Kelly Meding: As Lie the Dead

The scent of coffee, bitter and strong, greeted me. I paused to inhale the rich aroma. A long sleep was preferable to a caffeine jolt, but if Phin needed to talk to us, it was the least I could do for him. And I needed to be awake for it. The Owlkin in question was nowhere in sight—a development that might have worried me if my attention hadn’t immediately been drawn to the dining room floor.

The glass and wood shards were gone and the ivory carpet blood-free, although still darker tan in some spots. Two white trash bags were tacked over the broken door and sealed with duct tape—the only remaining evidence of our scuffle with Tully and Wormer.

A cabinet door slammed somewhere behind the kitchen counter. Wyatt stood up with a skillet in one hand and a lid in the other.

“When did you become so domestic?” I asked, waving my hand at the clean floor.

“Thank Phineas,” Wyatt replied. “He swept it up, scrubbed out the bloodstains, and took out the garbage. He even cleaned some spoiled stuff out of the refrigerator.”

Laughing, I strode across the damp carpet to the counter. “An Owlkin who’s also a compulsive neat freak. Who knew? You didn’t happen to find any keys lying around?”

“No, sorry.”

Damn. “It’s possible someone in the Triads took them when they untied Tully and Wormer.” The thought did not please me.

Wyatt put the skillet on the stove, then started rummaging around in the freezer.

“What are you cooking now?” I asked.

“I was thinking steak and eggs,” he replied. His voice was muffled by the freezer door, which itself was covered with an assortment of magnets. Different states, arranged as close to the U.S. map as possible. Many from the south, many more from the northeast. I wondered who they belonged to.

On the other end of the counter, I spotted a framed photo I’d noticed once before. I reached for it, overcome by a wave of sadness as I studied Alex’s face, smiling back at me. Chalice had known him for years and loved him dearly. I felt it in my bones—an odd connection to a man my brain told me I’d really known for only three days. I didn’t want to grieve his death any longer. Mourning Alex wouldn’t bring him back or make his death any less tragic. I wanted to move on and focus on the now.

“I don’t even know if he has family still around,” I said. The statement surprised me.

The freezer door shut. A chilly hand closed around my right wrist and squeezed. I looked up and met Wyatt’s gaze. Smoldering. Sympathetic. “You can’t get involved in his life, Evy,” he said. “Chalice has a lot of personal baggage here, but you can’t let it cloud your judgment.”

I yanked my hand free. “I’m not letting it cloud anything, Wyatt. You think I want to share her feelings and memories? I’ve got enough shit to deal with without getting stuck with someone else’s, too. But I’ve got it now, thanks to you, and I can’t make it go away.”

He flinched. “You going to make me apologize for that again?”

“No, you’ve done enough apologizing for a lifetime.” I eyed the cling-wrapped steaks he’d put into the sink. “Just never mind. Go take a shower. I’ll work on breakfast.”

The argument seemed over before it began in earnest. He circled the counter. As he passed, though, he said, “I can’t ‘never mind’ it if you keep bringing it up.”

I let his statement hang until the bathroom door slammed. Something on the wall rattled. He seemed determined to drive me crazy, and not in the orgasmic, “I love you” way. Rather, in the pull-my-hair-out, argue-until-we-kill-each-other way. One day, just a simple conversation would be nice. One that didn’t involve guilt, death, or Dregs in any capacity.

“You clean up well.”

My head snapped up and to the right. Phin stood in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard the door open, dammit. He came in and closed it. His wings were still gone, morphed away in whatever strange manner shape-shifters manipulated their bodies. He’d put on a black polo shirt, and as he walked toward me, my temper flared.

“You make it a habit of taking things that aren’t yours?” I asked.

He stopped near the sofa. Cocked his head to the side, puzzled. “I took out the trash,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me you’d have a vested interest—”

“The shirt, Phin.”

He looked at it, then at me. Puzzlement melted into understanding. Thin lips drew into a sympathetic half smile. “I’ll take it off. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Dammit, I was upset and didn’t want to be. He’d taken a shirt from Alex’s room. So what? Alex was dead. He wouldn’t care if someone else wore his clothes. Hell, Wyatt was going to need a change of clothes, too, even though Alex’s pants were probably a few inches too big. No personal attachments; no object sentimentality. That kind of shit would get me into trouble.

“Keep it,” I said. “Doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“It matters to you.”

“Not really.”

He blinked. Tilted his head in the opposite direction—a very birdlike thing to do. I’d seen Danika do it a dozen times in as many interactions. But I’d never associated the trait with her species. Hell, I knew humans who did it. Only with Phin it seemed different. Definitely more animalistic.

“I should have asked first,” he said, “but you two aren’t being all that generous with information right now, so I’m kind of feeling my way around.”

“Well, to be fair, we weren’t expecting your company.”

“Touché.”

“Thank you for cleaning the floor. I don’t know how you got the blood out.”

“I used what you had under the sink.”

I almost corrected him, but it didn’t matter whose sink it was or who had done the shopping. I circled the counter to the tune of the bathroom water rushing to life. Steaks were easier to cook thawed, but I was flexible. I started by hunting down a blue mug and filling it with some of the pungent black coffee. Needed energy before my body started shutting down.

“You look tired.”

I blew across the coffee’s steamy surface. “That’s because I’ve had about twelve hours’ sleep in the last seventy-two, and most of those were two days ago. I spent last night battling goblins, Halfies, an elf, and an ancient demon. And instead of falling over and sleeping for a week, I have to stay awake and see what the hell you want.”

The last bit came off sharper than intended. My cheeks heated. I looked over the edge of the mug. Phin stood across the counter, eyebrows arched. He didn’t seem surprised or angry. More curious, if anything. Almost apologetic.

“My timing is inconvenient for you,” he said. “I’m sorry, but for me it’s been a week since my people were slaughtered, and I’m tired of waiting.”

“For what?” I put the coffee down, still too hot to drink. “What do you want from us, Phineas?”

He jacked a thumb over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we wait?”

I shrugged, then started unwrapping the steaks. They went into the skillet with some water and a few spices. Burner on. Lid on. Done. I tossed the wrap into the garbage can—empty and neatly relined with a new bag—washed my hands, and returned to my coffee. I guzzled it without thinking. The bitter liquid scorched the back of my throat and settled in my stomach like fire. My eyes watered.

Note to self: Avoid steaming-hot coffee.

“Evy?”

“I’m fine.” But my raspy voice said otherwise. I put the mug back down. Too hard. It cracked against the counter and sloshed coffee over the rim. “No, I’m not. We don’t have to wait.” Wyatt wasn’t my boss anymore; I didn’t work for the Triads. Phin needed something, so I could decide whether or not I’d offer it. “What do you want?”