Ethereal Entanglements (16 page)

Knowing Justin could return any minute and catch them in the act made Claire even more nervous than the idea of getting them. Grandpa Jack drank this stuff to relax. She’d known a few foster fathers who used it for the same purpose. The ones who got drunk were a nightmare, but she didn’t intend to get drunk, especially not like that.

Instead of sitting, Drew rummaged through the kitchen drawers. “How can they not have a bottle opener? Everyone has a bottle opener. Eh, this is close enough.” He brought a flat screwdriver to the table and pried the cap off one bottle. Wisping mist escaped with a pop as the bottlecap came off.

Claire took the bottle and sniffed it. Thankfully, the bitter smell of hops and yeast reminded her of too many different men to inspire a specific memory. The first sip hit her hard enough to made her cough and gag. “This stuff is gross. Why does anyone drink it?” She took a bite of her sandwich to force the taste away.

Drew hesitated in applying the screwdriver to the second bottle before he’d done more than scratch the metal cap. He touched his tongue to the tip of her bottle without taking a drink. His grimace said he’d gotten enough to satisfy his curiosity. “Grandpa Jack likes it. He has a beer every time he watches football or hockey. Maybe his taste buds are dead.”

“It’s probably an acquired taste kind of thing.” Claire lifted the bottle and, knowing what to expect this time, choked down several gulps. She belched. “It’s not so bad if you bolt it.”

“I’m not opening the second bottle.”

“Then don’t.”

“Claire, there’s something I want to ask you.”

She gulped another series of gulps from the bottle and set it aside. Nothing had happened yet, so she thought maybe it wouldn’t affect her much. In that case, beer would be a waste of time and suffering. “What?”

“We talked to Anne, and she pretty much agreed we were doing the right thing for the locket stuff. I just…” He picked up the half-empty bottle and fussed with the label, his eyes averted from her. “I want to be sure I’m not helping…the wrong team. I mean, what we’ve already done seemed fine, aside from how disturbing it was. And I’d like to have Anne check you over and make sure it worked like it was supposed to. The thing is, I’m a little confused about the stuff with the Palace and seals. You sound, you know, like…like a tainted Knight. I’ll do anything for you, Claire, but I don’t want to cause the apocalypse.”

Claire ripped a small piece off her sandwich and stuck it in her mouth. He only wanted to help her. And like he said, causing the apocalypse sounded bad. “I met Iulia in the middle of a trial designed to prove I’m not tainted. I can’t go through that and come out tainted when I didn’t start that way.”

“Are you sure about that? It sounded like you met her after you did the Ordeal thing, and you beat that Ordeal by freeing a dragon, not slaying it. I mean, obviously you wouldn’t slay a dragon, but still. You got through it in an unconventional way. Did you know that Justin was hooked before he even met Kurt? Anne set up the binding on the dragons specifically to do that. When Justin broke the binding, it backlashed on him and planted the hook. Kurt reeled it in so gently Justin didn’t even notice anything.”

“Seriously?” Even though he still wouldn’t look at her, she could tell he wasn’t lying. He sucked at lying.

“Yeah. Kay knew all about it.”

Claire tore the rest of her sandwich into tiny pieces without eating them. Her belly felt strange now, and her head seemed heavier. “I thought we weren’t going to think about this stuff.”

“Sorry.”

She watched him eat his sandwich with quick, small bites. The thought of food made her nauseous. From nowhere, she thought of the woman’s face when they collided and, apparently, were hit by a car. That explained the pain Claire had felt. She must have healed it so fast she didn’t notice.

But that woman noticed. Unlike Claire, crappy superhero of Portland, that regular woman couldn’t tap her sprite and heal in a matter of seconds. And the lady had known it. The man in the suit had known it too. Ki asked if they were supervillains. Maybe Claire should have said yes.

Dizziness made her lay her head on the table. She didn’t want to think about this stuff. She wanted to fly with Enion over Portland and be righteous and perfect and free. When she destroyed Kurt, she’d been those things. For a whole day, Claire had been a shining, glorious Knight doing shining, glorious Knight things for shining, glorious Knight reasons.

Reality crashed back down and now her own sprite didn’t even want to deal with her. Drew was right. She sounded tainted. Iulia probably cast a spell on her in that stupid Ordeal-basement-whatever land. Real Knights could resist that. But Claire wasn’t a real Knight, she was a girl. Girls can’t be Knights.

