As Lie the Dead

by Kelly Meding

  “For what?” I put the coffee down, still too hot to drink. “What do you want from us, Phineas?”

  He jacked a thumb over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we wait?”

  I shrugged, then started unwrapping the steaks. They went into the skillet with some water and a few spices. Burner on. Lid on. Done. I tossed the wrap into the garbage can—empty and neatly relined with a new bag—washed my hands, and returned to my coffee. I guzzled it without thinking. The bitter liquid scorched the back of my throat and settled in my stomach like fire. My eyes watered.

  Note to self: Avoid steaming-hot coffee.

  “Evy?”

  “I’m fine.” But my raspy voice said otherwise. I put the mug back down. Too hard. It cracked against the counter and sloshed coffee over the rim. “No, I’m not. We don’t have to wait.” Wyatt wasn’t my boss anymore; I didn’t work for the Triads. Phin needed something, so I could decide whether or not I’d offer it. “What do you want?”

  He stood straight, shoulders back, chest forward, like an eagle puffing itself up. Or an osprey, as I was beginning to suspect. His jaw worked, as if preparing to spew forth some long, practiced speech. Instead, what came out was a single, surprising word. He said, “Protection.”

  “Try Trojans.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Never mind.” I placed my palms flat against the countertop, watching his body language for any hint of lying. “I don’t work for the Department anymore, Phin. If you want protection, ask the Triads. They’re better equipped.”

  I said it too late to censor my words. Fucking idiot. His mouth drew into a thin line. Eyes narrowed just enough to hint at danger. An invisible thundercloud settled over him. “The Triads have done enough. That’s why I’m asking you,” he said.

  “And the other Clans?”

  “We’ve been offered shelter by the Felia Pride, but shelter isn’t enough. The Clans are furious at the humans and Fey for what happened to my people, certainly; they just don’t want to help us. Assembly decisions always rule in the best interest of the Clans as a whole. We were not well liked by some of the more influential Elders. We chose peaceful coexistence and conformity over living as hunted rogues. The Cania and Kitsune don’t respect us. They don’t give a shit about our revenge.”

  That was a one-eighty turn in the conversation. All of the proper nouns were making my head spin, and I had no idea which weres he was talking about. “Okay, I’m confused. Do you want me to protect you from something or help you enact some sort of vengeance plot?”

  “The vengeance is already in motion. There are only three of us left who survived the slaughter. Three.”

  “Weres exist elsewhere, in other states. Surely you aren’t—”

  “We are the last of what you call Owlkins, those who remember how to live among humans. Any of the Clans that live beyond here are not my kin. We were different. The Cania run in packs with little time for one another outside of mating. The Felia are loyal to their Pride, though many wander and roam.” He shook his head, some of that thundercloud dissipating. Leaving him empty, sad. “No, I need someone further outside of this, someone who has as much at stake in the outcome as we do.”

  Okay, things were starting to make a little more sense. Cania were were-dogs; the Felia, were-cats. Right; got it. “So … what? You picked me because I was friendly with Danika?”

  “I picked you because they would be alive if you had let yourself be caught.”

  My entire body went cold. His simple tone, devoid of accusation, tore at my heart more sharply than stinging jibes and venom. It hurt because he was right. I’d told myself as much in the hours following the initial slaughter, when I didn’t know in which direction to go next. I’d only known I couldn’t change it. Life didn’t work that way.

  “I would die again if it meant bringing your people back,” I said.

  “I believe you, but you can’t resurrect an entire species.”

  No, I couldn’t. My stomach ached. I longed to lie down and rest. Yesterday’s problems seemed so far away, and yet they’d never really disappeared. I went to the Owlkins for protection; they died when my old colleagues came looking for me. The brass would never have given a destroy order if I hadn’t been there. I owed Phineas. I owed Danika.

  “How long do you need me to protect you?” I asked.

  “Three days, maybe four.”

  “What happens in four days?”

  He started to speak. Stopped. After a moment, he said, “I should show you.”

  “Show me?”

