The cottage on Patmos is postcard-perfect. Whitewashed under a cloudless blue sky, built into a hill overlooking a harbour packed with fishing boats and luxury cruisers. I’m standing in the middle of the narrow road staring out at the Mediterranean Sea when I hear a door open behind me.
‘Well?’
I answer honestly. ‘I’m insanely jealous.’ I turn to find Jude in the doorway wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. Barefoot. He’s freshly shaven and his hair is damp as if he’s just out of the shower. He’s made an effort. I left the Sanctuary in old jeans, combat boots and a fleecy hoodie, my hair tied back. There’s a sea breeze but it’s still warmer here in October than in northern Italy. I unzip the hoodie and push up my sleeves. Wish I’d worn something a little nicer—and more climate appropriate.
Jude’s smile is cautious. ‘The first time I saw this place I thought of you.’ I don’t know how to respond so I just stand there looking out of place. He gestures behind him. ‘Come in.’
I follow him down a bright hallway, through a sitting room—white stucco walls, copper artwork, rustic furniture (obviously Jude decorated the place, not Rafa, or there’d be motorcycle parts on a shelf somewhere)—and into a breezy kitchen. The window over the sink is open, framed by sky-blue shutters. It smells of oranges and freshly ground coffee. Jude grabs the container under the grinder, brings it to me. ‘Smell this.’
I lean forward, breathe in. ‘Oh my god, what is that?’
‘Special Yemeni blend. I buy it under the counter from a café on the harbour. Wait till you taste it.’
He takes a copper coffee pot from a hook over the stove, measures two cups of water into it, adds coffee and sugar and lights the gas while I sit at the counter. I run my fingers over the terracotta tiles. The familiarity of the ritual is disarming. I’ve seen Jude make Greek coffee a thousand times. It’s even the same pot he used to sneak into the kitchen at the Sanctuary to make coffee for Rafa, Micah and me. Brother Pietro was always so offended that our taste for coffee extended beyond his espresso.
Jude doesn’t speak as he waits for the sugar to dissolve. He stirs the brew with his back to me, his hair falling forward. The sight of him so focused on that tiny pot brings a sharp pang. I think of all the moments he’s had without me and it’s like the emptiness in my chest was just freshly gouged. He glances over his shoulder, sees me sitting at the bench—his bench. Or maybe he sees everything I’m feeling written on my face. Whatever it is, it makes his mouth tug down. He swallows but doesn’t look away.
‘It’s boiling,’ I say quietly and he turns in time to lift the pot from the flame before it bubbles over.
When it’s ready, he pours it out into two small cups. Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out a plate. ‘My friend at the harbour made it fresh this morning.’
I can’t help it: I smile. Galaktoboureko.
My favourite dessert, or at least a close second to Turkish delight. He smiles back at me, less cautious now. I take the coffees and follow him to a patio off the kitchen. We’re surrounded by colour: lemon trees in pots and bougainvillea along the low concrete wall, the ocean filling the horizon beyond the flat rooftops of the town. We sit on sun-blasted folding chairs at a small table decorated with a mosaic of a crescent moon, almost the exact shape of the Rephaite mark on our necks. We’re side by side, facing the ocean. I sip my coffee. Thick and sweet.
‘This is really good, Jude.’
His eyes flit to me as if he’s pleased to hear me say his name. ‘Thanks.’ He hands me the plate of galaktoboureko and a fork, the silver warm from his touch. I dig into the puff pastry and custard, lift it to my lips and close my eyes. Feel sunshine on my face, savour the sweetness.
Jude waits until I open my eyes. ‘So. How are you?’
I wipe syrup from the corner of my mouth. ‘I’m okay. You?’
‘Yeah, I’m okay too.’
A pause.
‘Have you heard from Jason?’ I ask.
‘No. You?’
I shake my head and Jude loads up his fork. He chews and swallows, eyes straying out to sea. The silence starts to feel awkward again. He licks his fork clean. ‘Okay, clearly neither of us has got any better at small talk.’
I laugh and immediately breathe easier.
‘How about we say what we’re thinking?’ Jude says.
‘Okay. You first.’
‘Are you still with Daniel?’
Not what I was expecting. ‘No.’
He nods, settles back in his chair.
‘But you already knew that if Jones reports his conversations with Daisy to you.’
‘I wanted to hear it from you.’ He takes another forkful of custard pie. ‘Your turn.’
‘Why didn’t you call after you left?’ The question is out before I know that’s what I wanted to ask. ‘Was it that easy to walk away from me?’
He blinks, his fork dripping syrup onto the golden moon. ‘No, Gabe. It was not that easy. The way you stayed, it made it tough for me to…’ He puts the fork down. ‘And then we ran into your squad in India and you and Rafa attacked each other, which made it hard for me to convince the others you hadn’t turned against us.’
I can’t keep eye contact with him. That moment set the tone for the Sanctuary’s relationship with the Outcasts. It’s the reason Sanctuary squads and Outcast crews come to blows anytime our paths cross. That’s on me. And Rafa.
‘I’m not throwing stones, I’m answering your question.’ Jude’s voice is gentler now. ‘My turn?’
I blow out my breath and nod, eyes fixed on the ocean.
‘Why didn’t you come with me? I still don’t understand.’
