawer. Above it, a jewelry box and mirror. Chalice’s room. I’d accidentally teleported fifteen feet into her bedroom. Shit.
“Evy?”
Still on my knees, I twisted my upper body toward the door. Wyatt and Phin watched me from the doorway, each man wearing an identical expression of concern. Phin’s was colored with shock, since I’d just winked out of existence for a split second.
“Wow,” Phin said. “That’s a neat trick.”
“It was kind of an accident,” I said. “I got overwhelmed.”
Wyatt moved forward and crouched in front of me. Warm hands cupped my cheeks, held my eyes level with his. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I think so. It was just a sudden rush of sensations.” I forced a playful smile. “Let’s hope I don’t do that every time I go someplace she frequented, or I may end up teleporting my ass into a solid wall.”
“Not funny.”
“Actually,” Phin said, “it is when you conjure up the correct mental image.”
Wyatt’s mouth fell open. His expression made me laugh out loud. I grabbed his wrists and squeezed. “I’m fine,” I said. “Swear.”
He recovered. Quirked an eyebrow at me. “You swear enough for both of us.”
“Smartass.”
“I thought I was a jackass.”
“Any sort of ass is fair game.”
“Whose apartment is this?” Phin asked loudly. An effective off-switch on the banter.
“Mine, I guess,” I said. Wyatt offered his hand; I let him pull me to my feet.
“You guess? Are we trespassing or not?”
“Not. Did you hear the rumor that I died and rose again, hence not looking like my old self?” He nodded. “Well, this apartment belongs to the woman you’re staring at, and to her dead roommate, so by default, it’s mine.”
Phin looked around, his head turning in jerky moves—just like a bird. “How’d the roommate die?”
My heart skipped a beat. “I killed him.”
“Evy—” Wyatt started.
“What?” I snapped. “I pulled the trigger, didn’t I?”
“Alex was dead long before you shot him. He was helping you because he wanted to. You didn’t force him.”
I retreated to the other side of the bedroom. As alien as the white and pink décor had seemed the first time, I found an odd comfort in it now. Peace and a connection to childhood. Girlishness I’d never known during my own violent youth.
“Am I missing some important backstory here?” Phin asked.
“Yes,” Wyatt said, at the same time I said, “No.”
Phin rolled his eyes. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
“Look, Phin,” I said, “you sought us out for a reason. What do you want?”
“It can wait.”
“For what, exactly?”
“A shower. No offense, but you both stink.”
We did. After smelling it for the last few hours, it was an odor I had largely ignored. Goblin blood smelled like seawater with a hint of rotting-meat sweetness, and now that we were indoors, the effect was worse.
“We’ve got time,” Phin said. “Clean up, and then we’ll talk.”
I eyed the closed bathroom door; my stomach roiled. “Easier said than done.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because the bathroom is where my host killed herself.”
Much like two days ago, in front of the closet door where I’d been tortured and killed, I hesitated in front of another door. Apprehension tightened my stomach. Perspiration broke out across my forehead and between my breasts. I clenched both hands around the clean clothes I’d liberated from Chalice’s closet, afraid if I loosened them, they’d begin shaking.
Such an innocuous door. It was painted ivory and made of that hollow, fake wood that slams hard in a gust of wind. Not a hint of red or pink on its smooth, unmarked, and chip-free surface. No sign of the horror once contained behind it. Everything of me said to go inside and stop being a wuss. The lingering knowledge that, only four days ago, Chalice had gone inside and drawn a hot bath and slit her arm open kept me rooted outside.
You’re being ridiculous, girl. Get your stupid ass in there and clean up.
I grabbed the brass knob with a steady hand and turned my wrist. The gear squealed softly. I pushed. Warm, musty air drifted
out, tinged with the lemon scent of cleaning solution. My hand went to the switch plate left of the door and flipped the first two switches. Like an old habit.
Light flooded the small bathroom, which was as sparkling clean as it had been before. The only real difference was a blue bath towel, half falling off its hanger. Alex must have left it there. The day I dragged him out of his safe little world—
Nope. Couldn’t think about that.