  Phin strode across the living room. I circled the counter, keeping him within my sights. He opened the front door and beckoned at someone on the other side. Mental alarms blared. I tensed. Scanned the countertop for available weapons—just a half-full coffee mug and a spatula. Damn.

  The front door creaked. Phin stepped back. A man as old as mud tottered inside—tall and skinny and angular, with layers of wrinkled skin bunched around his eyes and jowls in a queer cross between bird and bulldog. Bright white hair was neatly combed and split down the middle. His clothes hung from his gaunt frame like grain sacks on a pole.

  He walked faster than his age or build suggested possible, though with little balance. He came to an unsteady, teetering stop in the tiny foyer area and looked around, head turning with sharp jerks.

  “It’s safe, Joseph,” Phin said.

  Unconvinced, the old man continued his perusal of the apartment. Never looking directly at me, he seemed more concerned with the surroundings. My patience began to wear thin, especially when Joseph scowled.

  “The door’s broken,” he said, his voice as thin as his body. Breezy and empty, like air through pipes.

  “It’s temporary,” Phin said. “Just let Aurora come inside.”

  Another one. He’d said three, but I was starting to resent the invasion of my personal space. Inviting them inside without asking me.

  But Joseph just stepped to the side and revealed Aurora. She was barely there. Maybe five feet tall, and as narrow and delicate as bone china. Dark brown hair hung to her waist in thick spirals. Eyes as vividly blue as Phin’s, wide as pool balls, stared at me. I stared right back until my peripheral vision took note of something. My attention dropped to her waist.

  Speechlessness was a rare condition for me. I stared until Phin said, “Now do you see, Evy? Leaving the city is too dangerous. We just need a few days.”

  I met his gaze. Watched the way he closed the door and stood behind Aurora, hands on her shoulders like a sentry. Guarding her and the future she carried with her. The future of the surviving Owlkins. Because Aurora was very, very pregnant.

  “Help us,” Aurora said. Lovely and sad, like a nightingale’s song. Just like Danika. Any chance of refusal died with her voice.

  “Protection until the baby’s born?” I asked.

  Phin nodded. “Your word?”

  I glanced at the bathroom door; the water still ran steadily behind it. Back to Joseph and Aurora, and finally to Phineas. “You have my word.”

  Phin crossed to me, hand extended. I shook it. Sealed the bargain.

  Wyatt was going to kill me.

  Chapter Three

  8:09 A.M.

  I stashed Aurora and Joseph in my room, put Phin on breakfast detail—he had a good laugh when I asked if he minded eating eggs, so I took it as a no—and then staked out the bathroom door the moment the water stopped. Waited. The door opened, and Wyatt leaned out, hair damp and a towel cinched around his waist. I grabbed his arm and yanked him out of his steam cloud.

  “Evy, where …?” He let the question die when I pulled him into Alex’s room and shut the door. “What are you doing?”

  “I didn’t want you to get angry in front of them,” I said.

  “Get mad at what? And them who?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest, tightening toned muscles. Water dripped from his black hair to his shoulders and down his pecs in thin rivulets. I wanted to reach out and wipe them off. God, he look
s good in a towel.

  He shifted his weight and I looked up, meeting his gaze. Curiosity burned there, along with something else—something that had nothing to do with my news and everything to do with my proximity to his nearly naked body. The towel was such a meager barrier now between the part of me that longed—

  Focus, Evy! “I just found out what Phineas wants.”

  A single eyebrow arched. “And?”

  I reported my conversation with Phin and our new houseguests, excluding only my reasons for accepting the proposal. I didn’t need to expound on them; Wyatt knew me well enough to know why I had said yes. He listened without interrupting, his expression mostly neutral, until I stopped.

  “Well?” I asked after several seconds of silence.

  “I think this puts a serious damper on your plans for a two-week-long nap,” he replied.

  I frowned. Poked him in the ribs. He chuckled and backed out of reach. “I’m serious, Wyatt. What do you think?”

