"Magic In the Blood" - читать интересную книгу автора (Monk Devon)

Chapter Twenty

    The next few days went by in a blur. I took painkillers, slept a lot, and filled out the blank pages in my notebook. Small, disconnected flashes of what had happened in the warehouse came to me, mostly when I was falling asleep. I wrote those down too, dark magic. Something about hunger but they didn’t seem to add up to anything. It was like trying to use pieces from the wrong puzzle to complete the picture.

    My father, if any part of him were indeed inside me, was silent as a ghost.

    Ha. Not funny.

    Violet called a couple times, and I managed to convince her I wasn’t up for visitors and still didn’t want to move in with her. Detective Stotts called and I answered a few more questions for him, still off the record. I was sure there would be a couple official visits to the police department ahead of me. I promised not to leave town.

    I didn’t hear from Zayvion. Not a single pink rose.

    I watched the news and read the papers, which was probably the first time I’d done either in five years. The kidnappings were mentioned, and so were the deaths of Pike, Lon Trager, and his men. But while Frank Gordon was also implicated in the crimes, his death and the rest of the details-such as my father’s corpse, me being there, the magical ritual Gordon had been attempting, and Zayvion’s involvement in his death-were carefully omitted. It was eye-opening to see all that had been left out. Someone had pull over the media. I wondered if it was the Authority or MERC.

    Five days after I’d left the hospital, Violet called again.

    “There is going to be a burial for your father. I thought you might want to come this time.” Her voice sounded tight. Like maybe she had been doing her share of crying.

    “When is it?” I asked around the knot in my throat.

    “Noon today at the cemetery. There will be a small gathering of… important people, and no one else. I thought you might want to know.”

    I unclenched my fists and rubbed at my cold left arm with my always-warm right hand. Did I really want to see my father’s dead body again? I stared out at the bleak Portland sky. The ice had melted, but it was still cold and wet, and would likely stay that way until May.

    Yes, I decided, I needed this. Needed to see him lowered into the ground. Need to know, once and for all, that he was gone. His body and, I hoped, his spirit.

    “I’ll be there,” I said. “Thanks for calling.”

    She paused. “It means a lot to me that you’re coming.”

    “Sure,” I said. “No problem.” I hung up the phone and spent the next few hours staring out the window and trying not to think too hard about anything.

    Just before noon I changed into the only good black I owned-slacks and a sweater-and then called a cab and waited for it to pull up. When I saw it outside the window, I grabbed my umbrella and headed down the stairs.

    Just outside my apartment, someone strode down the sidewalk to catch me before I got into the cab.

    I looked up, ready for trouble.

    Davy Silvers, wearing his hoodie and denim jacket, nodded to me and kept walking. He didn’t say anything but just as he came parallel to me, he handed me a card. I took it, and he continued on.

    Very secret agent of him. Except then he sneezed several times and swore, which sort of blew the cloak-and-dagger bit.

    I ducked into the cab and told the driver to take me to the cemetery. I tipped the card to read it. Black with white letters: The Pack. But on the back was a handwritten note. “Pike’s last meeting. Two o’clock, O’Donnel’s.”

    Great. Just what I needed. A meeting with a bunch of twitchy, nervous Hounds right after I watched my dad’s body get sunk six feet.

    Well, at least they were holding it at O’Donnel’s this time. A pub meant beer. And I had the feeling I’d need a lot of that before the day was over.

    The cemetery wasn’t that far outside the city, but enough that the push and pull of magic in me eased just the slightest amount.

    But driving up to the iron gates made my stomach clench. This was where my father would be buried. Again. For the last time. Death was final. Even for him.

    A small gathering of people, maybe twenty-five or so, all in black stood on the crest of the hill in front of the mortuary. They each held black umbrellas against the slight drizzle in the air.

    These must be the important people Violet had mentioned.

    “Want me to take you up there?” the cabdriver, a thin man who reminded me a little of Anthony, asked.

    “Yes.” I smoothed my hair. No one had found my hat or gloves. I had started knitting new ones but hadn’t made much progress. Which meant I was going to have to use my umbrella to keep my head dry.

    My umbrella was bright yellow and had little duckies on the edge.

    I totally knew how to blend in.

    The cab stopped and I paid, took a deep breath, and then got out into the cold air.

