Vicki Pettersson - The Given

Kit stood, too. “Nice bedside manner.”

“Learned it from Shaw,” Nic admitted, and surprised she was capable of it, Kit actually smiled. Nicole glanced back down at Ray. “The bastard’s hiding in there. Even newly harvested souls know when they have to answer for their crimes.”

Kit’s heart resumed an unnatural thud. She put a hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Nicole just shrugged the magnificent wings at her back, causing the gold tips to flare as if lit. “What do you expect? That big lug gave you awareness. He handed you an apple of knowledge and you took a big ol’ bite of it. Now you can’t unknow it. That would require someone more prone to fantasy, and the Kit I knew and loved valued the truth above all else.”

“Still do,” Kit admitted, because it was what her father had taught her, what he’d died for, and what she had lived for ever since.

Don’t just find the easy answer, Kitty-Cat! Find the truth!

“And that’s why you can see me,” Nicole said, crossing her arms. “It’s why you can see Grif for who he really is, too. The Pure actually love that about you, by the way.”

“You mean Grif’s angelic asshole of a boss?” Scoffing, Kit shook her head. “He hates me.”

“He didn’t understand you,” Nicole corrected, “but now he does. He’s had to feel what it’s like to be one of us. He’s actually felt every ounce of your pain and sorrow. It’s excruciating for a Pure.”

Kit was not going to feel sorry for that bombastic, judgmental, blackmailing Pure angel. “I don’t care.”

“Is that why you won’t allow yourself to feel good things anymore? You just don’t care?”

Kit crossed her arms now. “You calling me on my shit, Nic?”

Nicole smiled and pointed at herself. “Bestie, remember?”

Yes, they were besties . . . and Kit wasn’t just happy to see her, she was relieved to be with someone with whom she didn’t have to feign strength.

“It’s hard,” she finally said, chin wobbling.

Nic smiled. “Because it’s worth it.”

“It hurts.”

“Because it’s passion.”

“I’m afraid,” Kit finally admitted in the smallest voice yet.

“But feeling love, even losing it, is better than simply existing,” Nicole said, and shook her head as she frowned. “Take it from someone who doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore, taking a risk is a gift. It means you still have a chance to build something great and new. You should throw yourself at that.”

Kit just stood there.

“I said throw yourself,” Nicole said wryly, and Kit laughed self-consciously. Nicole laughed, too, then straightened and took a step toward Ray. “I really do have to go. This ass-nozzle is starting the Fade, and it’s my wings if he gets Lost.”

But Kit just stared at Nicole, and there was no room for thoughts of Ray or, momentarily, even Grif. This was it, she somehow knew. She wouldn’t see Nicole again, not on this side of the life/death divide, and that reopened the wound that she thought time had healed. A million little memories and moments raced through Kit’s mind: Nicole’s love for potluck cookouts and swing-dancing, the way tears streamed down the apples of her cheeks when she really got to laughing, how their sides would hurt afterward, sometimes for hours.

Kit bit her lip, feeling tears well up, and wished she could hug her friend one last time, or that they could at least link arms as they had so often after a long night out, gazes turned toward the rising sun, making wishes upon the new day.

“Careful,” Nicole said, her star-speckled gaze now surging. She was remembering, too. “Father Francis is going to blame me if he feels all of that .”

Kit still didn’t care. Her sorrow at Nic’s violent, needless death struck her all over again, and as her heart swelled in her chest, she realized that was why God never let people see the loved ones who’d passed on after death. You’d never heal if the scab was continually ripped from the wound.

“I’m glad we get to say good-bye,” she choked out. “We didn’t get to . . . the first time.”

“Yeah, sudden death due to multiple stab wounds and strangulation tends to interfere with the more heartfelt farewells.” Nicole laughed darkly at Kit’s responding wince. “Don’t worry about me, Kit, just . . . don’t shut down. I know it’s not easy, but I think I can deal with facing eternity on this side of things as long as I know that you still have your face turned toward the sun.”

Kit blew out a shaky breath and finally gave a matching nod, though she wasn’t sure that would ever be the case again. She’d always valued knowledge and truth, but now it felt like she knew too much to ever be that blithely, or blindly, happy again.

“Go out the back,” Nicole told her, jerking her head at the far door. “I’ve messed with the cameras, so they’ll never see you leave.”

Kit nodded, and Nicole just smiled and gave her a slow blink when she hesitated. Kit drank in the sight of her, committing this new-yet-old girlfriend to memory, then finally turned away. She’d just touched the handle when Nicole called out to her.

“Do you still love him?”

“I do,” Kit answered, and as soon as she said it, a weight seemed to lift from her chest. Her head felt lighter, too, almost dizzy, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t just shock settling in. Still, it felt good to admit. She turned, and they locked eyes one final time, and Kit grew momentarily lost in the stardust swirling in her friend’s pupils. It was still startling, but somehow it made Nicole more beautiful than ever. “It’s the truest thing I know,” she admitted.

Nicole smiled and her stardust gaze glinted. “Then throw yourself at that.”

Biting her lower lip, Kit tilted her head. “I love you, Nic. Always.”

“Of course you do. I’m your forever friend.” Nicole tossed her mussed hair, jerking her head at the door. “Now hurry. You have a life to get on with.”

And so Kit got on with it, leaving quickly and closing the door behind her on stardust and wings and a smile she would never forget.

After Dennis left to get the car, Grif retraced his steps back to the tables where Larry and Eric waited. He thought about drugging them again, but decided against it when he looked into their gazes and saw the resignation there. They were defeated and knew it. All that was left was to bundle them up and roll them out.

Grif uncuffed the smaller Eric first, and then kept hold of Larry’s arm as he straightened and jerked his head to the door. That’s when he stumbled and swayed. It was a tossup as to who was more surprised, the men hemmed in by the tables or Grif, suddenly braced against them. He tried to shake his head of it, this fugue that hadn’t so much crept up on him as it had sprung in an unexpected attack.

The two men needed no more encouragement than that.

Grif had time to turn his head, though it was in the wrong direction and all he caught was a glimpse of Eric’s teeth—straight as railroad ties—before catching Larry’s knuckles as well. The blow caught him square, he didn’t even have time to back away, though his legs had already quit working in any case. They were ensnared in plasmic chains that only he could see, banded silver coils pulling tight, as if meant to tie him to the tracks. Two of the three tables toppled, pinning Grif to the ground, and then a chair thrown from overhead crashed into his skull.

A spear of light tore through his vision, either from the blow or the front door as Larry and Eric fled. All Grif saw after that were twilight grays rushing him as the blood in his borrowed flesh tingled, zinging through his limbs and pooling in his toes. The bar shimmered and lost its shape. Movement undulated from the corner of his eye, and Grif gasped as more plasma rushed him, a flood now.