  He smiled, and my heart swelled under the light of it. “I think,” he said, “you are amazing. After everything you’ve been put through this past week, after all the lies and loss and pain, you still want to help others. You want to make amends for something that was not in your power to prevent.”

  He took two steps forward, placing himself toe to toe with me. His left hand cupped my cheek. I pressed into his touch, again keenly aware of his precarious state of undress—and my precarious state of mind. My abdomen tightened.

  Caught between desire and fear, I chose neither. Job now. Us later.

  “They’re almost extinct. I can’t let that happen.”

  “I know. And that’s why I love you.”

  Not a muscle twitched in my face. My heart (if such a thing was possible) flinched—just a flutter that struck as keenly as a boxer’s blow. He’d said it before, so why did it scare me so much now? It didn’t make … No, it made perfect sense. I was still coming to grips with the parts of Chalice hanging around my subconscious, affecting my memories and reactions. Her physical attraction to Wyatt had combined with my personal history with him and created something potent. Something I had a hard time ignoring, even now. Something I hesitated to embrace, lest I also embrace the worst parts of Chalice—parts I didn’t want. Ever.

  I couldn’t verbalize my feelings or fears. Couldn’t manage to repeat words I’d already said once. They stuck in my throat, thick and choking. I swallowed and turned my head enough to brush my lips across the palm of Wyatt’s hand.

  “Evy, I’ll stop saying it if it makes you uncomfortable.” He spoke with such good humor, and such a complete lack of judgment, that I smiled.

  “It’s not—” My unplanned rebuttal was interrupted by a song from my ass. A few chords of something loud, chaotic, probably popular with people who kept up with current music trends. I pulled the cell phone out of my rear jeans pocket and checked the display on the front. Kismet. She’d programmed herself into the phone. Interesting. I’d have to check the address book and see who else was in there.

  “You going to answer it?” Wyatt asked.

  “Suppose I should.” I flipped it open, smaller and slimmer than I was used to, and hit Send. “Stone.”

  “It’s Kismet,” she replied. “I need you to come to St. Eustachius Hospital, fourth floor, room 419.”

  “Why?” As soon as I asked, I knew. Didn’t know how, but no one else I cared two wits for at the moment was in the hospital. “It’s Rufus, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Wyatt’s entire body tensed.

  My stomach bottomed out. “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet. Make it fast, Stone.”

  She hung up before I could ask any more questions. I let the phone fall from my ear. From ally to enemy to friend, Rufus St. James had risked his life several times to help me. With more lives than a cat, the experienced Handler had survived getting shot by Halfies, only to nearly die in a fire set by … Well, that was yet to be determined. I had my suspicions, though.

  “Evy?”

  I put the phone back into my pocket and started rummaging through Alex’s dresser for clothes. They’d be a little loose, but they had to do. “Something’s happening at the hospital where Rufus is, but Kismet wouldn’t give me any details.” I found a pair of jeans and a clean polo—good God, had Alex worn anything else?—and tossed them at Wyatt. “Get dressed. We need to go.”

  He did, dropping the towel without shame. I looked away and up, taking in Alex’s bedroom for the first time. So neat and orderly, simple colors and textures. Almost impersonal. Very unlike the man I’d gotten to know, who had seemed so complex and passionate. Forgiving. Protective.

  Fingers snapped in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”

  I blinked at Wyatt. “Sorry, nowhere. Come on.”

  The outer apartment smelled of roasting meat and coffee. I looked forlornly at the skillet, now venting steam from beneath its lid, and at the carton of eggs on the counter next to the stove. Phin was perched on the counter next to the sink, spatula in one hand and mug of coffee in the other.

  “You’ll have to put our breakfast in the fridge,” I said. “Emergency call. We have to jet.”

  The turn of events didn’t seem to faze Phin. “Something’s come up, I take it,” he said blandly.

  “Yup.” I stalked into the kitchenette and started rifling through the cupboards until I found a box of cold toaster pastries. I wrinkled my nose. At least they were the iced kind.