    Half the people were watching me. People who I had never met-men, women, lots of shapes and sizes and ages. A tingle ran down my back as vague memories of each of them came to me. Tall, temperamental Victor, who always thought his opinion was correct; mousy Liddy, who could tear a man apart with the flick of a finger; big, friendly Jingo, who had a thing for little children and their bones.

    I blinked, trying to stop the flow of memories. Memories that were not mine.

    I popped open my umbrella so I had an excuse to look away from the crowd for a minute. Yellow duckies filled my vision, and the memories were gone.

    But the remaining thoughts that filled my head were mechanical as the workings of a gun.

    These important people were magic users. The Authority. People my dad had spent a lifetime hiding from me. All here. Now. Gathered to watch my father’s corpse get lowered into the ground, to be covered in dirt, once and for all.

    Holy shit.

    I scanned the crowd for Violet, saw her there by the top of the stairs, her guard, Kevin, behind her. She was talking to another woman with red and gray hair pulled up in a loose bun. Maeve.

    She and Maeve knew each other?

    I was so out of my depth here.

    So I did what I did in any social situation that throws me. I faked the hell out of it.

    I walked up like I had expected this. Like my dad had told me all about each of them and I knew their secrets. I held my ducky umbrella over my shoulder and practically sauntered, selling all-the-fashionablegrievers-are-wearing-ducks-this-season attitude for all I was worth.

    And I took great pains to keep my mind, my thoughts, and the magic that flowed through me very quiet.

    The crowd hushed. Not that they’d been talking loudly. But as soon as I was a few steps away, they stopped talking completely.

    The other half of the crowd who hadn’t been looking my way turned so they could.

    I put on a disinterested expression and scanned the faces. I spotted Zayvion. He stood near Violet and Maeve and a thin, pale kid done up in Goth couture. My heart raced.

    The crowd shifted to make room for me, to allow me to walk up through the middle of them if I chose. Everyone waited. Everyone watched me. Like whatever I did next was important.

    It is no fun playing a game when you don’t know what the rules are, much less what is at stake.

    From the tension in the air, I didn’t think these people were all on the same side exactly. No, this felt more like a strained truce that would remain long enough to see their mutual enemy, or friend, buried.

    It probably mattered a lot who I decided to stand by. But it wasn’t a hard choice. I strode up the open pathway through the crowd and climbed the stairs to stand next to two people, Violet Beckstrom and Zayvion Jones. Just to make sure they got my point, I turned to look out at the crowd. We stood, Zayvion on one side and Violet on the other, shoulder to shoulder.

    I liked that feeling. Liked the guarded looks of respect, and anger, and curiosity it brought from the crowd.

    And no matter how much my logical mind doubted I was making a good choice, since I didn’t even know what the hells I was choosing, my gut, my heart, knew I was right where I should be.

    “Is this all of us, then?” I asked in a calm voice.

    Violet, next to me, nodded. “We may begin.”

    The big double doors behind us opened, and a group of six men brought out a casket. Instead of carrying it on their shoulders, they carried it low, at hip height. And instead of the lid being closed, it was open, from head to toe.

    We stepped to one side, and the pallbearers brought the casket forward and paused in front of us, letting us take a long look.

    That was my dad. No doubt in my mind. That was my dad’s overpreserved, leathery, gray, rotting corpse. He was naked except for a black blanket across his hips. Zayvion squeezed my hand gently in silent sympathy. Violet, on the other side, placed a lavender handkerchief on my dad’s chest, over his heart.

    The pallbearers moved on. They walked slowly down the stairs, pausing every five steps so those in the crowd could look into the casket and agree that the body in that coffin was my dad. Once everyone got a chance to see him, the lid was placed upon the casket, and the pallbearers began the slow, long walk to my father’s grave.

    We followed along behind, and no one spoke a word. Only the sound of our shoes on the grass and the rain on our umbrellas stirred the silence. Zay was beside me, his hand still in mine, no mint, but the scent of pine and a familiar warmth that was solid and real in this surreal moment.

    We walked out to the thin gathering of trees, barren of leaves, stone angels grieving at their roots, black limbs spread against a stormy sky. A draped lowering device surrounded the newly re-dug grave.

    The pallbearers placed the casket on the lowering device and lifted the lid on the casket one more time. All of us could see it was still his corpse. Wetter now, but still the same. A few people leaned in closer to get one last look. I did not feel the need to do so.