I rub my eyes. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘No shit.’
‘Can we work our way up to that one?’ I hope he can’t see how much my hand is shaking. ‘How did your job go yesterday?’
Jude measures me. He knows me well enough to understand it’s more than stalling. ‘Nobody got hurt and there’s half a dozen less Immundi infesting the world.’
‘Is it just me or are there more of those ugly little turds setting up shop these days?’
‘Definitely more, and Zarael and his horde usually aren’t far away.’
It’s a relief to talk to Jude about this stuff. ‘Think Zarael’s trying to organise the Immundi into a secondary force?’
‘Maybe.’ Jude takes another mouthful of dessert, keeps talking as he chews. ‘But that would mean there’s something coming that needs an army.’
‘Like us finding the Fallen.’
‘Or something bigger.’
A cold finger brushes the back of my neck. He means the prophesied war between heaven and hell. Nathaniel’s always told us we need to find the Fallen before that happens. ‘Do you think we’ve run out of time?’
‘I don’t know. And I still have no idea what it would mean for us if we have.’
‘Maybe this Dani has some answers.’
‘God, I hope so.’
We sit with the possibility of that thought for a long moment, the weight of it. Finally, Jude leans back in his chair, stretches out his legs on my side of the table.
‘How’s Micah?’
I relax a little; this I can answer. ‘He still misses Adeline but he’s stayed clean. And he’s hooked up at least half a dozen times that I know of in the last two years, although I don’t know if that’s helping or—’
‘Trust me, it’s helping. He still playing guitar?’
‘Yeah, and making playlists of musicians you should be listening to instead of banging your head.’
He smiles. ‘Of course he is.’
I smile back—and that’s when Rafa materialises behind Jude in the kitchen doorway. Maybe it’s the sight of Jude and me sitting together, relaxed, that throws him, but Rafa breaks into a grin. For a split second it’s like he’s forgotten the past ten years.
And then he remembers.
The smile evaporates. ‘You brought her here? What the fuck, Jude.’
Jude and I are on our feet, chairs scraping over concrete. I vaguely register that Rafa knows Jude and I are speaking again. Which means the rest of the Outcasts probably do too.
‘Both of you stay calm,’ Jude says. He doesn’t get between us, which is optimistic—and uncharacteristically naive.
‘She’s the last person who should know about this place.’
‘Shit, Rafa, and all these years I thought you trusted my judgment.’ Jude says it like he’s joking, but there’s a hard edge to him. A warning.
‘It’s not your judgment I’m worried about.’ Rafa’s watching me now. His gaze flicks to my hands and I flex my fingers, shift my weight. Subtle, threatening. ‘So what’s the deal, Gabe? What’s brought on this sudden need to talk to your brother?’
‘That’s between me and Jude.’ My pulse kicks up a notch, adrenaline building. Rafa comes closer, stays on an angle to give me less of a target. I move forward to meet him away from the table—fewer objects to get in the way. Jude clicks his tongue in annoyance.
‘For fuck’s sake, you two, get over it. There’s nothing to fight over anymore.’
Rafa and I lock eyes, share a bitter, knowing look. Yeah, there is.
‘Gabe.’ Jude’s voice cuts through my anger: the way he says my name, more entreaty than censure. ‘Please.’
I take a slow breath. I can do this. I’m here for Jude, not Rafa, and things were going fine until he turned up. Better than fine. I don’t take my eyes from Rafa, try to breathe through my need to hit him.
‘Daniel sent you, didn’t he?’ Rafa pushes. ‘Of course he did, you’re his puppet. Does he pull your strings in bed too?’
I lash out, pure reflex. My fist connects with his nose and Rafa’s head snaps back in a mist of blood. Pain explodes across my knuckles, forks up my wrist.
‘Hey!’ Jude is between us before I can follow up or Rafa can counter. My brother pushes me back, not rough, and holds a hand out in warning to Rafa. ‘Don’t.’
‘Come on, man, she fucking broke my nose!’ Rafa holds his palm against his nostrils to catch the blood, glares at me through his fingers.
‘You got what you were asking for.’ Jude eyeballs him, leaves no doubt he’s not in the mood for an argument.
Rafa shifts his weight. ‘So, what, you two have made up, just like that? The past decade doesn’t count anymore?’
‘It’s a conversation with my sister, Rafa. We’re not talking about the Sanctuary and we’re not talking about our crew. It’s twin stuff.’
Twin stuff.
Even before the split, neither of us had played that card for at least five years. It was the excuse we always gave when we wanted time on our own.
‘Twin stuff my arse,’ Rafa says.
Jude doesn’t react, he simply watches Rafa. Waits.
Rafa draws a slow, intentionally loud breath. Blows out a cynical laugh. ‘Fine.’ His eyes slice back to me. ‘But next time I see you, it’s on.’
I respond with a tight smile. ‘Not a problem.’
A second later, Jude and I are alone again on the patio.
Slowly, I relax, rub the soreness out of my knuckles. I go back to the table and sit down. Jude does the same. He takes another mouthful of dessert, chews it thoughtfully. He swallows, wipes his mouth, and then lays his fork back on the plate. The sea breeze tousles his hair.
‘Okay. It’s time you told me what the hell happened between you and Rafa.’