  “You’d rather eat those than steak and eggs?” Phin asked.

  “Absolutely not, but I can’t stand rare, half-frozen steak, and we can’t wait around for it to finish.” I grabbed two packs of the pastries. “If I don’t eat something, I’m going to pass out, which’ll do no one any good, so it’s cold, dry fake strawberry thingies.”

  Wyatt caught the pack I threw at him. “What about wheels?” he asked.

  Crap. “Think maybe Chalice has her own car? We left Alex’s car at that train station.” But even if she had a car parked somewhere nearby, I didn’t have her keys.

  “Think we can get a cab in this neighborhood?”

  “If we call for one. I doubt they prowl around this area looking for fares.”

  “Is there a phone book?”

  I rolled my eyes and strode past him. “Forget it. We’ll take the bus.”

  “Bus?”

  “Yeah, I saw a bus stop about a block from here.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.” I pivoted on my heel, dropped, and put on a pair of gray running sneakers that had to be Chalice’s. Shoes were a good thing when racing around the city trying to find answers. “You coming, or what?”

  As he approached, I tossed a pair of Alex’s shoes in his general direction. Wyatt caught and slipped them on quickly, cinching the laces tight. He looked a little odd in too-large shoes and pants belted tightly around his waist, but he’d survive the indignity. I peered around him, just able to see Phin as he leaned over the counter to watch us.

  “Keep them here,” I said. “We’ll be back as soon as we’re able.” Leaving Joseph and Aurora behind in an unprotected apartment wasn’t how I envisioned my first act as their guardian, but I just didn’t see another choice. Dragging a very pregnant were-bird around the city while I tended to old business was not an option.

  “You won’t forget your promise,” Phin said. It wasn’t a question.

  “I gave you my word.”

  He nodded and returned to cooking breakfast. Something in his voice and the cool way he reacted to our sudden departure was unsettling. There was taking it in stride, and there was complete lack of surprise. As Wyatt and I walked down the corridor to the elevator, I couldn’t decide which I’d seen in Phineas. And that unsettled me even more.

  Our bus trip was brief, just long enough to eat the too-sweet toaster pastries, and ended two blocks over the Black River. The constant stop ’n’ start was seriously slowing us down. Besides, Mercy’s Lot was good fo
r catching a cab in daytime, which we did with little issue, and continued our trek across downtown to the city’s largest and oldest hospital.

  St. Eustachius sat on the west bank of the Anjean River, about a mile north of where it connected to the Black River. The oldest part of the complex was a faded brick building that mostly housed the administrative offices. Half a dozen other, newer structures had sprung up around it over the years, giving it the look of a university campus rather than a large working hospital.

  The taxi dropped us off at the front entrance. Impressive glass doors mirrored the morning sunlight and hid the internal activity. I took two steps up the concrete sidewalk and froze. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention.

  “What is it?” Wyatt asked, shoulder to shoulder with me.

  “It just occurred to me,” I said, blinking at my reflection in those shiny doors. “The last time I was here, I was running from the morgue in oversized sweats and then stole a doctor’s car.”

  “You stole a car?”

  Had I left that out? Probably. Figures it was the one thing he’d focus on. “More important than that, Wyatt, at least two of the doctors here saw me as a cold, frozen corpse, and then as a walking, talking, living person.”

  “Then we’ll steer clear of the morgue.”

  “Easier said than done if one of those doctors decides to take a stroll.”

  “Evy, this is the biggest, busiest hospital in thirty miles, with hundreds of people coming and going. The odds of running into two M.E.s in the middle of all that is minuscule.”

  I groaned. “Not now that you’ve jinxed us by saying it.”

  He nudged my elbow. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

  My guard never let down as we navigated our way through the lobby, toward a bank of elevators. The strong odor of disinfectant followed us everywhere, mingling occasionally with someone’s aftershave or body odor. We joined another young couple at the elevators, each clutching the other nervously. An elderly woman approached and used a gnarled finger to punch the already-lit button. The scent of whiskey wafted from her.