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“Dear Lord.” I put a hand to my head to stop it from rolling off my neck. My voice sounded like a scratched phonograph recording, and hot, glowing brimstone burned in my throat. Surely, if I were dead, I wouldn’t have to suffer the injustice of a pounding headache and an epic sore throat. So maybe Timber hadn’t killed me after all.
I blinked until the outlines of furniture, hanging drapery, and other unfamiliar housewares took shape in a low-lit room. Somehow, I had sunk into the depths of a plush feather mattress, topped by mounds of cozy sheets and velvet coverlets. Struggling up from the bedding’s nebulous depths felt like fighting my way out of a stubborn cloud.
A shadow shifted in a dark corner. I gasped and recoiled from it—visions of monsters still danced in my head—but the shadow coalesced into a familiar figure. Exhaling, I shoved a loose curl from my eye. “Oh, it’s you.”
M.R. approached, carrying two big earthenware mugs, and the scent wafting from them was thick, rich, and heady. That store of dried goods Bloom and I had found at Clawson’s Mercantile months before had included coffee—until someone had scooped our stash out from under us. I inhaled, preparing to ask M.R. if he knew anything about it, but he spoke up first.
“Coffee?” He shoved a mug at me.
The aroma, as heavy and thick as wood smoke, washed over me, and all cognizant thought fled. My brain pushed aside all other subjects and focused solely on the contents of that cup. Forgive me, but coffee and I had developed an obsessive love affair, and we’d been apart for way too long.
“What did you call me out there?”
He eased onto the edge of the bed, careful to keep his profile to me. Still, it was the best look at him I’d gotten so far, and he was lovely: dusky skin, dark lashes, high cheekbones, and a nose that would have been knife straight if not for a little hump near the bridge, possibly a break that hadn’t been properly set. Having survived this long, chances were good that we had all broken something—just ask my little toe and the ring finger on my right hand.
“I called you, M.R.”
I sipped from my cup. He had sweetened the coffee, probably with sugar from the same stolen stash. The heat from it eased the sting in my ruined throat, and I savored the brief relief.
“Em-Are?” He turned so I could see the quirk of one black eyebrow.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s the letters, M and R. You wouldn’t tell me your name, so I made one up for you.”
“What does it mean?” He furrowed his brow.
A blush flared in my cheeks, and I ducked my chin. “Mysterious Rescuer.”
He choked but managed to swallow his coffee without dribbling on his shirtfront. I peeked at him over the rim of my cup as he wiped a few drops from his chin.
“My sister thinks it’s silly too.” Speaking of Bloom brought her to the surface of my thoughts. “You haven’t seen her anywhere lately, have you?”
The one black eyebrow arched higher. “She’s missing?”
“You must have known I was looking for her if you knew where to find me.”
He shrugged in a noncommittal way and turned, almost giving me his back.
Something about the sudden wariness in his posture raised my curiosity. “You don’t know anything? Really?”
He shook his head. “I don’t watch her.”
“But you do watch me.”
I’d figured out that truth a while ago—there was no other way to explain his timely appearances. The more I talked, the more I sounded like a croaking frog, and my throat protested the strain. Nevertheless, I intended to get answers from him. He could be secretive, but I would have bet dollars to donuts I could be more stubborn.
He shrugged again.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Where are we?”
“My place.”
“And where is that?” I tried to imagine him rescuing me from the terrible thing that had been Timber and carrying me back to his home. M.R. was tall, but under that big black coat, he probably had no more meat on his bones than Bloom or me.
He slid off the bed and moved to a plush, upholstered chair in the corner of the narrow room. The already-dim lighting fell short, leaving him wrapped in deep shadows. I sat up straighter and huffed. An errant curl stirred on my forehead.
“Did you know him—the one who was choking you?” he asked. “I heard you call his name.”
The pain in my throat flared. I gulped the last of my coffee and set the empty mug on the floor by the bed. “He was a friend, I guess. We called him Timber.” Shame stung my cheeks. I called him a friend, but I’d never asked for his real name.
“He’s very big.”
“Hence the nickname,” I said. “He seemed... impenetrable. Like a fortress or something. I wonder how they got him.”
M.R. shifted in his seat and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “There was an attack on the worksite a few days ago. That’s why it was so deserted.”
“I thought Moll Grimes kept plenty of security around her turf.”
His dark figure shrugged. “She’s gotten a little too comfortable, I think.”
“I’ll say. How many do you think it was?”
“How many undead, or how many people lost?”
“Both, I guess.”
“A lot, on both sides. I didn’t count. Only a few workers got away.”
A light flicked on inside my head—an idea coming to life. “I wonder if that attack had anything to do with the timing of my sister’s disappearance.”
“Sounds like a reasonable assumption.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
No reply.
“I wonder why they didn’t take me,” I said, mostly to myself. I pondered that question until the silence and M.R.’s shadowy presence weighed too heavily for comfort. Shifting, I threw aside my covers and settled my feet on the carpeted floor. Only then did I realize he had removed my boots. “I thank you for saving me. Again. But I guess I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough. I’ll be on my way.”
His dark head jerked up, and he seemed surprised, though the shadows made it hard to tell. “Where would you go?”
“I’m... not really sure.” I couldn’t go home. If John Brown survived the afternoon’s undead attack, he’d never accept letting me get away. The Savings and Loan would surely be the first place he’d go looking for me. And if I were him, I’d bring reinforcements.
“It’s night, Sera. I think you should stay here until morning. You shouldn’t be looking for cover at this hour. Your bank vault is very secure, but I promise that my home is even more so. Stay here. You’ll be safe.”
I started to argue, started to explain how I couldn’t afford to accept too many favors—I had no way to pay them back.
Before I could form my thoughts into words, M.R. stood, crossed the room, and pushed aside one of the tapestries, revealing a doorway. He paused and glanced over his shoulder.
“My name is Erik, by the way.”
Then he slipped through the doorway and disappeared into the gloom on the other side.
The tapestry swung down behind him like the curtain at the end of a play. He didn’t return that evening, and strange as it was to sleep in another person’s home, he had a point. I felt safe there, and for some reason, I believed him when he said his home was secure.
For once in my life, I decided I should take my sister’s advice. Don’t jump into action without making plans first. I’d stay long enough to figure out my next move. In the meantime, I’d have to hope Erik wasn’t some opportunistic creeper who’d make me regret not leaving as soon as I had the chance.