Dear God . . . were he and Lumina going to be sleeping in the same room?
Lumina moved past him, walking stiffly toward the stairs, and he knew they were about to find out.
“I’ll take the floor,” he and Lumina said at the same time, staring at the twin-sized bed.
Magnus moved past her into the small room, dropping his pack on the wood dresser. The room was sparsely furnished but clean, with an adjacent bathroom. He did a quick inspection, then turned back to Lu, still unmoving in the doorway. She looked pale.
“You’re taking the bed. I’m sure there’s a couch downstairs I can sleep on.”
“I don’t snore,” she muttered, dropping her own pack beside his on the dresser. Magnus frowned, wondering at the tone of insult in her voice. Surely she didn’t think—
“Everything copacetic?” James appeared in the doorway, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and Magnus enjoyed the image of the dark-haired man sailing through the air, screaming, after he’d tossed him over the second-floor railing.
“Fine,” he answered, teeth gritted. “Thank you.”
Lu asked, “James, do you have a couch downstairs? Magnus and I—”
“Are very happy with the room,” he cut in. He was surprised how easy it was to speak through clenched teeth. Probably it had to do with his vast experience in the area. “Again, thank you.”
He spoke the words with just enough hostile emphasis that James’s smile faltered. He cleared his throat, then cleared out with a salute and an awkward, “Great. Awesome. ’Bye.”
When he’d gone, Lu said, “Why don’t you like him? He seems perfectly nice.”
No, he seemed perfectly obnoxious, and, worse, perfectly enamored. There was no way in hell Magnus was going to chance letting Lumina sleep unguarded with that hound sniffing around. Without answering, he removed his jacket and threw it on the chair, then stood there with his hands on his hips, glaring at nothing.
The sound of bedsprings squeaking made him turn. Lumina was perched on the edge of the bed, back ramrod straight, lips pressed together, face the color of a ripe tomato.
“What?” he asked.
“Is this how it’s going to be now? You seething and ignoring me because I forced you to take me along? I just want to prepare myself so I don’t expect anything. Like, a normal conversation.”
The sarcasm in her tone announced her anger better than shouting would have. Magnus ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his jealousy under control. Trying, for once, to think rationally where Lumina was concerned. “I’m not angry because of that.”
Her back stiffened. “Oh.” She shook her head, laughed a short, humorless laugh. “Right. I should have known.” She stood, moving as if a steel bar had been implanted in her spine. “Well, you don’t have to worry; it won’t happen again. You have my word.”
“What are you talking about?”
She turned her head so he saw her in profile. But she didn’t look at him. And her face was still that troubling shade of red.
“Touch you. Kiss you. I-I won’t do that again.” She paused, then said in an angry rush, “I’ll leave that to Nola,” and bolted to the door.
Lumina was fast, but he was faster. Magnus reached her just before she passed the threshold, took hold of her arm, slammed shut the door, and pushed her—less gently than he should have, he realized as her eyes widened in alarm—against it.
He stared down at her, one hand on her arm and the other braced against the door. Their noses were inches apart.
“I’ll ask you again, and I want an honest answer,” he said gruffly. “What are you talking about, Lumina?”
She moistened her lips, and he almost groaned. This close, the scent of her skin and hair, the warmth of her body, conspired to strip every rational thought from his mind. A tremor ran through her arm and it was all he could do not to lean in and cover her mouth with his.
“You like her,” Lumina whispered, staring into his eyes. “Nola. You like her.”
He blinked, confused. “What’s not to like? She’s obviously intelligent, resourceful, loyal . . . she’s putting her own safety at stake to help us . . .” He trailed off because Lumina’s lips twisted. She looked away, breaking their eye contact, and refused to look at him when he asked her to. So he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him, and they stood there like that for several long seconds, just gazing at each other, until it hit him like a shock of cold water poured over his head.
“You’re jealous?” he whispered, astonished.
She didn’t deny it, which was just as shocking as her jealousy. Her cheeks burned, but she just stood looking at him silently, her chest rising and falling with short, erratic breaths.
He’d never before in his life been tested as cruelly as this. With his hand on her face and their bodies so close and now this, this impossible, beautiful, maddening thing . . .
She was jealous over him. She was jealous over him.
He closed his eyes and muttered a curse.
Lumina said softly, “Please let me go.” The humiliation in her voice drove a stake through his heart. He opened his eyes to find her expression frozen, her lashes swept down to hide her eyes. The knowledge that she assumed his curse was some kind of rejection was even worse than the knowledge that it was, perhaps, the best possible scenario for them both.
Fate had just handed him the perfect opportunity to drive a permanent wedge between them.
He could keep himself safe from the awful temptation of having her so near. He could keep her safe from the colossal mistake of wasting emotion on a worthless recipient, and, worse, one who wouldn’t live to see the next full moon. If he could just force himself to let her assumption stand uncontested . . . if he only had the strength of will to deny himself the one thing he wanted more than anything else he’d wanted in his miserable life . . .
For her. Do it for her.
In the end, she decided for him.
