by Foz Meadows
‘A little privacy, please?’
Solace’s voice was cool, though he could hear the tremor beneath the words. Guilt flooded him, and then Laine caught his eye. Evan flinched at the betrayal in her face, both sad and angry, tasting it in her mindscent like the bitter dregs of cold coffee.
Yeah. I definitely deserve it.
‘Right! Well, um, as you were!’ Grinning maniacally, Jess grabbed Laine by the arm and pulled her out of the room, pausing only to hit the lights again on her way out. ‘Bye!’
The door closed in his face. Silence fell. Evan took a deep breath.
Behind him, Solace growled. ‘Give me one good reason not to break you like a piñata.’
Evan turned, thoughts whirling. Insolence warred with contrition. Insolence won. ‘Because I’m so damn handsome. Also, you’re still naked under there. You’d have to get up.’
From where she was tucked firmly beneath the doona, Solace withdrew a hand and pointed at him. ‘Dead man. You’re a dead man.’ She flicked a finger towards the door. ‘Get out.’
His stomach churned. ‘What, out there with the other crazy women? They’ll eat me alive!’
‘Do I look like I care? You totally froze just now!’
‘I did not!’ He crossed his arms, flustered. ‘I was just, you know. Impersonating a statue.’ At the look on her face, he cowered. ‘Hey, they were the ones thinking smutty thoughts, okay? For once, my conscience is clear!’
Solace groaned and lay back, covering her eyes with her free hand. ‘This is all just a horrible dream. I’m still asleep, and you’re a hallucination.’
Evan stayed where he was. A feeling of utter wretchedness settled on him, accompanied by a very strong desire to find a bottle of scotch. He quashed the latter and wallowed in the former, sinking to the floor.
Solace snorted. ‘Didn’t I tell you to get out?’
‘Hallucinations don’t have independent motor skills.’
‘Yes, but you’re my hallucination and I want you gone. Out!’
‘Please?’
‘No!’
Evan stared at her. The memory of Solace’s bared breasts resurfaced. He gulped and mentally kicked himself. Focus! Out loud, he said, ‘But they’re still awake out there! Talking!’ This, at least, was true: by extending his awareness, he knew that Jess and Laine were in the next room, discussing him. From their joint mindscent, it was nothing good. The idea of facing them now, even for the few seconds it would take to reach his own room, was unbearable.
‘Please, Solace? I’ll be quiet. I promise. I’ll sleep on the floor. You won’t even know I’m here.’
‘Yes, I will! You woke me up to talk, and we’ve talked, and we’ve embarrassed ourselves, and it hasn’t been even remotely restful. Read my lips: You. Can’t. Stay.’
‘Is that a maybe?’
Solace made a pained noise and stared at the ceiling. For several long, agonising moments, she remained silent. Finally, with a seething sigh, she nodded towards the corner of the room.
‘Go and stand over there, then. Close your eyes until I tell you to open them.’
Baffled and grateful, Evan obeyed, listening as Solace got out of bed and padded over to the wardrobe. After some shuffling and fumbling, she called the okay. He turned to find her dressed in a pair of white-and-purple striped pyjama shorts and a matching singlet. At his evident confusion, she waved a hand.
‘If you insist on staying, you might as well share the bed. It’s big enough, and I’m used to sleeping with Manx. Alongside Manx. Not with,’ she amended hastily. For once, Evan refrained from making the obvious joke, and felt oddly adult.
‘Thanks, then.’ He swallowed awkwardly. ‘Um. Can I – do I you mind if –’ He gestured hopelessly at his shirt. Regret was instantaneous. ‘Or I can stay clothed. Whatever.’
Solace stared at him, utterly indignant, then snorted. ‘Why not?’ she muttered. ‘The damage is done. Just keep some form of pants on, and I’m a happy vampire.’
‘Roger.’ He pulled his shirt over his head, feeling slightly self-conscious as he realised that Mikhail’s magic had left a pattern of bruises on his body, even though his throat, like Solace’s, was unmarked. Mercifully, Solace refrained from comment, choosing instead to straighten the doona and climb back into bed. Was she bruised, too? Her mindscent was muted, but he suddenly found himself wishing that it were otherwise, even as he rebuked himself for such intimate curiosity. That’s what got you into this mess, remember? He lifted the doona and slid in beside her. The sheets were warm with her body heat. His breath caught a little. If you can call this a mess.
