sucking, wet squick —made me cringe. He wiped the blade on his wet jeans and looked at it. “My own goddamn knife.” He looked up at the roof, eyes blazing. “She’s gone.”
“What—how do you know?”
“I just...know.” He stepped out of the fountain and winced.
“You should be dead.” I couldn’t get past it. A pull like that should’ve at least knocked him out.
“Flesh wound.” He peered at his wing, frowning. “The other one’s worse.” He tried to lift his broken left wing and let it fall again.
“No—I mean I pulled from you. You should be dead.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t know what you mean. Come on. She’s gone, but she could come back.”
Shane. We both turned toward the breezeway and froze. In the open French doors leading to the building’s darkened foyer was a compact man in a brown suit, smoking a cigar. He had a ridiculous handlebar mustache. He looked at us, made a zipped-closed motion across his lips, raised his palms, and looked pointedly and wide-eyed at his feet.
Chapter Nine
Ian managed to keep his wings hidden while we walked back to the B&B, but the illusion was patchy and flickering. Every time I looked at him I caught a glimpse of warm brown feathers or tattered, red-streaked flesh. He dripped blood onto the sidewalk.
I was still charged up from the pull. I probably could’ve carried him, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. I was hyperaware of his body in ways I didn’t like, the connection of the pull still vibrating between us. His mental state flashed and ebbed in my brain, a mixture of anger, pain and post-fight adrenaline. He was still as full of energy as the day he’d first shown up at the B&B.
“It didn’t affect you?” I still couldn’t believe it.
He turned his head and winced. “What do you mean?”
“The pull. It didn’t affect you. I mean, you didn’t even notice.”
“What the fuck is a pull?”
“Never mind.” I would worry about this later, when no one was bleeding. “How did you even know we were up there?”
“Felt it.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, Shane met us out front running. “Cass!” He ran his hands over my face, and when he found me whole dragged me in close and wrapped his arms around me. His mind tangled with mine, searching.
“ Are you hurt? Are you all right? ”
“ Fine , I’m fine. Ian took the knife—he took the knife for me. ”
Shane looked at Ian over my shoulder. “You’re hurt,” he said.
“I’ll live.” His wing dragged the ground and left a streak of blood on the concrete. “What happened to the bitch?”
“She jumped.” Shane shook his head, still stunned. I watched his memory of it. Annette leaped from the roof and landed on the sidewalk with a crack of concrete. She should’ve been dead twice over, but she ran down Ursulines Avenue, staggering and trailing blood. “She looked pretty badly hurt.”
I knew without asking that Shane had stayed to protect the B&B.
“Diana?” I asked, suddenly worried. What if Annette had a partner?
“Fine,” Shane said. “Still sleeping. Come on—we need to get you both indoors.” He didn’t say it out loud, but I knew we presented a spectacle to anyone who happened to look out a window. There was only so much we could write off to New Orleans’ legendary nightlife.
Ian nodded, but with his next step, he staggered and had to catch himself on the brick wall bordering the B&B. Shane didn’t comment, but in my head, he said, “ I’ll call Bunny. ”
A healer. We didn’t bother her for little things, but this wasn’t little. Shane took out his phone.
When we got inside, Lionel and Bruce were waiting for us in the kitchen. Ian dragged himself in and collapsed into a chair, spent.
“Sweet Jesus, son, are you all right?” Bruce raked his eyes over Ian’s blood-spattered wings.
Ian didn’t answer, and Lionel and Bruce exchanged a look. Without even speaking, Bruce pulled out a first aid kit and clean towels
“What—how do you know?”
“I just...know.” He stepped out of the fountain and winced.
“You should be dead.” I couldn’t get past it. A pull like that should’ve at least knocked him out.
“Flesh wound.” He peered at his wing, frowning. “The other one’s worse.” He tried to lift his broken left wing and let it fall again.
“No—I mean I pulled from you. You should be dead.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t know what you mean. Come on. She’s gone, but she could come back.”
Shane. We both turned toward the breezeway and froze. In the open French doors leading to the building’s darkened foyer was a compact man in a brown suit, smoking a cigar. He had a ridiculous handlebar mustache. He looked at us, made a zipped-closed motion across his lips, raised his palms, and looked pointedly and wide-eyed at his feet.
Chapter Nine
Ian managed to keep his wings hidden while we walked back to the B&B, but the illusion was patchy and flickering. Every time I looked at him I caught a glimpse of warm brown feathers or tattered, red-streaked flesh. He dripped blood onto the sidewalk.
I was still charged up from the pull. I probably could’ve carried him, but that didn’t seem like a good idea. I was hyperaware of his body in ways I didn’t like, the connection of the pull still vibrating between us. His mental state flashed and ebbed in my brain, a mixture of anger, pain and post-fight adrenaline. He was still as full of energy as the day he’d first shown up at the B&B.
“It didn’t affect you?” I still couldn’t believe it.
He turned his head and winced. “What do you mean?”
“The pull. It didn’t affect you. I mean, you didn’t even notice.”
“What the fuck is a pull?”
“Never mind.” I would worry about this later, when no one was bleeding. “How did you even know we were up there?”
“Felt it.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, Shane met us out front running. “Cass!” He ran his hands over my face, and when he found me whole dragged me in close and wrapped his arms around me. His mind tangled with mine, searching.
“ Are you hurt? Are you all right? ”
“ Fine , I’m fine. Ian took the knife—he took the knife for me. ”
Shane looked at Ian over my shoulder. “You’re hurt,” he said.
“I’ll live.” His wing dragged the ground and left a streak of blood on the concrete. “What happened to the bitch?”
“She jumped.” Shane shook his head, still stunned. I watched his memory of it. Annette leaped from the roof and landed on the sidewalk with a crack of concrete. She should’ve been dead twice over, but she ran down Ursulines Avenue, staggering and trailing blood. “She looked pretty badly hurt.”
I knew without asking that Shane had stayed to protect the B&B.
“Diana?” I asked, suddenly worried. What if Annette had a partner?
“Fine,” Shane said. “Still sleeping. Come on—we need to get you both indoors.” He didn’t say it out loud, but I knew we presented a spectacle to anyone who happened to look out a window. There was only so much we could write off to New Orleans’ legendary nightlife.
Ian nodded, but with his next step, he staggered and had to catch himself on the brick wall bordering the B&B. Shane didn’t comment, but in my head, he said, “ I’ll call Bunny. ”
A healer. We didn’t bother her for little things, but this wasn’t little. Shane took out his phone.
When we got inside, Lionel and Bruce were waiting for us in the kitchen. Ian dragged himself in and collapsed into a chair, spent.
“Sweet Jesus, son, are you all right?” Bruce raked his eyes over Ian’s blood-spattered wings.
Ian didn’t answer, and Lionel and Bruce exchanged a look. Without even speaking, Bruce pulled out a first aid kit and clean towels