The barman brought me an ice cream float. I leaned on the table, my head resting gloomily on my hand. Lazily, I scooped the food into my mouth, but food had no taste. I doubted food would have taste for a long time, maybe never again.
A heavyset man with a bulbous red nose, straggly whiskers, and a thick neck, moved through the room to the chair across from me. He slapped down a bottle of liquor and roared with laughter.
“Why is a pretty little thing like you so sad?”
I sat back immediately.
“You’re starving, aren’t you? What are you running from?” He pulled a shot glass from his pocket. Gross! And he filled it from his bottle. “A pretty little girl like you shouldn’t be so hungry.” He pushed me the shot and raised the bottle to his lips. “You need a drink, little girl.”
Up and in, the bottle stayed at his lips longer this time. “This much alcohol, this here drink would be enough to kill another man. I’ve been drinking it for years, decades. Ten long years of drinking this, and you grow tolerant to it. Ask any man here, maybe living here is enough to make you immune. Want to try?” He held the bottle out for me to drink.
I shook my head. “I’m not running away from anything. I am traveling with my...” Greer? Bodyguard? Friend?
“If you can’t say what he is, then maybe you don’t know. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be so hungry,” he repeated, and he pulled me to him. His pores and sweat smelled like stale alcohol and bile. “You don’t need to be so hungry. You stay with me. I have a safe home with lots of food.”
“Move your hand before I break it.” Greer leaned over the table.
“Not taking real good care of her, are you?” The man ran his finger along my collar. “Letting her know there are better-fed options.”
And he leered down at me, pulling me even closer.
In one swift move, Greer knocked the man off the chair and on to the floor, his foot hard on his throat. No one moved, too shocked to understand what Greer had done. He was fast.
The man’s body jerked, straining to get up, but Greer’s foot was in the perfect position to hold him down.
The barman was over the counter after he realized his patron was struggling for air under Greer’s foot. “We don’t want any trouble. Old Philly meant nothing by it. Let him up, and you can get going. No problems.”
Asphyxiating under his boot, the man no longer attempted to get up. Foam sputtered from his mouth and clung to his whiskers down his throat, but as hard as he struggled, he couldn’t get air into his lungs.
“Come on,” I said. Greer put more pressure on his foot. He was killing him. I took his hand and intertwined our fingers. Greer looked me in the eyes. “Please,” I whispered.
Greer lifted his foot, and we ran out the door.
The silence was deafening. Just two people in a tent staring at uneaten Cloverfield bars.
It upset me terribly, but I needed to know what Greer knew about the prophecy. “What did the professor say?”
“He won’t know anything until he studies the words, writing. It may take him a few weeks.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He said to keep you safe and...”
“And what?”
We lay in our sleeping bags, the glowing puck between us. A foot away, he gazed at the gray ceiling of our tent. I wanted so badly to hold him, to thank him. To say anything to him.
“And what?” I asked again.
“Nothing. I’m sorry about what happened back there. I’m not sure what came over me. I’ve trained for years not to lose self-control like that. I have no idea…”
This was to be our last night together. Tomorrow, I’d be by myself with the Galvantry. I didn’t want to be talking about the idiot from the bar. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You don’t understand how many years I trained, all for self-control. I’ve kept my head in battles. I… I have been a spy… what I’ve seen… all of it, unbelievable and horrible and still, I kept my feelings in check. I controlled myself.” He shook his head. “And then one drunk touches you.”
He turned to look at me. His chest moved up and down.
I went to my knees. I had to say something to him. It was now or never, and tomorrow he’d be gone. “Greer?” My voice was hoarse from nerves.
Greer sat up so he could see me better.
“I... I...” I couldn’t get the words out. I was failing and tomorrow would be goodbye and I had so much to say to him. “I... um... I was wondering... do you... um... know who we’re meeting with tomorrow?”
“Not specifically, no. I know many Galvantry, but I can’t be sure they’re sending the people I know.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Was that all?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No. I was wondering if... you… you’ve come up with any other ideas about the prophecy?”
“No. None. I was busy.”
I had to say this. “Greer, I...” I had to swallow down my tears. “I was thinking. I don’t want you to leave tomorrow. I… um… I know I am not part of your plans. I don’t want to do this without you.” That was as close to a confession as I could get.
Greer went to his knees, so we were facing each other. “I know but, Waverly, none of this is simple.”
I closed my eyes again. I didn’t want to see his face as he rejected me. “I get it. Okay. It’s just, I thought you should know and… and… never mind.”
I turned away from him. With any luck, I’d be able to crawl under my sleeping bag and cover my head before the waterworks started.
“Screw it,” Greer whispered from behind me.
“Screw what?” I turned back to him.
Without another word, Greer closed the distance between us. His hands took
