Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

“Good as new.”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard.”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.

He scowled. “What?”

“Don’t push myself too hard? You realize you’re talking to me, right?”

“You mean telling you to be careful is like teaching a cat to read?”

“Exactly.”

He started laughing along with me, and the euphoria felt great. A release of tension and worry I hadn’t had in a while. It started in my gut and spread outward, from toes to fingertips. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I laughed so hard I lost my balance and flopped onto the bed, gasping for air.

“You need to laugh like this more often,” Wyatt said, sitting next to me.

I tried desperately to sober myself. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re beautiful when you do.”

That worked better than a bucket of ice water. The giddiness disappeared, replaced by embarrassment at his compliment. He wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of his hand. Traced a finger down to my chin. Tilted my face up. I gazed into smoldering eyes that sparkled with love. His mouth drew down toward mine, warm breath whispering over my lips—

A sharp knock on the door took that warmth away, and we both looked up. Nothing happened. Supposing they were waiting for permission, I said, “Come in.”

Michael Jenner stepped inside wearing baggy blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, with white socks on otherwise bare feet. The picture of comfort was so far removed from the uptight lawyer I’d met twice before. He even smiled, and it made his face look ten years younger.

“Ms. Stone,” he said. “You look well.”

“Almost a hundred percent.” I still leaned into Wyatt, and it was obvious what we’d been attempting. Wyatt, for his part, also remained where he was, unashamed at being caught. If anything, he drew closer to me, almost protectively. He obviously didn’t trust Jenner much.

“Your healing abilities were not exaggerated.”

“Yeah, they come in handy once in a while.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Jenner. For this.”

He nodded. “I may have hidden it, being not my place to influence the Assembly, but I did believe you. I do believe you. I only hope tonight’s audience swings in your favor.”

“Tonight’s audience?” My heart sped up, anticipating his response.

“You’ve been summoned to appear before the Assembly of Clan Elders to present your case.”

I very nearly leapt across the room and hugged him. Only the vaguest notion of propriety reined me in. “When?”

“One hour. I’ll drive you.”

I shot to my feet; the briefest needle poked my knee. “Does Phin know?”

“I only just received the call, and Phineas is required elsewhere. He’ll be absent from the Assembly, but his opinion is well documented and shall be voiced again by me.”

“Do you think I can convince them?” Good God, was I doubting myself in front of Jenner? Seeking his approval?

“You speak with passion, Evangeline. Like humans, Therians are guided by our emotions. We’re more alike than you think.”

I was beginning to see that and more. I was also beginning to see how the Therians were a threat to other races. With larger numbers and more diverse personalities than vampires or goblins—and with distinctly less political power than the Fey—Therians were an uncontrollable element. They rarely attacked humans, so were rarely hunted by the Triads. And we knew next to nothing about them, as I was quickly learning.

I also hadn’t forgotten his fairy-tale riddle, and, with gratitude and confidence spilling all over the room, it almost seemed like the right time to ask. Would he give me the answer? Probably not. Maybe after the Assembly ruled in my favor….

An awkward silence had settled on the room. It was my turn to speak, but I had gone off into la-la land. I said the first non-riddle-related thing that came to mind. “I’m going to need clothes.”

Jenner’s gaze flickered to Wyatt, who stood and opened a dresser drawer. Inside were neatly stacked and folded jeans, tops … Wait.

“That’s the stuff I took from my apartment,” I said, thunderstruck. “How’d it get here? I left that bag in the stairwell at the factory.”

“Phin found it last night,” Wyatt said. “He went back to see if he could track the gremlins to their new location, but no luck. The bag we tossed because it stank to high hell, but the clothes washed up.”

“What about the photo and laptop?”

He pulled the next drawer. Acrid air drifted up, and I peeked inside. One item on top of another. The photo was facedown, but I had memorized the image the first day I saw it. As I stared, heart swelling with gratitude, a thought struck me. Something I’d been missing recently without realizing.

“Wyatt, do you still have the ne—”

He dangled it in front of me, the silver cross flashing in the room’s lamplight. I hooked the chain around my finger, amazed at my attachment to the simple trinket. Part of it was Chalice’s love for her dearly departed best friend; part of it was my own fondness for the man I’d known for just a few days. It was the only physical object in my life with a sentimental value.

“I’ll let you dress,” Jenner said, and bowed out of the room.

I put on the necklace. My fingers tangled in knotty hair. I knew I’d been sponged down and smelled pretty clean, but my hair seriously needed washing. I doubted the Assembly would care about my appearance; I just despised greasy hair. I changed into clean clothes without much thought to Wyatt’s presence, choosing the nicest of the pieces that I’d grabbed. Black jeans, white tank top, and button-down short-sleeved blouse. I braided my hair into a long rope and secured it with a piece of medical tape, in lieu of an actual rubber band. And once again, I was reduced to the same blood- and soot-stained sneakers. That just couldn’t be helped.

The woman who stared back at me from the dresser mirror was rosy-cheeked and straight-backed and no longer a stranger. She’d still surprise me for a while, but I was comfortable in her skin. In my skin.

Wyatt shuffled up behind me, and I met his gaze in the mirror. “Nervous?” he asked.

“Not really. Why?”

“Because you never used to look at yourself so critically right before meeting someone for the first time.”

“That’s because I never used to care how I looked. I cut my own hair, remember?”

His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What’s changed?”

“What hasn’t?”

He slid his hands across my back and up to gently squeeze my shoulders. I leaned into him, against his chest, seeing us side by side for the first time. My brown hair and brown eyes to his black hair and black eyes. The light smattering of freckles on my nose to his five-o’clock shadow that never went away. Almost matched in height, and now much closer in age.

But below the surface of this new body, I was still an insecure, twenty-two-year-old orphan with anger-management issues and a foul mouth. I’d never felt as comfortable in Wyatt’s arms as I felt at that moment, but I feared where acceptance of that comfort—screw it, of that craving—might take us.

We’ll see where the day takes us . It had skated us close to this edge so many times—a thin border between accepting and denying—that I wanted to scream. Or to laugh at the hilarity of it all. I had a man beside me who admitted to loving me, wanting me, and I’d been given a second (third? fourth?) chance to be with him. And all I could do was stare mutely into a mirror and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Wyatt asked.

I barked laughter. “It’ll cost you at least a dollar.”

“Worth it.”