Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

“Well?” I asked after several seconds of silence.

“I think this puts a serious damper on your plans for a two-week-long nap,” he replied.

I frowned. Poked him in the ribs. He chuckled and backed out of reach. “I’m serious, Wyatt. What do you think?”

He smiled, and my heart swelled under the light of it. “I think,” he said, “you are amazing. After everything you’ve been put through this past week, after all the lies and loss and pain, you still want to help others. You want to make amends for something that was not in your power to prevent.”

He took two steps forward, placing himself toe to toe with me. His left hand cupped my cheek. I pressed into his touch, again keenly aware of his precarious state of undress—and my precarious state of mind. My abdomen tightened.

Caught between desire and fear, I chose neither. Job now. Us later.

“They’re almost extinct. I can’t let that happen.”

“I know. And that’s why I love you.”

Not a muscle twitched in my face. My heart (if such a thing was possible) flinched—just a flutter that struck as keenly as a boxer’s blow. He’d said it before, so why did it scare me so much now? It didn’t make … No, it made perfect sense. I was still coming to grips with the parts of Chalice hanging around my subconscious, affecting my memories and reactions. Her physical attraction to Wyatt had combined with my personal history with him and created something potent. Something I had a hard time ignoring, even now. Something I hesitated to embrace, lest I also embrace the worst parts of Chalice—parts I didn’t want. Ever.

I couldn’t verbalize my feelings or fears. Couldn’t manage to repeat words I’d already said once. They stuck in my throat, thick and choking. I swallowed and turned my head enough to brush my lips across the palm of Wyatt’s hand.

“Evy, I’ll stop saying it if it makes you uncomfortable.” He spoke with such good humor, and such a complete lack of judgment, that I smiled.

“It’s not—” My unplanned rebuttal was interrupted by a song from my ass. A few chords of something loud, chaotic, probably popular with people who kept up with current music trends. I pulled the cell phone out of my rear jeans pocket and checked the display on the front. Kismet. She’d programmed herself into the phone. Interesting. I’d have to check the address book and see who else was in there.

“You going to answer it?” Wyatt asked.

“Suppose I should.” I flipped it open, smaller and slimmer than I was used to, and hit Send. “Stone.”

“It’s Kismet,” she replied. “I need you to come to St. Eustachius Hospital, fourth floor, room 419.”

“Why?” As soon as I asked, I knew. Didn’t know how, but no one else I cared two wits for at the moment was in the hospital. “It’s Rufus, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Wyatt’s entire body tensed.

My stomach bottomed out. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet. Make it fast, Stone.”

She hung up before I could ask any more questions. I let the phone fall from my ear. From ally to enemy to friend, Rufus St. James had risked his life several times to help me. With more lives than a cat, the experienced Handler had survived getting shot by Halfies, only to nearly die in a fire set by … Well, that was yet to be determined. I had my suspicions, though.

“Evy?”

I put the phone back into my pocket and started rummaging through Alex’s dresser for clothes. They’d be a little loose, but they had to do. “Something’s happening at the hospital where Rufus is, but Kismet wouldn’t give me any details.” I found a pair of jeans and a clean polo—good God, had Alex worn anything else?—and tossed them at Wyatt. “Get dressed. We need to go.”

He did, dropping the towel without shame. I looked away and up, taking in Alex’s bedroom for the first time. So neat and orderly, simple colors and textures. Almost impersonal. Very unlike the man I’d gotten to know, who had seemed so complex and passionate. Forgiving. Protective.

Fingers snapped in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”

I blinked at Wyatt. “Sorry, nowhere. Come on.”

The outer apartment smelled of roasting meat and coffee. I looked forlornly at the skillet, now venting steam from beneath its lid, and at the carton of eggs on the counter next to the stove. Phin was perched on the counter next to the sink, spatula in one hand and mug of coffee in the other.

“You’ll have to put our breakfast in the fridge,” I said. “Emergency call. We have to jet.”

The turn of events didn’t seem to faze Phin. “Something’s come up, I take it,” he said blandly.

“Yup.” I stalked into the kitchenette and started rifling through the cupboards until I found a box of cold toaster pastries. I wrinkled my nose. At least they were the iced kind.

“You’d rather eat those than steak and eggs?” Phin asked.

“Absolutely not, but I can’t stand rare, half-frozen steak, and we can’t wait around for it to finish.” I grabbed two packs of the pastries. “If I don’t eat something, I’m going to pass out, which’ll do no one any good, so it’s cold, dry fake strawberry thingies.”

Wyatt caught the pack I threw at him. “What about wheels?” he asked.

Crap. “Think maybe Chalice has her own car? We left Alex’s car at that train station.” But even if she had a car parked somewhere nearby, I didn’t have her keys.

“Think we can get a cab in this neighborhood?”

“If we call for one. I doubt they prowl around this area looking for fares.”

“Is there a phone book?”

I rolled my eyes and strode past him. “Forget it. We’ll take the bus.”

“Bus?”

“Yeah, I saw a bus stop about a block from here.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” I pivoted on my heel, dropped, and put on a pair of gray running sneakers that had to be Chalice’s. Shoes were a good thing when racing around the city trying to find answers. “You coming, or what?”

As he approached, I tossed a pair of Alex’s shoes in his general direction. Wyatt caught and slipped them on quickly, cinching the laces tight. He looked a little odd in too-large shoes and pants belted tightly around his waist, but he’d survive the indignity. I peered around him, just able to see Phin as he leaned over the counter to watch us.

“Keep them here,” I said. “We’ll be back as soon as we’re able.” Leaving Joseph and Aurora behind in an unprotected apartment wasn’t how I envisioned my first act as their guardian, but I just didn’t see another choice. Dragging a very pregnant were-bird around the city while I tended to old business was not an option.

“You won’t forget your promise,” Phin said. It wasn’t a question.

“I gave you my word.”

He nodded and returned to cooking breakfast. Something in his voice and the cool way he reacted to our sudden departure was unsettling. There was taking it in stride, and there was complete lack of surprise. As Wyatt and I walked down the corridor to the elevator, I couldn’t decide which I’d seen in Phineas. And that unsettled me even more.

Our bus trip was brief, just long enough to eat the too-sweet toaster pastries, and ended two blocks over the Black River. The constant stop ’n’ start was seriously slowing us down. Besides, Mercy’s Lot was good for catching a cab in daytime, which we did with little issue, and continued our trek across downtown to the city’s largest and oldest hospital.

St. Eustachius sat on the west bank of the Anjean River, about a mile north of where it connected to the Black River. The oldest part of the complex was a faded brick building that mostly housed the administrative offices. Half a dozen other, newer structures had sprung up around it over the years, giving it the look of a university campus rather than a large working hospital.