    The pallbearers closed and locked the coffin lid and then worked the controls so the coffin could be lowered.

    No one moved forward after that. Everyone watched as the coffin sank to the bottom of the grave, the equipment was removed, and the cemetery grave diggers-three of them wearing black raincoats and carrying shovels-cut shovelfuls of dirt and threw it into the hole.

    No one sang. No one cried. No one gave words or comfort or remembrance. There was no sound at all except silence, raindrops, and the heavy thud of dirt upon pine.

    After an unspecified time, the crowd began to break up. Each person walked past me and Zayvion and Violet. Some stopped and spoke to Violet in a low tone. No one spoke to me. Some made eye contact, looking for something or maybe trying to tell me something, and then looking away. Some turned so I never got a good look at them.

    I tried to commit as many of their faces to memory as I could, inhaled to get the scents of them. Then they were gone, black coats beneath black umbrellas, beneath a dark sky.

    The grave diggers were still filling the grave. Violet stood at the edge, watching each shovelful of dirt cascade down. Kevin, hands folded behind his back, stood by her side. I thought they looked good together, him painfully reserved but radiating strength and loyalty, her small, pale, and, I knew, fierce.

    Violet’s shoulders shook and she put her hands over her face.

    Kevin lifted his hand, hesitated with it just above her shoulder, as if weighing the consequences. Then the moment was gone. He quietly drew his hand away and stood, once again as only her guard-near her, but not touching her, his hands folded behind his back.

    My heart hurt. For her. For him. For what they almost had.

    “Allie?” Zayvion’s voice was quiet.

    I looked over at him.

    “Would you like to get out of the rain?”

    What I would like was some kind of an explanation. Of where he had been the last five days.

    But suddenly I realized I was really cold. My feet were numb from standing in the same place for so long. “Fine,” I said.

    I walked over to Violet. Caught Kevin’s gaze. He sized me up.

    Unreadable, that man. He tipped his chin down, just enough, I knew he was giving his okay.

    I gently put my hand on Violet’s back. She had both her hands across her stomach now. She was shorter than me, thin, petite. Standing this close to her, touching her, made me realize how small and breakable she was, and I felt an overwhelming desire to protect her, to not let her, or my sibling she was carrying, get hurt.

    “I’m sorry,” I said.

    She did not look at me. Did not look away from the grave.

    “So am I,” she whispered.

    “Are you going to be okay?”

    She nodded. “It’s going to take some time. More time,” she said faintly.

    “If you need me,” I said, “I’ll be here.”

    I wanted to say more, wanted to tell her words of comfort, wanted to tell her that I had spoken to him, to his spirit, but it seemed like the worst time ever to bring that up.

    “Take care of her.” I said to Kevin. He nodded. I walked back to Zay, and he fell into step with me as we crossed the graveyard.

    “Where were you?” I asked. I hadn’t meant for my voice to catch.

    “Lobbying for you.”

    “With whom?”

    “Them.” He pointed in the direction of the people leaving the cemetery.

    “Maeve stopped by.”

    Zayvion, the graceful, the unflappable Zen master, tripped on smooth ground. “She did?” he asked as he pulled himself back up and dusted his muddy hands.

    “That worries you?” I asked.

    He took a deep breath, let it out through his mouth in a cloud of steam. “Honestly? Yes. Yes, it does. What did she want?”

    “She and I… talked. She mentioned some teaching.”

    Zayvion smiled and put his hands in his pockets. I could almost feel the tension draining from his body. “And you said yes, right?”

    I shrugged one shoulder.

    “Allie.” He sounded worried. “You did say yes, didn’t you?”

    “You never asked me if I wanted you to lobby for me, Zayvion. You went out and decided my future for me.”

    He stopped. Looked off at the horizon, his breath coming out in steam. It was still raining and he hadn’t removed his knit cap. He looked like he was trying hard to keep it together. Like maybe a lot was riding on this.

    “You should have asked me,” I said.

    He turned back to me, Zen, calm. Ready to hear my answer. “I see that now. Did you say no to her?” His eyes were brown, but flecks of gold sprayed through them, as if he were trying very hard not to use magic. Or maybe that was what his eyes always did when he was worried.

