As Lie The Dead (41 page)

I felt a small amount of relief knowing that the Triads had suffered only one casualty. It could have been much worse. I was even glad Paul Ryan had apparently survived the onslaught. He was a trigger-happy little shit, but he was a fighter, and the Triads needed every fighter they could hold on to. “How did Kismet’s boys make out?”

He flinched. “Tybalt …”

My mouth went dry. “Is he dead?”
No. Say no
.

“No. But he’s in pretty bad shape. A Halfie bit him on the hand, so Milo …” Wyatt grimaced, a little pale at what I could only imagine had happened in such a situation. “Milo cut his left arm off at the elbow to stop the infection. Nearly bled out before they got him to the hospital. So far, he’s not showing any signs of turning, but he lost half his goddamn arm.”

I felt ill and reached for Wyatt’s hand. He squeezed hard. They’d done the best they could to save Tybalt’s life. Still, what good was a Hunter with one arm? He’d never use his butterfly swords again. I swallowed, no moisture in my mouth. “Have you talked to her?”

“Who, Gina?”

“Yeah.” All our personal bullshit aside, she was still his friend and had to be upset over Tybalt’s injury.

“Once, Monday morning. She told me the truth about the factory.” Grief deepened his frown. “I think she was hurting over what happened to Tybalt and …”

I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb. “She didn’t want to lose someone else she cares about?”

He nodded. I got that. They’d been through a lot together, been friends for years longer than I’d known him. Even though she believed she’d killed me and hurt Wyatt irreparably, Kismet had still reached out. I admired that.

“The innocents?” I asked, still curious about the theater.

“Out of two hundred and ninety guests, there were sixty-four casualties.”

Sixty-four innocent deaths. Not to mention that the half-Blood vampires raging through the party had to have made a couple of the city’s gossip papers. It was one of the boldest displays of Dreg activity I’d ever witnessed. Well, sort of witnessed. The brass and the Fey Council would have their hands full dealing with it. Unless they’d already dealt with it, which raised the question—

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday evening.”

“Holy shit.”

“Aurora got you out of there after you fell,” he said, eyes bracketed with old worry as he recalled that night. “We collected Phin and called Jenner, who got his doctor friend back out here to take care of you both. Because of your ability to heal and the sort of injuries you had, he wanted us to keep you sedated for at least forty-eight hours. Not an easy task because of said healing ability.”

I almost asked what injuries. But, after a fall from four floors up, my imagination could fill in those gaps nicely. “Why here?”

“Because the Triads still think you’re dead.” He smiled at what must have been a priceless look of shock on my face. “No one saw you that night, and we were able to keep your name out of our side of things. Jenner helped us get the lease back on this apartment. I figured it’s the last place anyone would look for a dead woman.”

“Cole?”

His face darkened. “Cole Randall died four years ago, Evy. The man who went out the window with you is named Leonard Call, and he’s at St. Eustachius,
in a coma and likely to remain there. Snow was turned over to the Assembly for punishment, which Phin promises will be severe. It seems the Assembly isn’t lenient on those who conspire against its decisions.”

“So Phin’s okay?”

“Apparently weres not only age faster than humans, but they also heal faster. His nose is back to normal, and there’s no permanent damage from those knives, other than a pair of nasty scars. He’s pretty eager to thank you for saving his life.”

“You mean he’s lurking outside the bedroom door again?” I was half-serious.

“No, I sent him home a few hours ago.”

“You sent him home?”

He shifted a bit, getting more comfortable on the bed, still grasping my hand like a lifeline. “Aurora and Joseph left the city like they planned. They’re living thirty miles west of here, in a small place in the mountains. Phin wanted to stay, though. He knows that even with Call in a coma and all those Halfies dead, Call’s militia isn’t just going to fall apart, and he wants to help. He’s renting a condo Uptown.”

The corners of his mouth quirked, like he knew a joke he wasn’t sharing.

“What?”

The quirk turned into a full smile. “In probably the strangest turn of events while you were sleeping, Phin opened a spare bedroom to someone else we both know who is currently homeless.”

