Nightlife (31 page)

I stopped, rubbed my hand harshly over my face, and started to get up before Niko's hand on my arm held me back. Fight or flight, it was a sensation I'd spent a lifetime becoming familiar with. I sat back down and continued flatly, "When I did those things… I can still feel the emotions. Glee. Satisfaction. I have that in me now. I have every damned memory and it makes me sick." And it did. It made me physically ill, but it was more than that. Much more. "It makes me sick that I spilled your blood. That I hurt you.
You
, Nik. But you know what's worse? You know what really kicks me in the gut? It was the most goddamn fun I've ever had." That time I jerked away from him and paced the room. "It wasn't me. I know it wasn't. But Jesus, I remember it just like it was."

He slid out of bed and followed, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder. "Cal, listen to me. You're right. It wasn't you. Maybe that doesn't make a difference to you now, but it will. In time, I promise, it will. Those memories, those feelings, will fade." Thanks to Rafferty, they already had to a certain extent. If they hadn't, I couldn't imagine the shape I would be in. "It will get better. You just have to give it time."

"Not sure I can wait that long." I gave him a wobbly smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come. I wasn't the only one who had memories or who would have sleepless nights. And I wasn't the only one who would dread closing his eyes. Nik had some horrifying memories of his own… in many ways equal to mine. Maybe worse. He'd done things he would regret until the day he died, no matter how necessary they were. "I'm sorry, Nik. I am so damn sorry."

"I think we will both be living in a universe full of sorry for a long, long time." He gave me a look so colored with melancholy humor and undiminished affection that I felt like a child again, in awe of a brother worlds away wiser than I.

Steering me back to the bed, he waved me imperiously to a sitting position. "You didn't do any of those things. It was Darkling, not you. I do not want you apologizing for something that wasn't your fault. Are we clear?" I opened my mouth to protest, but it was futile. Niko repeated with steely authority before I had a chance, "Are we clear?"

I surrendered, conditionally. "If you admit there was nothing you could've done to stop Darkling from taking me. You didn't
lose
me, Nik. I'm not a pair of keys or a jacket. You didn't lose me. You never could. You admit that and we're clear."

He stared at me for a moment, still standing. Finally, the tension beside his mouth loosened slightly and he sat beside me. "I'll try." The corner of his mouth curled. "You try and I'll try and we'll see who gets there first."

"Only Darkling could steal the Grendels' thunder, and they were trying to destroy the world," I rasped wryly, resting my head in my hands.

"Only," he agreed ruefully, resting a warm hand on the back of my neck.

I straightened and took a closer look at his hair. It was more chopped than sheared. I suppose that happened when you cut your own hair. I reached over and tugged an uneven strand at the crown. "You might want to get that evened up, Kojak."

"A new nickname, the joy of it all," came the icy retort. But I could see he was pleased at the effort, no matter how lame it was.

I'd have to be careful in the next few nights to Come or I might wake up with a head as smooth as a baby's bottom. If it happened… hell… I'd laugh. I can't imagine there was much that could happen now that I wouldn't laugh at. Life… it was all about perspective. Considering what we'd lived through, what we'd survived, it had to be all downhill from here on out. We had our nightmares to work through, it was true. And there was guilt we would have to banish before it chewed us hollow. It would be hard work—I wasn't fooling myself about that—but not impossible. We were fighters, after all. Weary but standing. Bowed but not beaten. Never beaten.

It was sunset before we were all joined together. The backyard was buried in russet leaves that had been torn from the trees by a howling afternoon wind. I was stamping through them, enjoying the crackle and the smell that bloomed red and gold in my nose. Retrieving the Frisbee, I tossed it to Catcher, who bounded nearly six feet off the ground in an impossible U shape to snatch it out of the air. At my elbow Robin was shivering in a borrowed denim jacket.

"I'd give anything for a coat like his right now," he grumbled, his breath pluming in the air like scattered white feathers as he watched the wolf's acrobatics. "But not his breath. He could kill a troll at fifty feet with that. Maybe I'll send some mints in the mail when I get back to the city."

"You're a philanthropist without parallel." Nik was doing kata in the grass, slow movements that cut the air with deceptive grace.

"What about you two?" Goodfellow accepted the toy from Catcher and tossed it higher in the air than I could ever have managed with just a flick of his wrist.

"Will you go back?" The question had a weight that belied its casual phrasing. In many ways, Robin was as lost as Niko and I had always striven to be. How he'd become like that was bound to be a tale. The puck was simply too social a creature to have ended up in such a solitary fashion without a reason. Maybe someday he'd tell us.

"I think so," I answered, blithely ignoring Niko's narrowed gaze. It was risky; there was no denying that. The Grendels had left the bar a war zone, slaughtered my boss, killed Merry. Under the influence, so to speak, I'd burned a pawnshop to the ground and left a dead werewolf in my hotel room. Some of that had to come to police attention. But on the flip side, New York was a world all its own. If I changed my looks, dyed or cut my hair, avoided any usual haunts, I'd be invisible. Any ID they found at the bar was bogus. Niko and I had always lived as ghosts. If we were to become real now, who would honestly notice? And there was another consideration. Promise. How often did two people truly connect in our twilight world? Here was a woman Niko wouldn't have to lie to, a woman he wouldn't have to hide things from, a woman who would understand the life he'd led. It was a rare opportunity and I wasn't about to take that from him. And then there was George…

"Good." Robin folded his arms with a barely believable nonchalance and cleared his throat. "But you'd better start browsing the want ads. You two owe me twenty grand for that car parked out front."

Niko and I exchanged identical sidelong glances, wondering just what the hell we'd gotten ourselves into. It was a good feeling, so normal and warm that I had to grin. "I don't see anyone fighting to pay my bill," Rafferty said dourly from behind us.

Once again, Catcher brought the Frisbee back and I tossed it. Carefree as the wind, he raced after it, legs churning until they were a blur. "We're paying you back right now," I said simply.

Moving up beside me, Rafferty watched as his cousin ran. "He's happy." He sounded surprised as he said it, but a wistfulness was there as well.

"Take it from me, Raff." I bumped my shoulder against his. "You can't choose who you are. No matter how you struggle, some things will never change. And maybe they shouldn't." They were difficult words and it'd taken me a long, long time to truly understand them. "You might be able to return Catcher to who he was—I don't know. But for now? Enjoy him for who he is."
And allow him to enjoy it as well
, I finished silently.

Catcher chose that moment to return, and this time the Frisbee was offered solemnly to Rafferty. As the air hung still, gold eyes met amber. Something passed between them, something private and as mysterious as the moon. I couldn't say what it was, but Rafferty reached out hesitantly and took the toy. He ran his hand along the rim, fingers brushing the plastic, and then, finally, he threw it. In an instant Catcher spun and was gone after it. Rafferty smiled. It was laced with sorrow, but it was a smile that had managed to slip a chain or two. Sometimes that's the best you can hope for.

I watched Catcher cavort under a scarlet sky and marveled at the beauty of him. He might not be a human, but neither was he a monster. The lack of one didn't necessarily equal the other. There was something so simple about that, yet it had taken me until now to figure it out. Catcher was no monster.

And neither was I.

Rob Thurman lives in Indiana.
Nightlife
is Rob's first novel. Visit the author on the Web at www.robthurman.net.

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