    “No,” I said. “I told Maeve I want to learn. But don’t ever assume you can make decisions for me, Zayvion Jones. Men who do that don’t stay in my life. Period.”

    “I’ll remember that.”

    We started walking again.

    “Thank you, though,” I said.

    “Don’t thank me yet,” he said. “It is not an easy thing to learn. It means giving up a lot. A lot of your life. Paying the price.”

    Yeah, I got it. Using magic was hard. But if I wanted to survive in this new secret world of magical back-stabbing, corpse-stealing soul suckers, I needed to learn the moves. An image of Pike flashed behind my eyes. Maybe if I had known more about this world, about Zayvion’s world, I could have kept him safe.

    “Was it worth it? I asked. “For you?”

    “It is now.”

    He unlocked the car door and walked around to the driver’s side. I lowered my ducky umbrella and closed it. Then I opened the car door.

    The overwhelming scent of summer-roses and irises-wafted out of the car. Zayvion was leaning on the roof, watching me with those warm brown eyes of his.

    I bent and looked in. Roses in every shade of pink filled the car. Interspersed with the roses were irises in soft lavender and deep purple. There was even a bouquet of roses buckled into my seat.

    Wow. It must have cost him a fortune to get that many flowers in the dead of winter.

    “Well, well,” I said as I unbuckled the roses. “What would have happened if I told you I didn’t need a ride?”

    He shrugged one shoulder. “I had a good feeling about it.” He got in the driver’s side.

    I got in too, maneuvering under the bouquet with one hand as I buckled my seat belt.

    “I thought you were going to bring these by my hospital room.”

    “It was suggested. That didn’t work out how I wanted it to.” He started the car.

    I stuck my nose in the roses and inhaled, long and deep.

    Lovely.

    “What didn’t work out?” I asked.

    “Everything. I should have known something would go wrong when I saw Trager’s blood magic mark on you. I should have gone with you to the police, been there when you confronted Trager.”

    “Zayvion, you are not my guard.”

    He didn’t say anything.

    “You aren’t. You know that, right?”

    “Sure.” He didn’t sound very convincing.

    “Did Violet hire you to be my guard?”

    Nothing.

    “Zayvion? Hello? An answer here?”

    “Would you like lunch? I think I still owe you that date.”

    “Zayvion. Focus. Are you working for Violet?”

    “No.”

    “So you’re not my bodyguard?”

    “Did you want me to be?”

    “No.” Yes. No.

    It was confusing being me.

    “We haven’t even decided if we’re going to date,” I said.

    “We can take care of that. Let me take you to lunch.”

    I suddenly remembered the card in my pocket. Davy’s invite for me to go to Pike’s last meeting. I glanced at the clock in the dash.

    “You have plans?” Zayvion asked.

    “No. Yes. Maybe. I have lunch plans. I think.”

    “You aren’t sure?”

    “It’s Davy Silvers. He’s a-”

    “Hound. We met.”

    “You did?”

    Zayvion looked over at me, frowned. “Ah. Memory loss?” he asked.

    “I don’t know. When did you meet him?”

    “During the… in the warehouse with Frank Gordon. Do you remember that?”

    “Some. Can you tell me about it?”

    “Sure. How about over lunch? On our date.”

    Was there nothing without a price in this city?

    “Fine. Take me to O’Donnel’s.”

    Zayvion turned the car in that direction.

    We found parking in the lot behind what used to be the old treasury building that had been turned into the pub. We got out of the car. A few patrons were smoking beneath the awning, and we walked past them through the haze of smoke and into the back door of the pub.

    The place was small but had two levels. Off in one corner was a player piano. Velvet curtains sectioned off parts of the walls, giving it plenty of private booths. Everything was black walnut, red velvet, and brass.

    Classy.

    I scanned the room, looking for Davy. The flame of a cigarette being lit caught my eye. Jack, the Whiskey Guy, leaned on a door to an alcove area. He tipped his chin up, turned, and walked into the alcove.

    I strode across the room. Maybe more like limped. My feet were numb in my wet boots, and honestly, I’d been doing a lot more standing and walking today than I’d done in the last five. I was feeling pretty worn-out. My stamina was shot. The doctor said I’d feel a little stronger every day. He was an optimistic fellow.

    Still, it was a small enough place that I held my own and walked into the alcove area, Zayvion behind me.

