The house looked like a ruin, its porch sagging and groaning under our weight. But when Theron opened the unlocked door, a heavenly smell of bacon and eggs came drifting out, and the entry hall was brightly lit and tile-floored. Stairs went up to the second level, a wrought-iron banister rising in a sweet curve, and it was obvious someone had spent serious time making the inside as beautiful as the outside was decrepit.
I stood there, my sock foot smearing blood and dirt on the tiles, and blinked. Down the hall was even more bright light, and someone was humming tunelessly as a hiss of something cooking in a pan reached us. Devi crowded in behind me, sweeping the door shut and locking it. “Jesus.” She blew out between her teeth, and you could hear her eyes roll as if she was a teenager. “I mean, really.”
“Who would try to break in or steal from us here?” Theron swept his hair back. He was perking up big time. “Hello the house! Break out the cervezas and bring me a burrito! Look what I’ve got!”
The arch off to our left was suddenly full of motion. Two women, their long, tawny hair hanging loose except for twin braids holding it back from their faces, appeared. Weres, I realized, seeing their fluid economy of motion, their wide, high-cheekboned faces. Their arms were bare and rippling with clean muscle, both of them in flannel button-downs with the sleeves ripped off. Barefoot and dark-eyed, they were both utterly beautiful.
Something hot rose in my throat. I blinked.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” the one on the right said, staring at me. “It’s… is it? It is!”
I realized I knew her face just as Theron laughed again.
“Amalia.” I studied her. And the other female. Lioness, both of them. From the Norte Luz pride. The sensation of puzzle pieces sliding together, dropping with a click, was beginning to be disconcertingly constant. “Rahel.”
They stared. Their jaws dropped, but Amalia pulled herself together first. “He’s upstairs.” The hall was suddenly crowded as she pushed past Theron, stepping close to me and brushing his hand away. “It’s… brace yourself.” A glance at the Werepanther. “Have you told her?”
He spread his hands helplessly. “Look at us. There hasn’t been time. I was over by the Monde, just poking around—”
“Ah, yes,” Anya Devi piped up. “This was the story I wanted to hear. Come on, I need food. And absinthe. Please tell me you have some.”
Amalia’s grip on my arm was just short of bruising. “He hasn’t told you anything?” She pulled me up the staircase, each hardwood step sanded and glowing mellow gold. The good smell of healthy Were and cooking mixed together, and I began to feel like I might have survived the last few hours. “You look awful, by the way.”
“Thanks.” The word was turned into sandpaper by the rock in my throat. “There wasn’t time to say anything. We’ve been on the run. Look—”
“He’s fading. But you’ll fix that right up.” She virtually hauled me upstairs, and the balustrade turned out to run all the way along the open hall. Bedroom doors opened up off to the right, and at the end of the hall an antique iron mission cross hung on the bathroom door. I knew it was the bathroom because the door was half open, and I saw a slice of white tile and scrubbed-gleaming chrome, the edge of a claw-footed tub. “I’ll bring you something to eat. Maybe you can persuade him to eat too, he needs it. He’s going to be so…” She stopped dead, took a deep breath. “Listen to me babbling on. How are you? Are you all right?”
It was too much concern all at once. “Fine,” I mumbled. My fingers dropped to the gun butt, smoothed the warm, comforting metal. A very nasty supposition was rising in my head, like bad gas in a mine shaft. Fading? I don’t like the sound of that. “Um. Amalia—”
She didn’t listen, just set off again. Paused for half a second by the second door on the right. “Brace yourself. Really. It’s… my God. Come on.” She twisted the balky old glass-crystal knob—everything in the house looked like it had been restored from one hell of an estate sale. “Saul?” Her voice dropped, became soft, questioning. “Saul, I’ve brought someone to see you.”
My heart leapt into my throat. It hit the rock that had been sitting there for a good half hour, mixed with the bile coating my windpipe, and twisted so hard I almost choked.
Saul? The room was dark. Amalia drew me in, and the sudden gloom confused me. My one sneaker squeaked on the hardwood floor, and an overstressed tremor went through me, my skeleton deciding it could shiver itself to pieces now that the fun and games was over.
The room was very plain. White cotton drapes over a small window, a white iron bed, a long human shape on it. He was curled up, sparks of silver in his dark hair, and my skin tightened all over me.
Was I afraid? Yes. Or no, I wasn’t afraid.
I was outright terrified.
“Saul?” It was a harsh croak. I tore my arm out of Amalia’s grasp, and she let me. There was a cherrywood washstand by the door, my hip bumped it as I took two unsteady steps.
The shape on the bed didn’t stir. A rattling sound rose from it—a long, shallow, tortured breath. The silver in his hair was charms, ones I knew.
Because I’d given him every one of them. Tied most of them in with red thread, too, while sunlight fell over us and a cat Were’s purr made the air sleepy and golden. Sometimes he would drum his long coppery fingers on my bare knee, and I would laugh.
I was halfway to the bed before I stopped, remembering how filthy I was.
That never mattered to him. I inhaled sharply.
It smelled sick in here. Dry and terrible, a rasping against my sensitive nose. Like a hole an animal had crawled into to die. It was clean, certainly, every corner scrubbed and the bedcovers and drapes bleached and starched. Still, the reek of illness brushed the walls with shrunken centipede fingers.
Oh, God. “What’s wrong with him?” I whispered. It was a useless question. I could guess.
“Matesickness.” Amalia’s own whisper made the air move uneasily around me, little bits of fur and feathers brushing my drying sweat. “The closer you can get to him, the better. Lie down next to him. He needs to know you’re alive.” She backed up, reaching for the doorknob. “We thought you were dead. Weres don’t survive without their mates. You know that.”
“I was—” I began, but she swept the door closed, leaving me alone in the dark. I swallowed, hard. I was dead. The sudden certainty shook me all the way down to my filthy, aching toes.
I was dead, and Perry had something to do with it. Maybe even a lot to do with it. And now… Saul. My pulse picked up, a thin high hard beat in my wrists and throat and ankles, behind my knees, my chest a hollow cave.
The shape on the bed stirred. Just a little. I saw a gleam of dark eyes under silver-starred hair. Only it wasn’t just the silver. There were pale streaks, gray or white, and that was new.
I took a single step. “Saul?” High and breathy, like a little girl.
He twitched. The rattling in-breath intensified. The gem on my wrist gave out a thin sound, like crystal stroked by a wet fingertip.
When you’re ready.
I was beginning to think I wasn’t ready for anything about this. But it was too late. I’d already clawed my way up out of my own grave, hadn’t I?
You can’t do that and not accept the consequences.