I stared at him, mind blank. We knew a homeless person? My confusion only seemed to amuse Wyatt more, and I contemplated a swift punch in the arm to make him tell. Then I got it. “Rufus?”

“Yup. Phineas admitted to being responsible for the fire that killed Nadia and burned down half the building, then he made his peace offering. Given Rufus’s proclivity toward martyrdom, I was surprised he accepted. They seem to have reached a tentative truce—especially now that the Assembly has officially pardoned Rufus for his actions against the Owlkins, at Phin’s insistence.”

Something caught in my throat, and, for a moment, I thought it was a sob. Instead, a bubble of laughter erupted, so loud that Wyatt jumped. I tried to stop and couldn’t. The euphoria of that single giggle multiplied into dozens more, and I launched myself at Wyatt, catching him in a bear hug. He grunted, nearly falling off the bed.

“What is all this?” he asked, arms looping around my waist.

I squeezed his shoulders, laughing like a lunatic, tears streaming down my cheeks. “We did it,” I managed between euphoric guffaws. “My promise to protect Aurora’s baby and to save Rufus’s life. We did it.”

He finally started laughing along. As I sobered, I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling him and the hint of cinnamon I loved so much. Heady and male and just a little sweet. I never wanted to let go.

The militia was down, not out, although I doubted they’d start any trouble in the near future. Leaderless, they would be a nuisance more than a real threat. With Call/Cole’s unmasking, we’d found so many more answers to the events that had brought us where we were. Maybe I’d finally get the hot, soothing shower and week-long nap I craved.

Then again, I’d slept the majority of the last five days.

Five days. Last Friday. There was something I still hadn’t done. A promise made and not kept.

“You tensed up,” Wyatt said, no longer laughing. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I’m forgetting.”

I pulled back to arm’s length, studying him. Hoping to find the answer in his eyes. So familiar and warm. Loving. Everyone was accounted for, the scorecard checked and rechecked. It all added up in our favor. Still, something niggled at the back of my mind.

He tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Eleri pulled through, is that it?”

I’d forgotten all about her. “I’m sure Isleen’s happy, but no. I just can’t—Leo!”
Freaking duh!
“Is he still at his motel?”

“Phin moved him to another one closer to his apartment,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “Since Felix knew where it was, we thought Leo would be safer somewhere else. Just in case.”

“Has he been drinking?”

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. We aren’t monitoring him, Evy. He’s a grown man.”

I grabbed his shirt, bunching the fabric at his shoulders. “I promised I’d talk to him in a few days, Wyatt. He’s an alcoholic, and I said I’d tell him about Alex.”

“Hey, calm down.” He pried my hands out of his shirt and clasped them together in his. “If Leo Forrester starts drinking again, it’s not your fault. It’s his and no one else’s. Okay?”

I nodded, trying to take the words to heart. “I’m going to tell him the truth, Wyatt.”

He didn’t respond for several beats, his jaw working without making a sound. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Not really, but he saw the were-cats. He already lost his wife and daughter. He deserves to know what happened to his son.”

“You don’t think learning his son was infected by a vampire bite will make him drink?”

I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. It wasn’t something I had to decide right now. I wanted a long bath and a hot meal before I contemplated any more sit-downs.

Wyatt brushed his fingertips over my cheek, let them trail across my throat, then his hand settled on the back of my neck. “So are we okay?” he asked.

I wanted us to be okay. We still had some long talks ahead of us, open wounds to salve and actions to understand. Relationships weren’t easy, and ours came with more than its fair share of wrinkles to iron out—wrinkles such as death and resurrection and magic spells. Didn’t matter. We were still together, and that was something, dammit.

“That depends,” I said, straight-faced.

He quirked an eyebrow. “On?”

“Any more deep, dark secrets that involve people who may mysteriously come back from the not-really-dead to exact their revenge on you?”

This time, he laughed first. “I have a lot of skeletons in my closet, Evy, but Cole was the only one who wasn’t actually dead when I put him in there. Maybe I’ll tell you the other stories someday. And you?”

“Nothing of relevance, no. You got the condensed soup version of Evy Stone the other night.”

“So how do I add water and get the whole you?”

I leaned in closer to him, arms draped over his shoulders. Nearly touching his nose with mine. “Be patient with me?”