“Claire? Are you awake?”

She blinked and lifted her head to see Drew frowning at her. “I need a nap.”

“Do you want me to help you to bed?” He touched her hand and it felt cooler than hers.

“Are you cold?” The thought occurred to her, then it tumbled out of her mouth.

Drew blinked at her. “Not really.”

“Then you should take your coat off. Plan to stay for a few minutes.”

“Sure.” He set his sandwich down and shrugged his coat off his shoulders. When he tugged on the sleeve to pull his left arm out, he froze. Then he pulled the coat back on. “On second thought, I’m fine. It’s a little chilly in here.”

Claire snagged his left wrist, affronted he couldn’t even pretend to want to stay. “Kinda attached to your coat.” On the other hand, he didn’t get up and go, which confused her. This was too complicated.

Drew tried to tug his hand away, but she held on tight. “Claire, let go. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.”

She yanked him closer, intent on forcing him out of his jacket. Her strength proved enough to wrench him out of his chair and halfway across the table. He hit with a thump and a grunt. Tearing his wrist out of her grip, he lurched to his feet and scowled at her.

“You’re a crappy drunk,” he snapped.

He didn’t get to call her names. Furious, Claire leaped to her feet and shoved the table at him. “Nobody tells me what to do!” The open bottle fell over, splashing beer on the table and floor. Their sandwiches jumped and the plates crashed together.

Drew twisted, and the flimsy table hit his hip. “Calm down, Claire. You’re acting like—” He growled and shoved the table aside. Claire blinked and he stood in front of her, gripping her shoulders. “Knock it off.”

His warm breath smelled of peanut butter. The light overhead reflected in his glasses. She forgot why she was mad and wanted to make all the anger in his eyes drain away.

The door opened. Claire hadn’t heard the screen door or the front door, giving them no time to hide the evidence. She looked up to see Marie walk in, weariness etched in every line of her face and body. Drew froze and blinked.

Marie’s perfect blonde brow raised as she took in the sight of them. “There had better be a damned good explanation for this.”

Claire couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t even considered getting caught by Marie. All her anxiety had been about Justin. Her mouth opened and shut. No words came to mind to fix this. Like those two people on the street.

When neither of them spoke, Marie hung her bag on a hook by the door and rummaged through it. “Drew, put the table back, then you can go. Take the sandwich if you want. You’re welcome to try to put that unopened bottle back into Grandpa Jack’s fridge without getting caught. We’ll talk later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Drew dragged the table back to its spot and set the empty beer bottle on it.

Marie carried a plastic water bottle and a wrinkled paper lunch bag to the counter, stepping over the puddle on the linoleum. While she wet a sponge in the sink, Drew fled with the unopened bottle and his half-eaten sandwich.

“Claire, clean up. Now.” Marie held out the sponge.

Though she still felt fuzzy and thick-headed, Claire swiped the sponge and crouched to wipe up the spilled beer. She had no idea how this would play out and still couldn’t think of anything to say. When Claire stood, Marie wrung out the sponge for her and handed it back so Claire could keep working.

After several minutes of this, when the puddle had shrunk to half its original size, Marie said, “Did you like it?”

“What?” Claire’s sludgy thoughts had narrowed to the task at hand. She didn’t know what to expect from Marie and had no way to plan for it.

“Do you like the taste of this beer?” Marie rinsed the empty beer bottle.

“N-no.”

“Good. Remember that if you’re ever tempted again.” Marie held up the bottle. “Alcohol is not allowed in this house, except for wine on special occasions. There are reasons for that, not the least of which being that Justin’s father was an alcoholic.”

Grateful she could stare at the floor, Claire’s cheeks flared with fire hotter than the sun. “Oh.”

“It doesn’t look like you had a lot, but I can tell you’re at least tipsy. Finish your sandwich if you can, then get yourself a glass of water and go to your room. Aside from using the bathroom, stay there until you’ve finished the water and can present a coherent explanation for all this. No haring off to the Palace, no climbing out the window, just sober up as much as you need to. Then we’ll talk. And it’ll include a discussion of whatever happened to your shirt and how all that blood got on it.”

