MALIK PUT AWAY his phone.
“Bad?” Shade asked him.
Malik nodded. “I think Dekka was crying.”
The utter improbability of that was disturbing all by itself. Dekka? Crying?
Dekka?
“When do we get a day off from this?” Shade muttered. She was frying eggs in the brownstone’s designer kitchen surrounded by gleaming copper and shiny stainless steel and every known or unknown kitchen device. It was, Shade thought, a kitchen you could run a restaurant out of. But frying eggs was the limit of Shade’s culinary skill, and she was pretty sure she was screwing even that up.
Malik sat perched on a barstool at the granite-topped kitchen island and kept his hands busy arranging a basket of fruit by size.
“You ever read Heinlein?” Malik asked. “Something Wicked This Way Comes?”
Shade’s answer was a knowing, mirthless laugh.
Malik had heard the heralds of a great evil in the voices of men begging for death. He had heard it in the hopelessness of Francis’s voice. Worst of all was the awed pity in the voices of his friends and the policeman. They were seeing something unspeakable. Something wicked.
Something was coming that would obliterate this small moment of normalcy with Shade. Any moment of peace, any moment that was not a crisis, was precious to Malik now. His head was full. He felt like a swollen water balloon that only needed a few more drops to burst. He had not a moment of freedom from the Watchers; if anything, it felt as if there were more of them than ever. Part of him wondered if they had become alarmed at his penetrations into Over There. He felt no emotion from the Watchers, seldom did, and when he sensed anything like an emotion, it was eagerness or impatience.
Malik wished he felt fear from the Watchers; that would be a good sign. He wanted them to be afraid. He wanted to be what they feared. But it was more important than ever to be very careful about what he believed and what he did not, to separate facts from wishes. Malik had never been one to accept anything at face value; he always needed evidence, and of Watcher panic he sensed none.
“Feeling the Watchers? You kind of went silent on me.”
Malik snapped back to the present, seeing Shade’s concern. “A bit.” Then he forced a smile. “You know what we’d do if we were smart?”
“What would we do if we were smart? Dammit! I broke one of my eggs! I mean, one of your eggs.”
“We would trademark the Rockborn Gang and license our name for merchandise. We could make millions for doing no work.” He forced a smile. Soon Dekka and Francis would be back. Soon this small moment of peace would end.
Shade slid the eggs onto two plates, taking the broken one for herself. “Here. And no complaints: I am not a chef.”
“Merch, movies, a lecture tour . . . ,” Malik went on. “Salt?”
“Comic-Con. We could absolutely do Comic-Con. Salt’s right there. The grinder.” Shade took a stool beside him. “Yeah, millions, with which we would do what?”
Malik shrugged. “Run away to New Zealand?”
They ate for a while. Then Shade said, “Do you think it’s upsetting the group dynamic, me and you, I mean?”
Malik smiled and laid his hand over hers on the counter. “It’s done good things for my personal dynamic. I assume that was your goal.”
“Mmm? My goal?”
“I mean, sure, you find me irresistible—who wouldn’t?—but I know you, Shade. You never have just one thing in mind.”
Shade put her fork down. “You think it was charity?”
Malik shrugged. “Call it a morale boost.”
Shade sighed. “You too, huh? Shade Darby, always up to something. Always manipulating.”
Malik’s expression was affectionate but dubious. “And you’re not?”
Malik had expected her to toss off a quip, but Shade considered as she seasoned her food. Malik was testing her, and of course she knew it. That was the upside of his being with Shade: whatever Malik said or even thought, Shade got it, understood. But that was also the downside.
“Did it ever occur to you that I’m human? That I just needed to be with you?” Shade asked.
Malik nodded. “It did occur to me, babe. It did.” He tilted his head and looked at her appraisingly. “People can have more than one motive. And, well, you feel bad. Guilty. Which, by the way, two things: one, it’s progress. The Shade I used to know didn’t do guilt. And two, you’ll notice I’m not complaining.”
Shade grabbed a napkin and wiped a bit of egg from his mouth. Then she leaned into him and kissed him on the lips. He closed his eyes because he always did. He felt her mouth on his, her tongue teasing him, her exhalation on his cheeks, and felt the wonderful, careless weakness of surrender.
After all this time, after all he had seen and done, after all that had been done to him, as strong as he felt he had become, he had no power, never would have any power, to resist her.
“Yes, I feel guilty,” Shade whispered. “And no, I’m not that person anymore. Or at least I’m less that person.”
Malik nodded. “When we were together, I used to tell you I loved you.”
“Past tense?” Shade asked, trying for lighthearted and achieving only a quivery uncertainty.
“Oh, I have to say it again?” he asked archly. “Okay. Shade, I never got over you. Of course I still love you. How could I not still love you?”
Shade’s breath caught in her throat, and Malik saw to his absolute amazement that tears were spilling down her cheeks. Malik took her napkin and wiped one away with great tenderness, as though he thought her flesh might bruise.
“Oh, shit,” Shade muttered, and now the tears were coming fast, and sobs seized her next few words. She swallowed hard, started to speak, stopped. Then, finally, in a low, strained voice said, “I love you too, bunny.”
Malik laughed. “This is what it takes to get you to say those words? After all these years. All it takes is a total catastrophe that may destroy all of human civilization, and then you can say it?”
“Well,” Shade said, smiling weakly, “I didn’t want to seem easy.”
Malik erupted in his absurd, embarrassing donkey laugh. “The word ‘easy’ will never be applied to you, babe. In the dictionary next to the term ‘high maintenance,’ there’s an illustration of you.”
“Mmm. You know, Dekka and Francis are still out. Cruz went with Armo to pick up some junk food. . . . I mean, these people are nice to lend us this house, but they are way too into health food—”
“And?” Malik interrupted her digression.
“And, well, we kind of have privacy.” She laid a hand on his thigh.
A while later they lay side by side in the king-sized bed in the master bedroom, Shade with her head on his bare chest.
“Just so we’re clear,” Malik said, “was that guilt or good, honest lust? Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine either way.”
“Just fine?”
He kissed her. “You practically killed me just now, so it may have been attempted murder, actually, but again, I’m totally fine with that.”
“Hey, Malik?” Shade raised her head and turned him to look at her. “I love you.”
They were silent for a while, savoring, relaxing, ignoring the rest of the world.
“This is all unreal, isn’t it?” Shade asked, looking up at the ceiling. “Us. We’re not real.”
“Of course we’re real,” Malik said. “Yes, maybe we’re in a simulation. But we have no alternative to treating it as real because this is the only reality we have. The walls are solid. Gravity still works. Pain is real, as real as ever. Pleasure, too.”
“It’s a bit creepy knowing they’re seeing everything.”
“Yeah. A bit.”
“Are we some kind of experiment? Or a movie? Or a game?”
“I hope to find out,” Malik said. “When we have time, I’m going back. If Francis is cool with it.”
“I worry about you doing that.”
“Why?”
“It’s dangerous, duh.”
“No, but why do you worry about me, specifically?” He rolled toward her and reached under the blanket.
“Well, you’re a valuable member of the team.”
“Uh-huh. And?”
“Mmmmm. What? Oh, well, what you’re doing . . . right now . . . that’s part of it.”
“And?”
“Really, Malik? I have to say it again?”
“Yes. You do.”
“I love you, Malik. Even when I was pretending not to, I did.”
“All right, then. I’m going to take a shower.”
“Um, I don’t think so. You started something, you finish it.”