I rolled the window down a crack. “Nola! It’s me, Allie,” I yelled.
Nola put both hands on her hips and leaned forward at the waist, peering through the dust-covered car windows.
I stuck my hand out the window and waved.
“Are you okay, Allie?” I knew what she was asking. Did she need to get a gun, call the cops, or tell Jupe to tear the car apart?
“I’m good. I have someone with me. His name’s Zayvion. And another guy asleep in the backseat.”
Okay, that sounded seriously weird. “Can we stay for a while?”
Nola shook her head and clomped down the porch stairs. She came around to my window, Jupe trailing her like a trained grizzly. She looked in the window at me and got that worried frown I hated to see on her. She glanced at Zayvion, then back at Cody.
“Come on in,” she said. “All of you.”
Zayvion unlocked the car doors and I opened mine while Nola waited until she saw me push my own door open. She flinched, probably from the smell, or maybe from the mess of blood and gunk on me.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“Just messy. The kid in the back needs help, though.”
She took a breath, then opened the back door.
“Wait,” I said. “There’s a cat.”
But it was too late. Nola had the door open, and Jupe stuck his big bear head in the back of the car, snuffing and sniffing.
The kitten hissed and yowled. Jupe harrumphed and licked his chops. The kitten yowled again.
Served the fluffy little monster right.
“Leave the cat alone, Jupe,” Nola said. “It is not a toy. Out of there now. Out.” Nola patted Jupe’s side. He put it in reverse and got out of the way.
“Is this man hurt?” Nola asked.
I stood up out of the car, and wished I hadn’t. Everything I’d been through in the last eight hours came roaring down on me. Sweet loves, I was tired, stiff, and sore. And I really had to pee. My stomach cramped and I realized I hadn’t eaten all day, either. All of that hit me in one nauseating wave and I was glad for the cool wind against my face.
“Allie?” Nola said.
“I’ll help her,” Zay said.
I was working hard not to puke, so I kept my mouth shut. If I could have opened it to talk, I’d have told them I was fine and didn’t need any help.
“No, I’ll help her,” Nola said. “You can take him into the house. If you need me to help carry him, I’ll be back out.”
A thin, strong arm slipped around my waist and, even through the garbage, I smelled the warm yeast and butter of bread she must have been baking. It should have made me feel more sick, but it just made me hungry.
“Ready?” she asked. “Take a few steps for me.”
I opened my eyes. “Hey, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
“Good. I’m getting messier the longer I hold you. Let’s get going.” Nola smiled, but her eyebrows were drawn down in a frown. She was worried about something. I hoped it wasn’t me for a change.
We got in the house, which was warm enough that I wanted to sleep right there in the hall, or right there in the living room, or right there in the kitchen. We stopped in the kitchen, and I sat at her oak table and dragged garbage-soaked shoes across Nola’s lemon-clean wood floors.
“Thanks for the money,” I said. “I hope this isn’t a bad time to visit.”
“Nonsense. I told you to come out and visit any time. Here.” She put a bowl in front of me. “Chicken noodle soup. Eat.”
She wiped her hands and the side of her face on a dish towel and then clomped out of the kitchen the way we came in.
I did as I was told, and was not disappointed. Nola was the best cook I had ever known.
While I ate, I listened to Nola direct Zayvion about where to put Cody. Upstairs bedroom, across the hall from Nola’s room, probably, so she could keep an eye on him. Plus, Nola knew every floorboard and creak in this old house. It had belonged to her husband’s parents and she’d spent a lot of time here even before they were married. If Cody got out of bed in the middle of the night, she’d know.
Zay and she had a conversation, something that involved doctor and magic and authorities and my name. It was the kind of conversation I figured I should be involved in, but I just couldn’t muster the strength to give a damn. Not with a hot bowl of soup in front of me.
I was done with the soup by the time Nola and Zay came into the kitchen. Zay walked in front of her and smiled a little, like he’d had a couple beers and could feel the buzz. I wondered when he’d had a chance to drink. Come to think of it, he’d been a lot more open and relaxed in the car. Talkative, even. I wondered if it was because of the lack of magic around these parts.
“Sit,” Nola ordered. “I’ll get you some soup.”
“Say yes,” I advised.
Zay sat down across the table from me, where I noted he could watch the doorway to the living room, and also keep an eye on the other door that led to the pantry and mud room.
“Yes, please,” he said. “Thank you.”
Nola put a bowl down for him, then took mine and refilled it. “I’ll get you some bread.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
Nola put the soup in front of me again and got busy with the kettle on the stove. Nola had a clean, modern kitchen. An old potbelly wood stove stood in the corner, but I knew she only fired it up in the winter when the snows lingered. Just because she was magic-free didn’t mean she lived without the other modern conveniences.
“This is excellent,” Zay said. He didn’t slur, so I rethought the beer thing. Still, he looked like he was officially on vacation: kicking back, eating soup, and relaxing. I think the lack of magic was good for him.
Nola pulled three cups from the cupboard. “I don’t have coffee on, but I’ll make us all tea.” Nola never asked; she just told you what she was going to do for you. I’d learned early on in our relationship that if it bugged me, I just had to speak up, and she usually didn’t mind changing her plan.
“Have you been drinking?” I asked Zay quietly.
He grinned. “No.”
“Then why are you so happy?”
“It’s quiet here.”
That so didn’t make any sense to me.
“No magic,” he said.
So I was right. Interesting. Magic was his hobby, my ass. I checked his eyes. Still brown. Just brown, like when I’d first met him, with no hints of gold.
“Okay,” Nola said, “which of you is going to tell me why that young man—and you—are covered in blood?”
I looked at Zay and he gave me a she’s-
Lovely.
“I found him down by the river—the Willamette,” I clarified. “He was hurt. I thought he was stabbed. Punctures in his chest.”
“We took his shirt off,” she said. “Not a scratch on him. Took down his pants too. Other than dirt and a smell that will probably take me days to get out of my sheets, he wasn’t bad off below the belt.”
“He was hurt,” I said. “I thought he was hurt. He wasn’t walking very good, wasn’t breathing very good.” I put my elbow on the table and rubbed at my face. “I don’t know, Nola,” I said through my hands. “It’s been a long day.”
She poured water into mugs, put them on the table, and sat in the chair next to me. “I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry, honey.”