Dumbstruck, Claire nodded. She handed over the sponge in ashamed silence and picked up her sandwich. Rather than eating it under Marie’s watchful glare, she carried it and a glass of water to her room.

Chapter 24

Claire

Claire shut her bedroom door, leaned against it, and slid to the floor. Marie would tell Justin. Justin would shout. He might call her social worker, or he could cancel the adoption. Until ninety days passed, he had that option with no questions asked. She’d go back into the system.

She sipped her water and nibbled at her sandwich, wondering if Drew wanted to see her again. He’d said a lot of nice things earlier, but she just got him into trouble with her dumb idea after everything else she’d done to him lately. It all came back to her being the problem. Again. There had to be a way for her to fix things.

Looking up at the window, she heard Marie’s warnings not to leave echoing in her head. Gray clouds sped past, headed for someplace more pleasant. She wanted to be someplace more pleasant too. Setting her cup aside, she went to the window and put a finger on the latch.

Whenever Justin got home, he’d toss her out. He’d find out about that dead woman. Witnesses saw mist, and he’d find out. On top of this beer thing, he’d have no real choice. She had no interest in waiting around to hear him say the words. Covering the latch with her sleeve to muffle the noise, she pushed it open. Her sleeve looked gross, covered with dirt and blood. She shucked her shirt and found another to replace it.

Her suitcase, the one she’d kept always packed and ready to move for years, sat empty on the top shelf of her closet. She’d been so stupid to think this place would actually be her forever home. Teenagers didn’t get adopted. Not for real. With no idea how long she had, she jammed a sweatshirt on, snagged a pair of pants, and realized she had no shoes. Her boots, caked with mud, blood, and who knew what else, sat in the entry with her coat.

Fine. She could walk around with soggy socks and cold feet. Her armor would protect the rest of her from the chill and she could sleep in the Palace until she figured out how to kill Caius. For whatever reason, everything had decided to revolve around killing and arguments and being alone. Snatching two extra pairs of socks, she cursed her eyes for the fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

A few minutes later, she jumped out the window and ran into the trees. The woods covered five different properties, and she crossed them all before reaching the street. By then, mud covered her feet and she had to catch her breath. She walked up the street, away from home. Away from Justin’s home, not hers.

She had no idea where to go or what to do. Her feet carried her in a straight line until she reached a bus stop, then she sat. Only when she saw the bus nearing did she realize she kept her bus pass in her coat pocket and she had no money. Feeling miserable, she thought she might be able to get a pity ride out of the driver. The bus stopped and she stepped inside to face a uniformed woman with a skeptical scowl.

“Hi. I’m really sorry. I left my bus pass at home.” Claire choked on the last word, but cleared her throat and soldiered on. “I lost my shoes and this has been the worst day ever. Can I please ride anyway?”

The woman’s scowl softened and Claire wondered if she still had blood on her face. Given how much time she’d spent on the ground, dirt seemed probable. Behind her, the doors closed. “Have a seat, honey. Ride as long as you need. This bus stops at the police station.”

“Thanks.” Claire sniffled and dropped into a seat. She leaned her forehead against the window, watching Vancouver as the bus trundled through it. Rondy’s guidance would be welcome. He had no reason to forsake her. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes. The first time he appeared to her after his death, he did it on a bus. That should make this time easy.

She waited. And waited. Strange static filled her head, but no Rondy. The bus stopped and went, stopped and went, stopped and went, and still no Rondy. The other times he came, she’d been desperate. If this situation didn’t qualify, she had no idea what the word really meant. Besides, in the Ordeal, he’d made it sound like she only needed to call him and he would come. But he didn’t come.

She thumped her head against the window and squeezed her eyes against new tears. Even Rondy knew to stay away from her. How he appeared mystified her, but he wouldn’t do it anymore. Maybe Enion leaving made it impossible.

“Honey, this stop is the police station.”

Claire opened her eyes and wished she could justify staying on the bus. Instead, she stood and shuffled off. “Thanks,” she said again as she passed the driver.

“Good luck.”

“Not likely,” Claire muttered as her foot hit the sidewalk. A concrete path in front of her led through shrubs and trees to the long, low building of the Vancouver Police Department West Precinct. At least it looked nothing like the downtown Portland station. She still had nightmares about that place. This one reminded her of an elementary school.