He nodded. “You’re worth it and more.”

Okay, I could have melted into a puddle right there had such a thing been physically possible. Instead, I drew him into a gentle kiss. No hurry, no need. Just the soft brushing of lips that barely hinted at the taste of him. I wanted more. Wanted to revel in his touch and flavor and scent. To let him help me forget past pain and empty promises. Only there were too many things still undone for such indulgences.

And we had time.

“I almost forgot to tell you something,” I said, pulling back again.

He squinted, eyes searching mine. Black to brown. “Which is?”

“I love you, too.” I’d thought the words would sound unnatural, artificial, and ruin the moment. Instead, they sounded perfect. And I wanted to say them again, because I knew I meant it.

Wyatt gaped at me, his expression an odd cross between shock and admiration. I reached up and pushed his jaw shut with my finger.

“You said the
l
-word,” he said.

I thumped him on the chest. “What are you, five?”

“I hope not, or dating you would be very, very illegal.”

“Dating me? Do you actually think we’ll ever
have a normal enough life that we’ll go out on a real dinner-and-a-movie kind of date?”

“I am no longer discounting anything as a possibility.”

“Because I said it?”

“Said what?”

I rolled my eyes and gave him another thump. “I take it back. I hate you.”

He pulled me close, and I let him envelop me in his arms. I nestled my head in the crook of his shoulder, cheek to his chest. His heart thrummed steadily in my ear—a sound I’d heard stop once and now would never tire of hearing. He kissed the top of my head, his fingers tracing gentle trails up and down my back—comforting, teasing, possessing. He said, “I hate you, too.”

And I laughed.

I finger-combed my long hair needlessly, then smoothed the front of my unwrinkled blouse. Nervous gestures I had no reason to be exhibiting, standing in front of room 134 at the Amsterdam Inn—a far cry from any other hotel I’d stayed in. I almost felt out of place in the swept and polished hallway.

The décor didn’t matter, and neither did my comfort. I had business.

I rapped my knuckles against the smooth white door, just below the peephole. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. A chain rattled on the other side, then a lock slipped out of place.

Leo held the door open, and I went inside. The room was neat, the bed made. It smelled of aftershave and pizza. No alcohol in sight. Even Leo seemed neater than in any of our previous encounters—shaved, washed, remaining hair combed flat, pants pressed.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to come see you,” I said.

“Your friend Phin said you were sick.” His tone told me he didn’t quite believe that but didn’t want to be rude and call Phin a liar. “Were you?”

“Sort of, yes.”

I sat in one of the room’s striped upholstered chairs and folded my hands in my lap. Leo perched on the edge of the bed opposite me, cracking and recracking his knuckles.

“You’re better now, though?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

God, why was this so hard?

“Would you like something to drink? I have a cola in the ice bucket, and the water’s good.”

“No, I’m okay.”

He scrubbed a hand across his mostly bald head. “I’ve wanted a drink every waking minute since last week, and it isn’t even because I’m starting to think I really did see what I think I saw in your apartment. It’s because I’m pretty sure I’ll never get to tell Alex the truth and ask him to forgive me for lying the last six years.”

“Lying about what, Leo?” Damn, I hadn’t meant to ask that out loud.

Bone-deep weariness wilted him. “Alex knew I was an alcoholic. I never hid it, was for years. I still was six years ago when his sister Joanne came for Thanksgiving. Alex wasn’t home from college yet, but the kids said they wouldn’t come home at all if I drank. Joanne came out to dinner with her mom and me. I hadn’t had a drink at all in two days. On the way home, the car went off the road.”

He hadn’t said it yet, but somehow I knew how
the story ended, and the words broke my heart for both father and son.

“They died. I didn’t. Told the cops I was driving, so they wouldn’t … It was the first time in months I’d gone out and hadn’t had a drop to drink. Blood test was way under. The cops believed it was an accident. No charges, but I haven’t had a drink since. It was years before Alex began taking my calls. I thought we were starting to mend things.” He wiped his eyes.

“And now you can’t tell him the truth,” I said, my throat tight. “Who was actually driving, Leo?”