    The room was filled. Maybe thirty or forty people. Most standing, a few seated at the table. They were grouped by vice, as I suppose made sense. Hard drinkers to the right, street drugs in the back, prescription meds to the left, and smaller pockets of those who used specialized pain-avoidance techniques-the cutters, smokers, sex addicts, exercise freaks, and gamblers-sprinkled throughout. Still, no matter what group they belonged to, everyone had a drink in their hands. Platters of food covered the table, and in the center of all that food was a plain black urn.

    Oh. For some reason I didn’t realize this would be about Pike’s death. But that urn spoke volumes. I suddenly wanted to leave, wanted to be anywhere but here, face-to-face again with Pike’s death.

    Sid, the Hound who looked like he should program computers for a living, appeared from somewhere in the crowd. He was grinning, his eyes half crescents behind his glasses. His cheeks were red. Probably from that glass of tequila in his hand.

    “Allie, I’m so glad you came,” he said. “And you’re Zayvion Jones, right?”

    “I am.”

    “I’m Sid Westerling,” he said. “Davy mentioned you. Welcome.”

    Well, that was not at all what I expected out of him. Hounds were notorious loners. Life did not let them make friendships. Life did not bring Hounds together. But apparently death could do both.

    “Everyone,” Sid said to the crowd. “Attention for a moment.” He waited for the noise to die down. Someone pressed a glass of red wine in my hands. Zayvion had managed to snag a beer.

    “We’re here to recognize and honor the life of a good man and a good Hound: Martin Pike.”

    “Pike!” several voices called out.

    “May he live on in our memories and hearts. To Pike!”

    All glasses raised, and everyone drank.

    “And that’s the end of my speech,” he said. “Someone else talk.”

    “I’d like to say something.” All eyes turned to a younger voice. Davy Silvers slouched in a chair by the wall. Several people moved out of the way while Davy stood up on the chair. He bobbled his balance just a bit but did not spill the tankard of dark beer in his hand.

    Was he even old enough to drink?

    “Pike was…” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes. I could seen his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed back tears. “Not always a good man.”

    A few people chuckled.

    “But he was what he was. What we are. And he accepted us for all of our faults. ’Cause face it, we’re all a bunch of screwed-up losers.”

    More chuckling. Davy looked back down. He wasn’t smiling. “And there was only one of us who was there for him when he needed it the most. Allie Beckstrom.”

    Glasses raised, all faces turned to me. I gave a small smile and nodded. See, I’m good under social pressure. Having a notorious father will do that to a girl.

    “To Allie,” Davy said.

    “Allie!” the crowd agreed.

    And then they waited. Waited for me to say something. Okay.

    “Pike was my friend.” Wow, this was harder than it looked. “And the last thing he told me before… before he died was: it was worth it.”

    Silence fell over the room.

    “To Pike,” I said. “The strongest Hound I have had the honor to know. I wish he would have had a chance to find his island away from it all. I’ll miss him. We’ll all miss him.”

    “To Pike,” the crowd said somberly.

    Everyone drank, and I did too, because my throat was tight with tears.

    “Pike would have wanted a new leader for the Pack,” Davy said. “A Hound as tough as he was. A friend. I elect Allie Beckstrom as the new leader of the Pack. All in favor, say aye!”

    “Seconded,” Jamar’s baritone called out.

    “Third-I mean aye!” That from bouncy, corpse-sniffing Beatrice.

    “Wait,” I said. “No. Wait.”

    Sid, standing next to me, was laughing.

    “I’m not a leader. I shouldn’t be your leader,” I said. “I’ve only ever been to one meeting. I’d make a terrible leader. Vote for Sid, or Jamar or Beatrice.”

    No one heard me because everyone was clapping.

    Sid, his arms still crossed across his chest, leaned toward me. “Give it up.” His breath smelled of tequilla and lime. “They want you. And we need you. Pike’s death will destroy the ground he worked so hard to gain. You’re not gonna turn your back on your own kind, are you? What would Pike say?”

    “I don’t have a kind,” I said.

    Sid patted me on the shoulder. “You do now.”

    A motion near the back wall of the room caught my eye. The cutter girl, Tomi, Davy’s ex-girlfriend, shouldered her way across the room. She stopped in front of me and looked me straight in the eye.

    “Tomi,” Davy called out from across the room.

    She didn’t turn, didn’t look at him.