‘Goodnight, Ev,’ said Solace. Was there something else in her tone? Evan couldn’t tell, and was hardly about to ask. He rolled over, facing the opposite direction. His bare spine touched the cotton of her singlet. He thought about saying something, but then he remembered the shock on Laine’s face, and felt thoroughly chastened. Tomorrow will be hard enough.
‘Goodnight, Lacey.’
‘So,’ said Jess. ‘You and my brother.’
Laine nodded. The two girls were curled up at opposite ends of the lounge, facing each other. Jess sighed. Ever since they were little, it had been her and Evan together, a pairing of complementary differences. They’d constantly been mistaken for twins, not least because they’d always been in the same grade at school – he’d been conceived just after her birth and born premature, with the result that she was only eight months older. She had no concept of life without Evan, though there were times, like right now, when she sometimes wished she did.
As wry and silent as the psychic habitually was, Laine was also good company, and whatever they’d walked in on, Jess didn’t have to be a genius to see that it had hurt her friend.
Laine didn’t speak at first, but Jess was in no hurry. Though Solace’s shriek had roused them both from bed, the others were evidently too exhausted to bother. She’d been tired earlier, too, but not anymore. Patiently, she watched as Laine plucked at the hem of her nightgown – black, of course, though clearly borrowed from the Rookery wardrobe – and waited.
‘At the house,’ Laine said at last. ‘The night we escaped the dungeon. We slept together.’
‘Oh,’ said Jess, who hadn’t been expecting quite that much. ‘Um. Has he said anything since?’
‘No. And he won’t, either.’
‘What, because of Solace?’
A hollow smile ghosted across Laine’s face. ‘Perhaps. But even if not, he’s just not – I’m not –’ She dropped her gaze, uncharacteristically lost for words.
‘Oh,’ Jess said again. ‘Sorry.’
Laine smiled again – genuinely, this time, though still with a trace of sadness. ‘Not your fault. Or his, really. Though I sort of wish it was.’
There was a moment of silence. Jess burned to ask what Solace and Evan had actually been up to, but couldn’t find a means of asking that didn’t come off as blatantly self-involved. Laine raised an eyebrow.
Mentally, Jess kicked herself. ‘That’ll do it,’ she said, lamely. ‘Sorry. Again.’
Laine sighed, rubbing the side of her head. ‘Can’t be helped. Anyway, they weren’t doing anything. I don’t know why he was in there, but all he did was trip over the doona.’
Jess burst out laughing. ‘That’s all? But the look on his face! Seriously?’
‘Seriously.’
Jess grinned. ‘Look, I’ll understand if you want to take the moral highground and not say anything. But it would be my honour – nay, my sisterly duty and privilege – to mock the absolute hell out of him tomorrow.’
Laine’s lips twitched. ‘Won’t Solace get caught in the crossfire?’
‘It’s regrettable,’ Jess said, ‘but she’s a big, strong girl with a sense of humour. She’ll cope.’
Chuckling, Laine nodded. ‘To hell with the moral high ground. Mock away.’
15
Full Fathom Five
Solace woke to find that she’d curled up with Evan sometime durin
g the night. Her head was resting on his bare chest, and one of his arms was wrapped around her shoulders. Once or twice, the same thing had happened with Manx, but this time, it felt different. She lay still, heart hammering, not wanting to wake him up until she figured out why she’d let him stay in the first place. Partly, it was out of laziness: she’d been genuinely tired, and couldn’t be bothered arguing much longer. But she’d also felt like company. Living at the warehouse, Solace had liked sharing a bed with Manx, not just for the added warmth, but for the particular solid comfort of knowing there was another person nearby, someone who could be trusted or talked to in the middle of the night. It had been nice to know that she fell into that category for Evan, too, no matter how clumsily he’d phrased it. Nonetheless, he’d seen her as close to completely naked as anyone ever had – and, as consequence, so had Jess and Laine. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and relaxed herself. She’d let him stay out of friendship and, if truth be told, a smidge of loneliness. Nothing more.