I put my clothes on the closed toilet seat, grabbed a towel from the small hutch behind the door, and stripped. Added the knife and ankle sheath to my collection of clean things. The ruined clothes—not even mine but borrowed from a were-cat’s girlfriend—went straight into the trash. At the last minute, I fished out the cell phone Kismet had given me and put it in a basket on the back of the toilet, secure among a couple of clean hand towels and extra rolls of toilet paper.
I reached for the water knob, my fingers closing over the angled plastic. Something sad and determined crept through my mind, made suddenly more powerful by the spray of hot water through the showerhead. The dried blood on my skin and clothes smelled stronger in the moist heat. Grief tightened my throat. A phantom pain raced down my left arm from elbow to wrist.
Water pooled around the drain, and I realized I’d pulled the stopper. I slapped it back down and released the water, sick to my stomach.
Disgust overwhelmed the nagging sense of grief and coiled tight around my other emotions. You are not her. This is all in your mind, Evy! Take a fucking shower!
I embraced the disgust—she gave up, dammit!—adjusted the water temperature to something more bearable, and stepped in. I showered quickly, slogging blood and grit off my skin and out of my hair. There was no chance of enjoying it now.
As I washed, I checked my wounds. The gashes on my stomach were thick red scars that would fade to white, then into nothingness by tomorrow. The bite on my shoulder was a cross of white tooth marks I no longer felt. Other scrapes and bruises from my fights with Kelsa and Tovin were gone. I scrubbed hard on my left forearm, as though it would cleanse the memory of Chalice’s suicide. All it did was leave my skin pink and sore.
The water finally ran clear. I toweled off and dressed quickly in clean jeans and a black baby-doll T—one of the few dark items in Chalice’s wardrobe. I rummaged around in the sink drawers for a hair tie, and my fingers closed around a pair of scissors. I held them up, letting light from the overhead fixture gleam across their surface.
I liked short hair and had always kept mine above my shoulders. No fuss, no muss, and less for an attacker to grab. In the foggy mirror, long brown hair hung nearly to my waist, heavy and wet and thick. Cutting it off would feel so good. Lighten the load. Make me feel more like me again.
Only it wasn’t me anymore. The thin, blond Evy liked her hair short and clothes black. This new conglomerate me, shaped by two strong personalities and a teleporting Gift, protested. She had long brown hair and rounder hips and colorful clothes. Except for the suicide backwash, I kind of liked her.
The scissors went back into the drawer. I found a pair of hair chopsticks and used them to mound my damp hair up and away from my neck. Strapped the knife sheath back on my right ankle—a familiar, comforting presence. Presentable again, I stuffed the cell phone into my rear jeans pocket and exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
The scent of coffee, bitter and strong, greeted me. I paused to inhale the rich aroma. A long sleep was preferable to a caffeine jolt, but if Phin needed to talk to us, it was the least I could do for him. And I needed to be awake for it. The Owlkin in question was nowhere in sight—a development that might have worried me if my attention hadn’t immediately been drawn to the dining room floor.
The glass and wood shards were gone and the ivory carpet blood-free, although still darker tan in some spots. Two white trash bags were tacked over the broken door and sealed with duct tape—the only remaining evidence of our scuffle with Tully and Wormer.
A cabinet door slammed somewhere behind the kitchen counter. Wyatt stood up with a skillet in one hand and a lid in the other.
“When did you become so domestic?” I asked, waving my hand at the clean floor.
“Thank Phineas,” Wyatt replied. “He swept it up, scrubbed out the bloodstains, and took out the garbage. He even cleaned some spoiled stuff out of the refrigerator.”
Laughing, I strode across the damp carpet to the counter. “An Owlkin who’s also a compulsive neat freak. Who knew? You didn’t happen to find any keys lying around?”
“No, sorry.”
Damn. “It’s possible someone in the Triads took them when they untied Tully and Wormer.” The thought did not please me.
Wyatt put the skillet on the stove, then started rummaging around in the freezer.
“What are you cooking now?” I asked.
“I was thinking steak and eggs,” he replied. His voice was muffled by the freezer door, which itself was covered with an assortment of magnets. Different states, arranged as close to the U.S. map as possible. Many from the south, many more from the northeast. I wondered who they belonged to.