    “Yes?” I asked.

    She gave me a bored glare.

    “Tomi,” he said again, this time a warning. He got down off his chair and pushed his way through the bodies.

    I was looking Tomi right in the eye, so I noticed she waited until he was behind her to talk to me. And it was clear from her expression that she didn’t like me much.

    “Tomi, leave her alone,” Davy said.

    I don’t think he knew what that single sentence did to her. But I did. I watched as her eyes widened. Then she searched my face as if trying to see what he saw in me. Then she licked her lips and scowled.

    Great. It didn’t take a genius to interpret the flash of jealousy that screwed her face into a sneer. That woman had hate in her. And lots of it. For me.

    “There’s nothing between us,” I said. Neutral. Calm. Maybe some of Zayvion’s Zen was wearing off on me.

    “I don’t owe you anything,” she said loud enough for Davy to hear it. “And I will never follow you.”

    “Tomi,” Davy said again.

    “Fuck you, Davy Silvers. I’ve had better than you. Bigger than you.” She flipped him off and pushed past me. If Zayvion hadn’t been standing hip to hip with me, I think she would have tried to step on my foot as she went by.

    About a dozen people, all young enough I’d card them if they tried to buy beer, filtered through the crowd like strings being pulled out of the weave. Each of them, about an even mix between men and women, glared at me and then followed Tomi out into the pub.

    I watched Davy’s face slowly slide from confusion to anger.

    “Nice job, Silvers,” Sid laughed. “Chasing away members before we even get started again.”

    Davy smiled a tight smile. “Their loss.”

    Sid swallowed down his drink. “They’ll be back. Give ’em time to cool off. We all need time to cool off.” He angled a look at me and then at Davy, asking me to do something. Then he walked off to find more booze.

    Great. I guess I was the guidance counselor now too.

    “You know,” I said to Davy, “I recently told someone that I don’t like it when people decide my future without consulting me.”

    “Does this mean you’re backing out?” He looked at me with that hollowed shock of betrayal. He looked lost. I knew how he felt. Pike had been my friend too.

    “No,” I said. “It means you better enjoy that beer, because I’m going to keep you so busy being my assistant, you’re not going to have time to drink.”

    “Huh.” He took a deep swallow of the beer. “I think you underestimate my multitasking abilities.”

    “I think you underestimate my ability to work your ass off.”

    That got a small smile out of him. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” He hoisted his nearly empty glass. “To tomorrow.”

    “To tomorrow.”

    We drank on that.

    Okay, that was enough red wine before food. My head was feeling a little muzzy. “I think I’m done here,” I mumbled.

    Zayvion, who had been quiet, put his hand on my elbow and walked with me out of the room. “Home?” he asked.

    “Please,” I said.

    Once we got into the car, drenched with the scent of roses, I put the vase of pink flowers on my lap again. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers over my lids. “How did it get so confusing?” I asked.

    “What?”

    “My life. Everything used to make sense.”

    “Did it?”

    “No. But at least it didn’t change every few seconds.”

    “Some things are the same,” he said.

    “Like what?”

    “I still owe you a real date.”

    I rolled my head so I could see him. He looked good in profile, a strong nose and high-cut cheekbones that gave him that slightly exotic flare. Wide lips, and dark, smooth skin. The note of his pine cologne mingled with the roses and made a new, sensual scent.

    “I thought O’Donnel’s was it,” I said.

    He looked over at me. “O’Donnel’s was definitely not it. How about we try it again. Tonight. I’ll come by your place around seven. I have reservations at the Gargoyle.”

    That was one of the most expensive French restaurants in town.

    “Wow, the Gargoyle? Being a secret magic assassin pays good, don’t it?”

    He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not about the money; it’s about the health benefits.”

    I laughed. I mean, seriously guffawed. Sweet hells, it had been a pretty bad few days.

    “Or maybe you’d rather have some time alone tonight?” he asked.

    I thought about it. He was probably right; I did need time alone. But what I needed even more was to not be alone.

    “Seven is great. Bring your wallet; I’m going to be hungry.”

    He looked over at me, and those beautiful brown eyes sparked with bits of gold. “I think I can handle that.”

    We arrived at my apartment building and he double-parked outside the front door.

    “What are we going to do with all these flowers?” I asked.