Lumina shook off his hand from her face, twisted out from his grip on her arm, and opened the bedroom door. Without another word, she left the room, and Magnus sank to his knees and hid his face in his hands as he listened to the sound of her short, hard footsteps echoing down the hall.
TWENTY-TWO
Dinner was as enjoyable as having all the skin on her body flayed off with a knife. A rusty knife. Slowly.
Lumina listened to James’s cheerful prattle, answered Nola’s questions about the health and happiness of Jack and Hawk, and suffered the friendly-but-intense scrutiny of the old man everyone simply called Grandfather, all while robotically shoveling food into her mouth, aware on some level she needed to keep up her energy, so she chewed and swallowed, tasting nothing at all.
Her mind was stuck on instant replay. The look on Magnus’s face when he’d realized she was jealous was . . . it was . . .
Horrified.
And now, so was she. Horrified, humiliated, and ashamed of the depth of her own stupidity.
His expression hadn’t been the worst thing, however. Oh no. That honor was reserved for the way he seemed to have grown calmer in reverse proportion to her mortification. Almost as if her jealousy had made him . . . relax.
Miserable bastard.
“This is excellent stew, Nola,” said the bastard between mouthfuls, his second helping so far. Judging by the way he was shoveling it down without pause, a third helping was in his immediate future. “What’s the meat?”
Meat? Lu frowned at her steaming bowl of rich brown broth. She’d thought those delicious chunks were some sort of exotic vegetable. She hadn’t eaten meat in . . . well, years probably. She and her father hadn’t been able to afford it.
Nola, sitting beside Magnus at the table, offered him another slice of bread. He accepted it with a grateful nod, and she answered, “Venison.”
Scheisse, she was eating Bambi. Lu nearly spit out he
r mouthful of stew, but remembered in time these people were helping her on her quest to save her mother. She swallowed, trying not to grimace too obviously. The taste of innocent murdered creature, however, lingered unfortunately on her tongue, which prompted a feeling of sentimentality for the tasteless-as-cardboard BioVite and FitCakes she’d grown up eating.
Magnus said, “Delicious. You the hunter in the family, James?”
So now he was being friendly to James. This man’s moods gave her whiplash.
James laughed unselfconsciously. Like Beckett, he had a gift for laughter, and because it was so genuine and such a welcome sound in her state of misery, Lu smiled at him. She wished she could laugh like that.
“That would be a big, fat no,” said James, smiling back at Lu. “If I were the hunter-gatherer around here, we’d all starve to death in days. I’m more the nerd type. Nola, on the other hand, can track an animal like it was wearing a flashing target on its back.” His smile faded. He shrugged, looking down at his bowl of stew. “I know we need to eat, but . . . I just couldn’t stand to kill anything. I’d feel too bad about it. Guess I’m kind of a sentimental sap that way.”
Lu said, “I like it that you’re sentimental. And you’re not a sap. No one should ever feel good about killing, even if it’s life or death.”
James beamed at her. On the opposite side of the table, Magnus froze, unbeaming, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
Nola said sourly, “Compassion is right up there with love on the list of things that can kill you in this world.”
Grandfather said something, his voice soft but firm. After a moment, Nola translated, sounding chastened, her gaze on her food.
“He says ‘Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity can’t survive.’”
The old man and Lu looked at one another, and she felt as if an invisible hand had reached out and squeezed her heart. “Is that a First Nation saying?”
To Lu’s surprise, the old man answered in perfect English.
“I wish we could take credit for it, but the Dalai Lama said that.” He laid his wrinkled hand on the book he’d been reading, which lay on the table beside his bowl of stew. “He’s one of my favorites. The Great Spirit moved through him like wind over water; he was very wise. But a terrible dresser.”
After a beat of surprised silence, Lu laughed. James joined her, the old man sent her a toothy grin, even Magnus cracked a smile. Nola rolled her eyes and sighed.
After that, the conversation rolled smoothly. Lu found out that Grandfather, James, and Nola were Cherokee, one of many minority groups from the disbanded United States who’d fled to Europe after the Flash when the US suspended the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. The Federal Emergency Management Agency set up detainment camps for Dissenters and suspected “enemies of the state,” and they’d seen the writing on the wall. Hoping Europe would be better, they’d settled first in London.
“Which, as we all know, turned out to be a total disaster,” said James, who relayed that he was only eight years old at the time. Nola was his mother’s sister, who’d been killed in the chaos, as his father had been.
Lu grew uncomfortable at this talk of death, her guilt at being the instigator of the Flash rising like bile to leave a sour taste in her mouth, until Nola said something that jarred her.
“. . . Thorne took full advantage. He was just looking for the right opportunity to start his war. The Flash gave him the perfect stepping-off point.”
Lu sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”
“Sebastian Thorne was trying to orchestrate conflict for years before the Flash. He knew that nothing unifies people like war, or a common enemy. He also knew that war creates incredible pockets of opportunity for those willing to do anything in the grab for power. And what he wanted, ultimately, was power. On a global scale. So he took the isolated incident of the Flash, and with clever manipulation and propaganda, turned it into a coup of every government on the planet.”