On the other end of the counter, I spotted a framed photo I’d noticed once before. I reached for it, overcome by a wave of sadness as I studied Alex’s face, smiling back at me. Chalice had known him for years and loved him dearly. I felt it in my bones—an odd connection to a man my brain told me I’d really known for only three days. I didn’t want to grieve his death any longer. Mourning Alex wouldn’t bring him back or make his death any less tragic. I wanted to move on and focus on the now.
“I don’t even know if he has family still around,” I said. The statement surprised me.
The freezer door shut. A chilly hand closed around my right wrist and squeezed. I looked up and met Wyatt’s gaze. Smoldering. Sympathetic. “You can’t get involved in his life, Evy,” he said. “Chalice has a lot of personal baggage here, but you can’t let it cloud your judgment.”
I yanked my hand free. “I’m not letting it cloud anything, Wyatt. You think I want to share her feelings and memories? I’ve got enough shit to deal with without getting stuck with someone else’s, too. But I’ve got it now, thanks to you, and I can’t make it go away.”
He flinched. “You going to make me apologize for that again?”
“No, you’ve done enough apologizing for a lifetime.” I eyed the cling-wrapped steaks he’d put into the sink. “Just never mind. Go take a shower. I’ll work on breakfast.”
The argument seemed over before it began in earnest. He circled the counter. As he passed, though, he said, “I can’t ‘never mind’ it if you keep bringing it up.”
I let his statement hang until the bathroom door slammed. Something on the wall rattled. He seemed determined to drive me crazy, and not in the orgasmic, “I love you” way. Rather, in the pull-my-hair-out, argue-until-we-kill-each-other way. One day, just a simple conversation would be nice. One that didn’t involve guilt, death, or Dregs in any capacity.
“You clean up well.”
My head snapped up and to the right. Phin stood in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard the door open, dammit. He came in and closed it. His wings were still gone, morphed away in whatever strange manner shape-shifters manipulated their bodies. He’d put on a black polo shirt, and as he walked toward me, my temper flared.
“You make it a habit of taking things that aren’t yours?” I asked.
He stopped near the sofa. Cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “I took out the trash,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me you’d have a vested interest—”
“The shirt, Phin.”
He looked at it, then at me. Puzzlement melted into understanding. Thin lips drew into a sympathetic half smile. “I’ll take it off. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Dammit, I was upset and didn’t want to be. He’d taken a shirt from Alex’s room. So what? Alex was dead. He wouldn’t care if someone else wore his clothes. Hell, Wyatt was going to need a change of clothes, too, even though Al
ex’s pants were probably a few inches too big. No personal attachments; no object sentimentality. That kind of shit would get me into trouble.
“Keep it,” I said. “Doesn’t matter now anyway.”
“It matters to you.”
“Not really.”
He blinked. Tilted his head in the opposite direction—a very birdlike thing to do. I’d seen Danika do it a dozen times in as many interactions. But I’d never associated the trait with her species. Hell, I knew humans who did it. Only with Phin it seemed different. Definitely more animalistic.
“I should have asked first,” he said, “but you two aren’t being all that generous with information right now, so I’m kind of feeling my way around.”
“Well, to be fair, we weren’t expecting your company.”
“Touché.”
“Thank you for cleaning the floor. I don’t know how you got the blood out.”
“I used what you had under the sink.”
I almost corrected him, but it didn’t matter whose sink it was or who had done the shopping. I circled the counter to the tune of the bathroom water rushing to life. Steaks were easier to cook thawed, but I was flexible. I started by hunting down a blue mug and filling it with some of the pungent black coffee. Needed energy before my body started shutting down.
“You look tired.”
I blew across the coffee’s steamy surface. “That’s because I’ve had about twelve hours’ sleep in the last seventy-two, and most of those were two days ago. I spent last night battling goblins, Halfies, an elf, and an ancient demon. And instead of falling over and sleeping for a week, I have to stay awake and see what the hell you want.”
The last bit came off sharper than intended. My cheeks heated. I looked over the edge of the mug. Phin stood across the counter, eyebrows arched. He didn’t seem surprised or angry. More curious, if anything. Almost apologetic.
“My timing is inconvenient for you,” he said. “I’m sorry, but for me it’s been a week since my people were slaughtered, and I’m tired of waiting.”