Satisfied with this logic, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and eased herself away from Evan, trying to avoid any sudden movements.
‘Good morning to you, too. Or afternoon. Or whatever.’
By dint of considerable effort, she managed to sit up slowly rather than jerk away. Evan grinned lazily, his free hand cupped behind his head. Solace glared at him, though her mouth twitched, spoiling the effect.
‘How long have you been awake?’
‘Not long. A few minutes, maybe. Didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘Likewise.’
An awkward silence descended. Solace got out of bed, stretching pointedly by the wardrobe.
Evan took the hint. ‘Let me get dressed first, seeing as how I don’t have to take anything off. Then I can face the wolves.’ He groaned, hauling himself up.
‘All your own fault,’ said Solace, disinclined to be sympathetic.
Evan grabbed his jeans. ‘I know, I know. Ugh. Ten bucks says everyone else is awake on the other side of that door and ready to eat my heart.’
Solace snorted. ‘Not a bet I’d take. Besides, if anyone devours you, it’ll be me. You know, what with the vampirism and all.’
‘You’ll understand if I don’t find that comforting.’ His head vanished as he pulled his shirt on. When it reappeared, his hair was even more ruffled and he wore a grimace. ‘I’m an idiot, aren’t I? A complete moron. None of this would’ve happened if I’d just gone to Laine.’
‘Maybe.’ Solace pursed her lips. ‘But at least we’ve grown as people.’
Evan sighed, shooting her a look that was mingled respect and irritation. ‘You’re a hard woman, you know that?’
‘Go on.’ Solace crossed her arms, head tilted towards the door. ‘Time to be honest with everyone. Feel free to elaborate on how we’ve never had sex, ever. Vociferously.’
‘Saints preserve me,’ Evan muttered. He paused by the door. ‘Wish me luck? Or at least immunity from physical dismemberment.’
‘How about you just imagine me saying it?’
‘Witch.’
‘Clown.’
They both grinned. Evan took a deep breath and ventured forth.
After he’d gone, Solace stared at the door. The prospect of facing her friends was intimidating. It left her in no great hurry to get dressed.
‘Might as well have a shower,’ she said out loud, half expecting someone to run in and stop her. When no one did, she sighed with relief and headed for the towel rack. Some things, at least, are sacred.
‘So, you never slept with Evan.’
‘No,’ sighed Solace, for what felt like – and probably was – the fiftieth time that morning.
Electra’s grey eyes danced with amusement. ‘But he still saw you naked.’
‘Half-naked! Look, ask Laine. She’d know if I was lying. I’m not. We’ve been through this. Right? So can we move on, please? Okay? Okay!’
Solace leaned back in her chair, thoroughly irritated. Across the table, Paige giggled. They’d gone out for breakfast at one of the closer eateries, and despite Evan’s explanation and her confirmation of events being almost two hours old, her friends refused to let the matter drop, egged on unashamedly by Jess.
Laine had the decency to remain silent, but that was only because she actually had slept with Evan. If Jess knew about that side of things, she was playing it close to the chest, preferring to re-enact her brother’s clumsiness in tripping on Solace’s doona through a series of arm-flailing pantomimes. Manx insisted on finding a double entendre in everything Evan said, which had stopped being funny even before the third rendition of ‘that’s what she said!’ Paige didn’t make jokes, which was somewhat of a mercy, but laughed uproariously whenever Harper did.
That was the other thing, Solace thought: by the way they sat and the constant presence of Harper’s arm around Paige’s narrow shoulders, it seemed that the two had not only settled their differences, but were something of a couple. She was happy for them, of course, but hardly able to comment – it would’ve been an obvious effort to change topics, and no one else had brought it up. The hivemind had evidently decided that her own nonexistent dalliance with Evan was far more interesting. Besides, she reminded herself, they’ve been through enough already.
