here. It was day, and I was lonely for them. I didn’t feel whole.
Zee pressed his cheek to my hand, his ears flat against his skull.
“Sweet Maxine,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to be your prison,” I told him, thinking of that crystal skull. “But don’t forget that I am your friend. We’re family, baby.”
“Family,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Family protects family. Family protects the nest.”
Raw and Aaz poked their heads from beneath the covers. Dek and Mal made a mournful sound, and so did Grant, as he lay down on the other side of the bed and straightened out his bad leg.
“Back in the desert, with Blood Mama . . . you started to change,” he said, forcing Zee to look at him. “I saw it, inside you. What else, Zee? We know what you were . Will you become that again?”
“Stop,” I said to him. “They’re not like that.”
Grant gave me a long look. Zee bowed his head, fiddling with his claws.
“Our nest,” he murmured. “Our family. Even as Kings, those things we believed.” The little demon crept backward off the bed. “But there was also the hunt.”
I followed him, or tried. My joints ached, and so did my muscles. Fever prickled. But I kept going, determined not to let him slip away. Irrational, I told myself. Zee wasn’t going anywhere. The boys weren’t going to leave me.
Of course, they will, came the unbidden thought. They are free.
“Zee,” I said, and my voice sounded strange in my ears, so rough and broken, it made me stop and listen to my heart and hunger.
I pressed my hands against my stomach, holding them there. Grant touched my thigh. Just with the tips of his fingers, but it helped ease the gaping hole in my chest.
Zee and I stared at each other.
“If the sun is dangerous to you,” I said, hoarsely, “then maybe you and the boys should go.”
He looked around the bedroom, with odd sadness. “The world is dangerous to you .”
“I’ll protect her,” Grant said.
The demon flexed his claws. “Not like us.”
I took a breath, and straightened. “I’m getting dressed and going for a walk. I’ll be fine. Zee, you and the boys do what you have to. I’ll be here if you . . . need me.” I forced a smile and slipped off the bed, reaching into a pile of clean clothes for some jeans and a sweater. I bundled them up and went to the bathroom.
I was afraid to look at my reflection. Mirrors and I didn’t mix. I’d had a nightmare once, as a kid. Dreamed I looked into a mirror, only to find . . . something else staring back. Not me. Not a person. Just . . . a thing. A vague shadow, burning with incredible violence. Reaching for me, through the glass.
Sometimes, at night, when I had to the use the bathroom, I refused to look at my reflection. Afraid I’d see that shadow. Afraid something would be there, waiting for me.
I wondered, occasionally, if I hadn’t already caught a glimpse of that shadow in my eyes.
I braced my hands on the sink, looking at myself. Nothing different. Not really. I could tell myself that all day long until I believed it. Until the shadows and the hard glint of my bleeding heart just . . . faded away.
I’d never realized just how pale I was.
Hot water felt good. I took a quick shower, washing away sand and sweat. My muscles ached less. I tried not to think too hard, but at some point I thought about the rose and that message engraved on the stem—and I remembered the sensation of the metal melting, and the sound of the boys, screaming.
And the fall. All of us, falling.
When I left the bathroom, the boys were gone. I hadn’t really expected them to be. I stood a moment, looking around, thinking I’d see a craggy little face peering at me, or a goofy smile, or hear a chorus of high, sweet voices singing rock and roll. But none of that happened.
It hurt more than I could say. It wounded me, and it was childish, stupid. Selfish, even. My boys were free. Why couldn’t I accept that and let them go?
Why can’t you
Zee pressed his cheek to my hand, his ears flat against his skull.
“Sweet Maxine,” he whispered.
“I don’t want to be your prison,” I told him, thinking of that crystal skull. “But don’t forget that I am your friend. We’re family, baby.”
“Family,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Family protects family. Family protects the nest.”
Raw and Aaz poked their heads from beneath the covers. Dek and Mal made a mournful sound, and so did Grant, as he lay down on the other side of the bed and straightened out his bad leg.
“Back in the desert, with Blood Mama . . . you started to change,” he said, forcing Zee to look at him. “I saw it, inside you. What else, Zee? We know what you were . Will you become that again?”
“Stop,” I said to him. “They’re not like that.”
Grant gave me a long look. Zee bowed his head, fiddling with his claws.
“Our nest,” he murmured. “Our family. Even as Kings, those things we believed.” The little demon crept backward off the bed. “But there was also the hunt.”
I followed him, or tried. My joints ached, and so did my muscles. Fever prickled. But I kept going, determined not to let him slip away. Irrational, I told myself. Zee wasn’t going anywhere. The boys weren’t going to leave me.
Of course, they will, came the unbidden thought. They are free.
“Zee,” I said, and my voice sounded strange in my ears, so rough and broken, it made me stop and listen to my heart and hunger.
I pressed my hands against my stomach, holding them there. Grant touched my thigh. Just with the tips of his fingers, but it helped ease the gaping hole in my chest.
Zee and I stared at each other.
“If the sun is dangerous to you,” I said, hoarsely, “then maybe you and the boys should go.”
He looked around the bedroom, with odd sadness. “The world is dangerous to you .”
“I’ll protect her,” Grant said.
The demon flexed his claws. “Not like us.”
I took a breath, and straightened. “I’m getting dressed and going for a walk. I’ll be fine. Zee, you and the boys do what you have to. I’ll be here if you . . . need me.” I forced a smile and slipped off the bed, reaching into a pile of clean clothes for some jeans and a sweater. I bundled them up and went to the bathroom.
I was afraid to look at my reflection. Mirrors and I didn’t mix. I’d had a nightmare once, as a kid. Dreamed I looked into a mirror, only to find . . . something else staring back. Not me. Not a person. Just . . . a thing. A vague shadow, burning with incredible violence. Reaching for me, through the glass.
Sometimes, at night, when I had to the use the bathroom, I refused to look at my reflection. Afraid I’d see that shadow. Afraid something would be there, waiting for me.
I wondered, occasionally, if I hadn’t already caught a glimpse of that shadow in my eyes.
I braced my hands on the sink, looking at myself. Nothing different. Not really. I could tell myself that all day long until I believed it. Until the shadows and the hard glint of my bleeding heart just . . . faded away.
I’d never realized just how pale I was.
Hot water felt good. I took a quick shower, washing away sand and sweat. My muscles ached less. I tried not to think too hard, but at some point I thought about the rose and that message engraved on the stem—and I remembered the sensation of the metal melting, and the sound of the boys, screaming.
And the fall. All of us, falling.
When I left the bathroom, the boys were gone. I hadn’t really expected them to be. I stood a moment, looking around, thinking I’d see a craggy little face peering at me, or a goofy smile, or hear a chorus of high, sweet voices singing rock and roll. But none of that happened.
It hurt more than I could say. It wounded me, and it was childish, stupid. Selfish, even. My boys were free. Why couldn’t I accept that and let them go?
Why can’t you
Similar Books
