Luke got into the car, put it into reverse, and drove away. The car bounced as it drove over the curb He couldn't quite believe he was driving away, but when he looked up, he saw Cory staring out the second-story window. He wasn't dead; surely there wasn't time for that to have already happened. But his face was stony. Luke stopped the car, staring up, but Cory shook his head and motioned him to go on. “I can't,” he said, knowing Cory couldn't hear him, but he was shaking his head again.
You have to.
There was no arguing that. He put the car into drive and rolled off.
* * * *
Cory thought that Lathe would have been right behind him going into the restaurant, but he wasn't. Cory's naked hand, the glove dropped somewhere along the yard, ached here, especially now that he was so close to Lathe, but he ignored it. Part of the main floor had been gutted by a fire, and half the tables and chairs were missing, but from where he stood it could have been any restaurant in any converted house.
That was until he heard the crying on the second floor. The staircase was two flights, and he found himself on the second floor before he even really thought about it. Something was up here; he felt that for certain. Luke would have felt it right away. Luke himself was standing by his car in the lawn, battered and bruised, but still alive, and Cory willed him to just get into the car and drive. Luke refused, however, until Brutus was practically over him again. Then he reluctantly got into the driver's side. If Cory could have put the car into gear from where he stood, he would have. It wasn't until Luke had actually done it and driven off the grass that he looked up to the window where Cory stood. Their eyes met, Luke telling him even from where he was that he didn't want to go, but Cory shook his head. “You have to,” he said to the empty room.
Luke drove away, slowly, and Cory watched his taillights until they crossed the river. Then Luke pulled over to the side of the road. Cory touched the window, which should have been freezing; the upstairs didn't have any heat, and he'd been cold when he was outside. His bare skin touched the glass, something he wasn't really used to, but it was hot, almost too hot to touch. The iron brand on the back of his hand flared up, hotter than it had felt with the actual iron, and he jerked his hand back.
"Your boyfriend is quite something,” Lathe said, stepping up into the room. “He's been out of the game for so long, he forgets what he is, and yet he would have given it all up for you. That must have been a disappointment for you."
"Not at all,” Cory said, turning around. His hand burned, and he still felt cold. It wasn't quite fair, but he kept his face neutral. His father had taught him that, even if he was breaking inside. And he was. If he'd known ... Stop it, he told himself. He would have done the same thing. Going back to Luke's house the night before had been his first mistake. Staying had been his second. Sleeping with Luke was his third, and letting Luke play with his body was his fourth. It would have been a clean separation. He'd been staking out the house since the fire, having tasted Lathe's influence in the burning smoke, but when he saw Luke down by the water, he just couldn't stay away. Cory cleared his throat. “He did what he was supposed to."
"Spare me,” Lathe said. He looked down to Cory's naked hand, stark white in all the black, and then back up to Cory's face. His smile was a bloody maw, his broken human teeth ragged and cutting. Cory saw his throat sliced open on them and himself bleeding out in this room. But it was Lathe's eyes he couldn't look away from. He was falling forward, dizzy suddenly, and Lathe pinned him against the wall to keep him on the floor.
"Can you hear me?” Lathe asked, but he wasn't speaking with his mouth of broken teeth. He was inside Cory's head, and Cory couldn't push him out. He was so tired all of a sudden. It would just be so easy to fall forward and let Lathe take what he needed. But he couldn't. Even the dumbest mark could see deception if it was present, so Cory kept his brain perfectly empty.
"You need your glove to turn, don't you? You can't do it if your hand is exposed. That's how it works, isn't it? That's how you figured it out?"
"I need black to turn into a raven, yes,” Cory said, the words forced from him. “Won't work, otherwise."
"Good,” Lathe whispered. And that was spoken. Blood and spit hit Cory's face, and he couldn't raise his hands to wipe it off. “Strip down completely."
"It's cold,” he protested. But it wasn't, not really, not by the window. As long as he wasn't touching it with his bad hand.
Lathe grabbed his tee-shirt with one hand. “Did you hear me?"
"Yes, sir,” Cory whispered. He used his good hand to pull Lathe's hand free, finger by finger, but kept his bad hand clenched behind him. He'd had to learn how to do most things one-handed while the burn was healing, so it didn't take much to strip his jacket off. He let the clothes stay where they landed, but Lathe shook his head and collected each article of clothing as it fell. His shirt was next, then his shoes, and finally jeans, which took more work. He kicked them free, too. Lathe picked them up as well, smiling at him.
"If you're trying to humiliate me, you'll have to work harder,” Cory said. He stood, his feet apart, and brought his right hand
