Marjorie Liu - Within the Flames

Eddie stepped in close. “I would love to.”

Her cheeks reddened, and she backed away from him. “What’s the problem, then?”

He gave her a faint, unbearably sweet, smile. “You have my coat.”

She stared at him. The gargoyle let out a small, muffled grunt that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Here,” he said, taking another step and holding out the steaming mug. “I made you tea.”

Those tears were coming shockingly close to burning up her eyes. “You’re both idiots.”

Eddie arched his brow, and the gargoyle sighed. “You sound like my wife. Please, take this.”

Lyssa took the mug, reluctantly. She had to let go of the jacket to do so, and instinctively sloped her shoulders, trying to keep them from seeing her right arm, folded over her stomach. Stupid, yes. They had to have already seen it. But old habits died hard.

The tea was dark and smelled good. The gargoyle stepped back when she took the mug and rubbed his clawed hands together. Uneasy, she thought. Eddie joined her at the top of the stairs and leaned against the opposite wall.

It got very quiet, then. All three of them, just standing there. Both men, watching her.

Lyssa sipped the tea, suddenly shy, and uncomfortable. “I wish you both wouldn’t stare.”

Eddie’s mouth softened. The gargoyle grunted. “I pulled some of my wife’s clothes from the dryer. When you’re ready to change, come down and get them. There’s a bathroom down here, too, with a shower. Feel free to use it.”

He turned before she could thank him and walked back down the stairs, silent and graceful, despite his size. The tips of his caped wings trailed against the steps. Lyssa watched him go, feeling as though she were losing her mind.

“I’m losing my mind,” she said.

“I felt like that the first time I met his brother,” said Eddie quietly. “I never get tired of feeling surprised.”

“Surprises are dangerous.” Lyssa walked down the stairs, leaning hard on the rail. “I don’t like them.”

He followed her. “I’m not sorry I found you.”

Lyssa wanted to say, I am, you should be, I wish we’d never met, but when she opened her mouth, those words wouldn’t come out. Apparently, there were some lies she just couldn’t tell.

At the bottom of the stairs, she heard a television — the quick sharp tones of a news report. Dread filled her. She went still, staring down the hall.

Eddie pushed past her. “I’ll tell Lannes to turn it off.”

“No.” Lyssa almost reached for him with her right hand, and that shocked her enough into silence. Her right hand, which she hadn’t shown another human being for ten years. . coming out into plain sight as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She held her hand against her stomach. “I want to listen.”

Eddie regarded her a moment, then stepped aside. When she tried to pass him, though, his fingers grazed her arm. A tingling shock rolled through her, a powerful awareness of him.

“Lyssa. Whatever you see in there—”

“—is my fault,” she interrupted, and his hand slid fully around her arm, holding her still.

“Look at me,” he said in a soft, firm, voice.

She did so, reluctantly. It was very difficult to meet his gaze. As though she were dreaming again — only this was real. He was real. He looked at her with those knowing eyes, and it was as though he could see right through her.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Whatever happens, remember that.”

Of all the things he could have said to her, that was the most devastating. It made her feel more alone than ever, and tears — those damned tears — burned her eyes, again. She never cried. Never, not in years.

Today, it seemed that parts of her were grieving whether or not she wanted them to.

Lyssa ducked her head. Eddie’s fingers brushed the edge of her jaw. She flinched, and he made a soft sound between his teeth.

“Don’t,” he said. “I’m just wiping off some soot.”

His thumb brushed her cheek, and the fire inside her responded, lighting up her heart like some hidden sun. With it, she felt a terrible ache that was another kind of loneliness.

Lyssa had never been touched by a man she wanted.

Actually, “want” was too cheap a word. Every part of her felt inexplicably, inexorably, tugged toward this man. The attraction was primal, elemental — utterly beyond her comprehension. She would have blamed witchcraft if she were susceptible to that sort of thing, but in this case, all she could call it was insanity.

She didn’t know him. She didn’t want to know him. Yes, he had saved her life. She might not have been conscious, but she could smell a lie — and he was telling the truth about those two women. Two women. Just the right number. Exactly what the Cruor Venator would use.

No, she thought. No. I can’t want this man. Not him, not anyone. I shouldn’t even have friends.

Not Jimmy. Not Estefan. Not anyone who could get hurt because of her.

Lyssa pulled away from him. “Stop. Just. . stop.”

Eddie lowered his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I. .” Regret hit her, as did pain — flowing through her right arm. Bad, this time, a hard spasm that made hand curl into a trembling fist. She sucked in her breath, wincing.

“Lyssa,” said Eddie, with concern.

She shook her head at him and walked down the hall, holding herself strained and rigid. The television was loud.

“. . no word on what caused the explosion, and eyewitness reports are conflicted. Some have indicated that it might be the work of suicide bombers, but we’ve received no confirmation. .”

Lyssa walked into a brightly lit kitchen: white walls and counters, and a white stone floor covered in rag rugs. Other splashes of color came from bowls of oranges and grapes, and several potted geraniums. A cozy, elegant space. She wished it were hers, to curl up in, and read, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

The gargoyle perched on a heavy oak stool made from solid rough-hewn timber. A giant mug of tea was in front of him, along with a novel that had the words DEATH and LUST on the cover.

A small television was set to a news channel that showed overhead aerial shots of firemen putting out burning cars, and ambulances parked on the outskirts of a blast zone: a blackened, charred, scorched-earth circle that made the sidewalk look like the heart of a meteor strike.

Lyssa’s heart stopped. A stool pressed against her legs. Eddie gestured for her to sit down.

She did, then stood again. Anxious, miserable, horrified. Too many emotions boiling inside her — chief amongst them, fear.

“Fatalities?” she whispered.

Lannes watched her carefully and hit the mute button on the remote. Beautiful silence filled the kitchen.

“Some broken bones. No one died, or will die. That’s been confirmed about a million times in the past fifteen minutes.”

“When I look at that damage, I can’t believe it.” Lyssa sat down again. Her jeans were half-burned, her knees sticking out. Seeing them made her think of when she was a kid, and for one agonizing moment, she let herself imagine what her parents would have said about this.

Wow, her dad might have told her. Impressive.

Lyssa sought out Eddie and found him leaning against the kitchen counter, very still and quiet, watching her with those dark eyes.

“It’s not just the Cruor Venator, ” she told him, wincing when her voice broke. “I have to get out of here before something like that happens again. I’m not safe.”

Lannes straightened. “Wait, I thought. .”

Eddie cleared his throat. The gargoyle blinked and shut his mouth.