In response to Lu’s blank expression, Nola explained patiently, “Look, the Flash caused instability, but the world had seen a lot worse before that. Stock markets would’ve recovered, things would’ve eventually settled down. But Thorne started dropping bombs and pointing fingers. He was already an influential man, even then—a very rich man—who’d been stockpiling weapons all over the place. So when the missiles started flying from Iran and Russia and the United States, everyone blamed everyone else, and it devolved rapidly from there. In the space of a few weeks, everything collapsed. The entire world was chaos. And out of the ashes rose Sebastian Thorne and his oh-so-ironically named Phoenix Corporation, swooping in to save the day.”
Lu sat back in her chair, stunned. “If this is common knowledge, why doesn’t everyone rebel? Why hasn’t someone tried to get to him before?”
“I never said it was common knowledge.” Nola rose to clear the empty bowls. “The Dissenters know it, of course, but to everyone else Sebastian Thorne is the man who single-handedly saved the world.”
James amended wryly, “And then made its entire population captive dependents.”
“Even the strongest people eventually grow to love their chains,” said Grandfather. His warm gaze met Lu’s. The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Unlike wild animals, who can never be tamed, no matter how long they’re kept in captivity.”
But you already know that, don’t you, Tsulahisanvhi?
He was still gazing at her with that scant, clever smile as her jaw dropped.
How did you know you could talk to me this way?
Grandfather’s smile deepened. Old people know a great many things the young aren’t interested in.
I’m interested, Lu thought firmly. And frankly I’m not that young.
Grandfather shrugged, pulling a face. Everything’s relative. When you get to be my age, a midlife crisis looks about the same as a toddler’s tantrum, which looks about the same as early onset dementia.
Midlife crisis? I’m only twenty-five!
In my day, twenty-five was midlife. Especially for a woman. Strike that—twenty-five would’ve been an old maid. The medicine man of our tribe would’ve prescribed a strong tea of boiled bull testicles and tomcat urine to clear away all those cobwebs and tumbleweeds in your uterus so you could maybe still attract a man and have a family.
Lu scowled at him. Good thing I wasn’t born in your day, then. By the way, it must’ve been exciting when fire was first discovered, right? And when the wheel was invented? Those must’ve been good times!
Grandfather grinned, lighting his entire face. Ah, Tsulahisanvhi. You don’t disappoint.
There was that word again. Su-la-he-SAN-vee. Frustrated with the silent conversation, Lumina said aloud, “Hey, James? What does Tsulahisanvhi mean?”
Into the kitchen sink Nola dropped the bowls with a clatter, turning to stare.
Sounding more than a little confused, James said slowly, “Uh, well, I’m not such an expert with the Cherokee language, but I think it means . . . Resurrected One.”
Silence reigned, until Nola broke it, her voice cutting. “Where did you hear that word, Lumina?”
“Oh, I think I read it in some old, moldy, irritating book,” she answered lightly, watching with aggravation as the smile on the old man’s face grew bright as the sun.
Okay, Grandfather. We need to talk. And it’s not about the dust bunnies in my uterus.
I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, little dragon, but first you have to find me.
Lu’s scowl deepened with her confusion. Find you? You’re sitting right across from me!
Grandfather rose from the table, looking down from his considerable height. To everyone there, but looking at Lu, he said, “My bones cry out for bed. It’s time for me to go to sleep.”
Which is where you’ll find me . . . if you can.
He winked, tu
rned, and walked slowly away from the table, leaving Lu gaping at his broad, retreating back.
Magnus had been watching her and Grandfather during their silent conversation with the unblinking stare of a predator, his gaze darting back and forth between them, quick as light. “Lumina?” His query was low, tense, filled with something darker than concern. Lu quashed the tiny seed of hope that took root in her heart in response to his worried tone, and avoided his eyes.
“I just realized I’m tired, too. Thank you for dinner, Nola. James, it’s been wonderful meeting you.” She rose. To Magnus she sent a curt, businesslike nod. “And now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”
She left, pretending not to feel the stabbing pain in her heart at the look she saw pass between Nola and Magnus as she went.
She didn’t know how this worked, and was beginning to get frustrated.
Lying on her back on the twin bed, wearing a T-shirt she’d found in one of the bedroom’s dresser drawers because she hadn’t thought to bring a nightgown, Lu stared up at the dark ceiling. She’d tried counting backward from one hundred. She’d tried counting sheep. She’d even tried deep breathing exercises, which did nothing except make the room spin. Now she was trying to remember something she’d once read about progressive relaxation of the muscles, but the events of the past few days were whirling round and round inside her head, fighting each other for the spotlight. Sleep seemed as elusive as a smile from Magnus.
Magnus. With a groan, Lu turned on her side and stared at the wall.
She heard him downstairs, talking with Nola and James, their voices muffled, indistinct. She knew she could’ve picked out the words if she’d wanted to, but the low, rumbling tone of his voice was soothing to her agitated state, and anyway she probably didn’t want to know what they were saying.
She definitely didn’t want to know if Magnus was looking at Nola in that admiring way he’d looked at her before.
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