Rob Thurman - Moonshine

Long, Georgie. So damn long.

I made my way through the darkened apartment back to my room to ask Niko what had happened after I'd fallen asleep. Pushing open the door, I took in the spill of sable and silver on the pillows and the curve of a naked shoulder. I smiled to myself. About damn time.

"You feel better?" I turned at my brother's low voice at my ear.

"The question is," I countered with a knowing grin, pulling the door shut between Promise and us, "do you?"

He'd come out of the bathroom and now motioned me back toward the living room. "You nearly died once today. Are you so anxious for a repeat showing?"

I didn't bother with the overhead light, instead relying on the light coming through the window from the street. Sitting on the couch, I took in the blanket and pillow piled with hospital neatness at one end. The cushions had been scrubbed with ruthless efficiency and smelled of nothing but soap and water. No mud, no Abbagor… nothing of that remained. Nik. He couldn't fix George, couldn't fix me, so he concentrated on the little things. Until he could get his hands on Caleb, he'd impose order on the chaos available to him. "I'll pass on the beatdown, thanks." I watched as he leaned against the wall, still as a statue, but something was different. He wasn't completely happy. He couldn't be, not under the circumstances, but he was relaxed. And my brother was never relaxed. He might appear at ease on the surface, but underneath he was always taut, always ready. Always walking the edge of constant vigilance. But now… who would've thought?

"That's probably wise."

When I'd woken up I'd been panicked at the time lost. Five hours sleeping was five hours waiting for Caleb to find out what had happened. It was five hours that I wasn't trying to find George. Worse yet, it was five hours that I wasn't thinking of her, wasn't imagining what she might be going through. It felt like a betrayal, but… I exhaled and fell backward onto the couch. There was more involved here than just George and me. Above, the ceiling was striped gray and milky white. It was never dark in the city. Never. You think that'd be a comfort to someone who knows the things that giggle insanely in the dark. It's not. At least, not always. Sometimes a blanket of swaddling black velvet would be… nice. Sometimes not seeing is better than seeing. Then again, sometimes seeing isn't so bad. I turned my head toward Niko and smiled at the recollection of striped hair and long lashes resting on pale cheeks. "She's beautiful."

"Inside and out." He bowed his head, a strand of hair falling across his eyes. Rumpled and disheveled, completely unnatural for my brother.

I grinned again. "It took a vampire to make you human, Cyrano. What are the odds?" Then the grin melted and I went back to watching shadows crawl sluggishly across the ceiling. So, George, who's going to make me human?

The cushion dipped under Niko's weight as he settled on the edge. He sat quietly for a few moments before asking, "Can you do it again?"

I had no trouble following the change of subject. "I don't know. I don't know how I did it to begin with." Didn't know… didn't want to know. All I did know was that being able to rip a hole in reality was no kind of inheritance. Where was the gold watch? The hefty life insurance payout? Monsters, they never thought ahead. "Could be that the next time the world falls in on my head, it might kick in again."

"And then again it may not."

"Mystery." I shifted my shoulders. "That's what life is all about, right?"

"I know you'd rather not hear it." The dim light gleamed on his bare back and was in turn swallowed by the inky blackness of his sweatpants. "But I wouldn't mind you having the equivalent of a parachute."

"A get-out-of-jail-free card?" I snorted and rolled over onto my side. "I'd rather do without."

"Stubborn." The cuff on the back of my head that I'd imagined in Abbagor's cavern materialized. "Get some more sleep, Cal. There's nothing we can do until Goodfellow gets back to us, and we need you rested and sharp. Georgina would tell you the same."

Ever read those books? See those movies? Someone will be missing or presumed dead, yet their loved one will "feel" them. They'll know, without a doubt, that they're out there… alive. Sense the unbreakable glowing bond between them. Feel the touch of their invisible hand. How nice for them. As for me… I didn't feel shit. Okay, the big black hole where George had once been, that I felt. Emptiness and the ground falling away beneath my feet. Yeah, that was pretty goddamn palpable. But George? A honey-colored hand on my shoulder? The softness of her hair against my face? Those were nowhere to be found. Nowhere.

The present came the next day.

Wrapped in expensive paper of muted blues and greens and tied with a thin silver cord, it waited in the hall outside the door. I'd been on my way outside to grab some breakfast for Niko and Promise, who were still warming the sheets at six a.m. That was serious sleeping in for my brother, but, damn, who could blame him?

Nudging the package with my toe, I eyed it suspiciously. It was about the size of a shoe box, and I knew instantly who had sent it. Pricey wrapping paper, innocent exterior—it had to be Goodfellow. I couldn't begin to guess how he'd known this night had been the night for Niko and Promise. Maybe he'd picked up on some subtle verbal cue between them that I'd missed when I'd dozed off. Hell, maybe he'd smelled it on them.

If Robin had a sixth sense, it was focused solely on sex… a radar for arousal so powerful that it could pick up a horny Martian across the vast emptiness of space itself.

However he knew, it would be just like him to send them a little "gift." Probably one picked up in the type of store that used to grace Times Square. Or could be it came from his own personal collection. Gah. I picked it up gingerly with the tips of my fingers and carried it back to the kitchen table. I didn't have much choice. The coffee table had gone to an early grave. It didn't change the fact I was having serious doubts about ever eating in the kitchen again. The box wasn't addressed to anyone, so, braver than any hero of legend, I threw myself on the grenade. Oils, things that buzzed and vibrated, tiny scraps of leopard-spotted cloth—I was expecting pretty much anything.

Except George.

When Niko found me it was not quite an hour later. I'd left the apartment without my phone. It was just me and my present. And it was mine, no one else's. I had left a note, though. With the Auphe out there, I couldn't just walk out. I hadn't said where I was going or why, but I should've known Niko would track me down sooner rather than later.

I didn't look up when the bell tinkled rustily as the front door opened. I didn't have to; I knew who it was. The soda shop was empty except for the two of us. Mr. Geever had closed it up while George was gone. People kept coming in to see her, leaving flowers and colored paper stars, creating a memorial for a girl who wasn't even dead yet. Geever couldn't handle it. The street outside smelled overwhelmingly of roses and lilies, funeral flowers. I'd swum through them to use the key I still had from opening the place for him two weeks ago. Only two weeks. Jesus.

"So." Niko slid into the booth opposite me. "When did the overwhelming craving for ice cream hit you?" When I didn't answer, he asked quietly, "What's in the box, Cal?"

It sat in front of me, stripped of paper and ribbon… just a plain white box now. No cheerful paper, no shiny silver ribbon. Nothing left to distract from what lay inside. "George," I said tonelessly, looking up at him. "It's George."

He reached over and pulled the box out from beneath my hand. Lifting the lid, he stared down at the contents. The fury behind his eyes was swiftly squelched, but his lips remained a knife's edge as he dipped a careful hand in to lift out a mass of copper curls. It could've been worse. I knew that. It didn't change the fact that when I'd opened the box for the first time and saw George's hair I felt something break inside.