I thought of the splinter under the table, and swallowed hard.
“There’s also that moment,” he continued. “The one where you realize that all the rules have changed between one instant and the next, and no one is coming to save you.”
Oddly enough, I was on firmer ground there. “Yeah. Been there. Done that,” I told him. “I already had that one when I was six.”
I could remember it, too—the moment when my mother’s casket disappeared into the ground, and my father looked at me like I was some kind of alien creature when I reached up to him with both arms, tears streaming down my cheeks. Rans’ hand cupped my shoulder, his thumb stroking slow circles over my skin. The juxtaposition was jarring.
“But, in the end, you can’t live your life trying to change what’s already happened, Zorah,” he went on. “At some point, you have to let it go and start looking toward the future.”
Okay... so apparently we’d been having the same conversation after all. I closed my eyes.
“None of this changes the fact that he’s still my father, Rans,” I said. “I need to make sure he’s all right... or as all right as he can be, at least. It’s my fault he’s in this situation in the first place, and if I don’t look out for him, who will?”
His free hand brushed my cheek, palming away the tear that had slipped free without me noticing it. “With luck, the human tithelings from Dhuinne will look after him,” he said, not unkindly.
I hoped he was right. “Maybe. But I still have to see for myself.” I craned up from my position curled against his chest, meeting his eyes. “I won’t stay there permanently, though. Not if you want me to come back.”
He nodded in reluctant agreement, though an aura of disquiet still lurked behind his hooded expression.
THREE
THE FOLLOWING EVENING found us back in St. Louis—a place I’d never expected to see again. It was odd how quickly I’d adjusted to the nomadic lifestyle of city-hopping, crashing for a night here and a night there in unfamiliar bedrooms with only a small suitcase of possessions to my name.
To be fair, I still hadn’t adjusted to air travel. Not that magical travel through portals or along ley lines was preferable, exactly, but at least it was over a lot sooner. Nevertheless, we had arrived at Lambert Airport without crashing, and exited the terminal without being accosted by either Fae or human authorities.
“Do you think this means I’m safe from them now?” I asked, doubting that my life could be that simple.
“No,” Rans said bluntly. “Though I expect the terms of engagement will have changed.”
I mulled that over for a moment or two. “So... does that mean it might be okay for me to go back to my house and see what can be salvaged? Or not?”
“It’s possible,” Rans said, not very helpfully. “But I’d much prefer to return to Guthrie’s place first, and make certain we still have a relatively safe base from which to operate.”
I thought of Rans’ sad-eyed friend. “Fair enough. But isn’t Guthrie likely to have an opinion on that?”
The corner of Rans’ lips twitched. “Guthrie always has an opinion. That being said, the fact that he‘ll generally keep it to himself if it’s not constructive is one of his more endearing attributes.”
So it was that we ended up climbing out of an Uber, exchanging the car’s air conditioning for the stifling heat and humidity of St. Louis in the height of summertime. We were disgorged onto the curb in front of Guthrie’s fashionable apartment building with our carryon suitcases, the action neatly bookending our departure from the same building a little over a week ago.
Rather than go in the glass double-doors, Rans led me down to the subterranean parking area. I was poised to ask the reason for the detour when he let out a happy sigh.
“Ah. Splendid!” he said, his precise English accent growing a bit broader around the edges as a boyish smile lit his face. “Looks like the old girl survived a few days of neglect with no ill effects.”
I was captivated enough by the fine lines crinkling the corners of his eyes that it took me a moment to realize his relief was for his motorcycle. The sleek, black Triumph sat sedately in the exact place he’d left it after whisking me away from Caspian and his cronies like a dark knight on a chrome-accented charger.
“Nice to see that seven hundred years isn’t enough to keep boys from becoming attached to their toys,” I observed.
The look he shot me was devilish. “Now, luv—don’t try to tell me I’m the only one here who appreciates something powerful between his legs. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll take you for a ride while you’re not about to pass out from shock and starvation. We’ll see if you’re so quick to tease then.”
I raised the hand that wasn’t holding my suitcase in surrender. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I appreciate any mode of transportation that gets me away from faeries who want to kill me. Just don’t expect me to call it Josephine while lovingly caressing its leather seat.”
His mouth twitched. “Just as well. Josephine is an appalling name for a bike.” He gave me a speculative gaze. “Though if you ever get the urge to don a bikini and polish the metalwork, I’ll arrange for a professional photographer to be present.”
“Pig,” I told him, hoping vampire senses couldn’t hear the way my heartbeat picked up or sense the flush of heat rising to my cheeks.
“What can I say?” he replied. “Sometimes my views are positively medieval.”
“Ha,” I said flatly. “Vampire humor. Have I mentioned lately how much I love it?”
As we had once before, we took
