“Wow. And the Donkey Lady?”
“I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon.” It would probably take wild-undead-horses to drag Dren back to town after what Maldonado had put him through.
“Good.”
“So what’d you pray for?” I asked him.
“When?”
“You know. Earlier,” I said. I assumed when she said we’d all gotten a prayer answered, she’d meant him too. Unless he was too busy being almost dead to hear her.
His face furrowed into a frown. “You mean when I wrote my name on her mural?”
“Sure,” I agreed, because it was easier than explaining anything else to him.
“I asked to be the greatest
I snorted. “How do you feel about that now?”
He pondered it for a moment, then held up his hand. He reached into the backseat and tapped me on my chest. “You tell me.”
There was no ticker-tape parade awaiting Olympio’s return when we parked outside his building. He hopped out of the car and held the door open. “You’d better come back and visit me.”
“I will. I might bring my mom.” Who knew what semi-magical Olympio could do versus unmagical irrational cancer, but I should take the chance.
He made a curious face, then nodded with a grin. “Okay!”
I shut the car door. Had I made the right choice? I could have healed her tonight, for real. But what other choice could there be? I waved at Olympio through the window, and he waved back at me. My vampire chauffeur hit the gas and turned the radio off.
I forgot that my car was down by Tecato Town, and remembered that fact as the driver dropped me off at my apartment. It was too late now—what was done was done. I’d go pick it up tomorrow. When I got inside my place Minnie was happy to see me. There weren’t any disturbing texts or messages on my phone. I started a shower, because God knew what I’d been drenched in in the storm drain tonight—probably toxic waste. I snorted, got myself good and clean, then dried off. I didn’t notice when I poured Minnie a double helping of food because I was thinking too hard.
What now? Was everything worth it? Ti was gone. My mother wasn’t guaranteed saved. I’d gone from normal to strange again in less than two weeks. What had I done? What had I become?
I paced around my bedroom, putting on clothing, trying to figure things out. I realized I’d gotten dressed again instead of putting on clothes for bed.
Hopefully the only other person who could help me answer things would be awake too.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I walked out and took the earliest train uptown. I didn’t remember directions precisely—I’d only been to Asher’s house twice before, in the winter and in a car. But I got off at what I thought would be the nearest stop and walked in a direction that felt right to me. The morning was cool—last night’s rain had washed away all the clouds in the sky, and as I walked I could see the beginnings of dawn.
It took me a while, several side streets and dead ends, second-guessing myself after I’d walked entire residential blocks. But eventually I found a house that I thought I recognized even without the snow. I went up to it and knocked on the front door.
After a long wait, a man I didn’t know opened it, and I was scared I had the wrong address.
“Edie?” He pulled the door wider, and unfamiliar lips gave me a tentative grin. “Come in.”
I smiled nervously and nodded, and then painted the air in front of his face. “I’m not used to—”
“Me either,” he agreed.
“Is it … permanent?”
“I don’t know. I just asked her to save me was all. I didn’t get an instruction manual. It didn’t feel right to press.” He shrugged. “I’ll try it … in a few days.”
“That makes sense.” No reason to risk dying again so soon. He closed the door behind me and gestured me farther in. The interior of his house remained the same as the last time I’d seen it. We were in his living room, which was mostly a library; there was a fireplace but currently no fire. I walked over to the mantel and stroked a finger down it. “You’ve got a lot of dusting to do.”
Asher snorted. “When I left this place behind six months ago…”
“What’ll happen to your new place?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Hector … coming back?”
“I don’t know.” He circled his couch and sat down, facing me and the fireplace. “It’s only been a few hours. I haven’t figured much out yet.” Asher touched his own chest and pointed at me. “The thing haunting you—it’s gone. I’ve still got some powers. I can still see.”
I looked down at my own chest. “I think I can thank Olympio for that.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah. He didn’t die. And he didn’t know anyone that did. He thinks we won.”
Asher’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze focused on me. “Did we?”
“As much as we ever do,” I said, and then I walked over to him. “I’m not used to your hair.” I stepped up to him and reached out for his hair, pulling down shaggy brown-blond bangs. They almost reached his eyes—he could be an emo guitarist if he tried, or with a little gel clean up to be a youthful accountant. He had the kind of face that would look better with glasses. He was still taller than me, but not very much more so, not too much to be comfortable to reach up and hold.
“What were we doing out there?” I asked the man who didn’t look anything like my friend.
“We were doing what was right. What we thought was right at the time.”
“But Ti’s dead—and I didn’t save my mom. Unless it turns out that Olympio can magic away cancer.” I rolled my eyes.
Asher ducked his head, and his hair slipped through my fingers. “I should have asked to save her. I know you chose Olympio.”
Save her—instead of himself? “That’s absurd, Asher—you’re a man, not a saint.”
His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. I took a step closer, took his chin, and pulled it gently up. It was the first time I’d touched him since the events earlier this evening—and instead of the brown I was used to, his eyes were now blue. What must it feel like to always see the world through different eyes?
I stared at him wondering for so long, he gave me a questioning look. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to this,” I apologized.
“Neither am I.” He pulled away from me, and stood and shrugged with one shoulder. “Did you walk? Do you want a ride home?” He started walking for his door, and I followed him out.
I waited outside while he opened his garage and backed out a silver truck. He rolled down his window. “Get in.”
He left his window down as he drove, and I rolled mine down too. It was summer outside and dawn air was rushing in. He didn’t merge with the highway but went a side route in the same direction as my place, and I didn’t complain. Anything I said would be pushed away by the wind, anyhow. Pieces of half-dry hair whipped my face; I held them back with one hand. I propped my feet up on his dashboard, and he took an unexpected right-hand turn.
“Hey—” I protested.
“You’ll see,” I saw him mouth as he shifted gears.
It was strange to sit beside him in the car when I wasn’t used to this version of him yet. I stared out the window and concentrated on the wind. We wove down roads I didn’t know until we were in the middle of nowhere, a dirt track overgrown with trees. He pulled in and put the car in park.