As Electra swapped yet more jokes with Manx, Solace sighed and stabbed at the last piece of sausage on her plate. Glancing down the table, she caught Evan’s eye and grimaced pointedly. He made a face in return. We’re the only ones not finding this funny, she thought. And Laine.
For the first time that morning, she found the courage to study the psychic directly. Laine was pale and immaculate, dressed in new clothes foraged from the wardrobe in her room: an ankle-length skirt covered with a layer of black lace, and a fitted black bodice over a blouse with long, flared sleeves and such a wide neck that the tops of her shoulders were left bare. A black velvet choker graced her neck, its single pale blue stone resting in the hollow of her throat. The colour exactly matched her eyes. It was a beautiful outfit, doubtless chosen to display both Laine’s figure and her aesthetic. Solace wondered how much of the effort was an attempt to impress Evan, or at least catch his eye, and how much was simply enjoyment in finding new things. Unerringly, Laine chose that moment to look up from her scrambled eggs, watching Solace with her usual calm gaze.
‘It’s okay,’ Laine said, to the puzzlement of everyone listening. Her eyes flickered to Evan. ‘Nothing else needs to be said. We’re fine.’
At the other end of the table, Evan choked on his breakfast and Manx started laughing all over again. Only Solace saw the discreet, grateful glance exchanged between Evan and Laine. Whatever residual guilt she’d been feeling about the night before vanished, and though Manx’s ear-burning puns were still decidedly unfunny, she suddenly found that the teasing wasn’t so hard to bear.
By the time Glide had slept, woken, recovered his wits and stumbled across Sydney to the Gadfly, it was slightly after midday. The club was open, which was a relief – but then, it was always open. There was no bouncer on duty during daylight hours, and no cover charge, for which Glide was dully grateful. Sharpsoft had left him a small amount of money along with the salve for his wound, and he wanted to spend as much of that as possible on food and alcohol. All too soon, he’d be broke, friendless and back where he’d been that first week after he’d left the hospital, sleeping in gutters and talking to walls as the visions crept in and claimed him. He loathed himself, utterly and completely.
Moving through the dim, thin shoals of other daytime drinkers, he reached the bar and ordered a double vodka and Coke, hoping the sweetness of the mixer would help in knocking back as much tranquillising booze as possible. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but Glide simply stared at him until the man went about his business. It was a neat arrangement, and one he hoped would serve them both well in the hours to come.
A drink in hand and with his pocket lighter to the tune of ten dollars, Glide headed automatically for the red leather loung
e suite in the far corner, only to halt, unable to proceed. I sat with them there. I lied to them there. No. Disgusted and shaken, he looked about for another seat, wondering why he’d come back to a place that reminded him of what he’d done, of what he was. Subconsciously, he knew it was penance.
Spying an empty table, he sat down heavily and closed his eyes, raising the glass to his lips. The Coke smelled sugary sweet, the vodka beneath it sharp and cheap with all the bouquet of methylated spirits. He thought of kissing Solace, tasting the innocent need in her, wanting her; of the look in her eyes as the brick came down. He thought of knocking Phoebe unconscious, of Tryst kicking wildly against the strength of a sleeper hold, of Claire’s pleading voice and wide, scared eyes. He thought of the knife sliding into him, twisting against bone, and realising I deserve this, please, let me die.
But death hadn’t come, and neither would absolution.
His hand was shaking. He downed almost half the glass in one gagging swallow. His mouth burned. He wanted to weep. Pushing the drink aside, he let his head slump on the tabletop. A universe of self-recrimination flickered at the edge of consciousness, the regret and error of a thousand worlds begging him to see, come see. A wave of dislocation followed. Glide gripped the edges of the table, holding on as though the whole world was in danger of tilting sideways.
Just as he reached the brink of giving in, he felt a hand close over the back of his wrist. The spell was broken. He inhaled raggedly, not wanting to look up. Probably the barman wanted to throw him out. He groped for his drink with the fingers of his free hand, but the glass was nowhere in reach. Definitely the barman, then.
He looked up, and felt his heart stop beating.
Glide tried to pull away from the man sitting opposite him, but the fingers gripping his wrist were strong, their nails digging into the soft flesh beneath the heel of his palm.