    “Let me take care of it.” He got out of the car, opened the back door, and gathered up all the flowers.

    “A little help with the doors would be nice,” he said from somewhere in the middle of the giant bundle of flowers.

    I giggled. “You look adorable, Mr. Jones.” I think the wine had done some damage. Or, I don’t know, maybe it was seeing my father’s body buried or my friend in an urn.

    “Door, Beckstrom,” Zayvion growled.

    “Hold on, hold on.” I jogged up the stairs and opened the front doors.

    “Only three flights,” I said to Zayvion.

    He grunted.

    I walked up the stairs first, Zayvion silent behind me. I paused at the top of the stairs and looked down the hall. It had become a habit. A sort of dread hit my stomach every time I approached the door to my apartment. I couldn’t help but glance over at the apartment where Frank Gordon had lived. So close. Too close. I hadn’t heard anyone come to clean out his apartment yet. I wondered if he had family.

    “Allie?” Zayvion said.

    “Fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

    He somehow managed to sort the bouquets and free a hand. He gently touched the side of my arm. “I know,” he said.

    And that, a casual acceptance of me, of maybe even all the stuff I’d been through, made me wish he had his arms around me instead of those flowers.

    “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” I walked down the hall, unlocked my door, and strode in like I never worried about what might be waiting, lurking for me in my home.

    Zayvion took the flowers into the kitchen and set them all carefully on the counter.

    “Might need some more vases,” he observed.

    I came up behind him and looked around him to the sink.

    “Maybe I’ll just float them all in the bathtub.” I drew back and he turned, leaning against the counter.

    “If you want those flowers in the tub, you’ll have to do it yourself. I am done hauling these things around for you.”

    “Aw. Being a hero is a tough job.”

    “It is. Especially when it involves you.”

    He tucked his thumbs in the front pocket of his jeans and smiled. Standing there, comfortable and smiling in my kitchen, smelling of roses and pine, and looking like he knew a secret I’d never find out about, he seemed… I don’t know. Strong. A little dangerous. A lot sexy.

    So I leaned forward and kissed him.

    He put one hand on my hip and gently cradled the curve of my jaw with his other hand. I drew my right arm around him, tucking my fingers in his back pocket.

    Nice. Very nice.

    I tried to put my left arm around him too, but the vase of flowers in my hand tipped and peed water on my floor.

    Did I know how to do romance or what?

    I righted the vase so I could turn my real attention on Zayvion.

    My tongue slipped along his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth for me. Electric heat shot down my body and pooled deliciously in my belly as his tongue slid along mine, sparking desire, making my body want to stretch for him.

    Oh, loves, I wanted him.

    The kiss deepened as each of us explored, touched, and remembered, if even for a brief moment, what this meant, what we meant, together.

    Then I pulled away. “We were going to wait for it to be real instead of just trauma sex. Isn’t that what you said?” I was hoping he would say no, that was not at all what he had said.

    And even though his eyes were burning bright, and even though the heat of passion from the kiss still lingered on my lips and in my veins, Zayvion Jones said, “It’s never been just trauma sex. But yes. We’re going to wait until we both know for sure what it really is all about. And I want to make good on my promise to take you on a date. First.”

    Promises, promises. “Then I guess you’ll have to leave,” I said.

    “Yes, I guess I will.”

    We stood there, our shoes wet from the rose piddle. Finally Zayvion pushed away from the counter and walked past me toward the door.

    Damn. That man must have put on his stainless steel willpower panties this morning.

    He opened the door. “See you at seven,” he said.

    I leaned one shoulder in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t be late.”

    Zayvion smiled. “Not a chance.”

    He shut the door behind him, and I strolled over and threw the locks.

    Maybe things were looking up after all.

    I hadn’t been on a date for years. How did one do this? Shower first, and then I’d see if I owned any clothing that wasn’t made of denim or wool. I walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light, trying to remember if I still had that little red dress I’d bought a couple years ago. I bet that dress could burn right through Mr. Jones’ willpower.

    I was still carrying the vase of roses. It was out of water, so I tipped it under the spigot and turned on the water.

    Allie… A thought, a whisper, an exhale. Chills ran down my skin. I knew that voice. Only I hadn’t heard it with my ears. I’d heard it in my head. Panic pounded my chest.

    I looked up into the mirror. And saw my father’s gaze looking back at me through my eyes.