by W. J. May
“Yeah?” He tried for arrogance, but all that came out was fear. “You think you can carry a bloody corpse around the streets of Brooklyn and no one will notice?”
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow, considering, and the man cursed once more.
“You may have fixed the subway, kid, but there’s no way you got all the cameras on the street. Someone’s bound to see. They’ll put together a composite. They’ll track you down.”
A sudden silence swept over the platform before Gabriel nodded once. “You know what...that’s a good point.”
Before the man could pull in a breath of relief, he was flying through the air. A blur of tangled limbs and a muffled scream as he hurtled out onto the tracks...
...and straight into the path of an oncoming train.
Gabriel turned around before he could see it happen. The spray of blood and muffled impact that stopped that scream once and for all. He was up the stairs before the conductor could even pull on the emergency brake, skidding the whole thing to a creaking stop. He was out the door as the passengers clustered around the windows, staring in horror at what had to be yet another Brooklyn suicide.
The guy was wrong. Whatever his name was, he was wrong.
Gabriel stuck his hands into his pockets as he strolled out into the crisp night air, whistling an absentminded tune as the police cars, sirens blaring, raced past.
There’s nothing wrong with me. People can change.
Chapter 12
Gabriel woke the next morning feeling better than he had in ages. He stretched up his arms, then rolled out of bed with a smile. One that had nothing to do with the man he’d killed, and everything to do with the girl who’d kissed him on the cheek just hours earlier.
Wait. I’m smiling?
With a newfound domesticity that greatly amused him, he pulled open the drawers to his dresser and began his morning routine. Shower. Clothes. Brush teeth. Battle hair. Leaning over the sink, he stared at his reflection in the mirror—his eyes flickering past the giant bruise on his temple and straight to the faint smear of lipstick on his cheek. Invisible to anyone who didn’t already know it was there. He’d been ‘accidentally’ careful with it in the shower. Tilting his head so the water would run down the other side. A twinkling smile danced in his eyes. One he was unable to shake as he finished getting ready and headed down the hall into the main building.
“Whoa,” he greeted Peter and Magda cheerfully, “you guys realize that you want to lure people into the restaurant, not scare them away, right?”
The distracted couple were both perched on respective ladders, trying and failing to tear down an ancient light fixture, as the ‘closed’ sign blinked rapidly in the window. A strained grin flitted across Peter’s face as he pulled against the bolts with all his might, while Magda tore herself away long enough to flash their charming houseguest a withering glare.
“It’s an extreme business model, I know,” Gabriel continued seriously. “But I sincerely think you guys are up to the challenge.”
As if on cue, Magda dropped her screwdriver in defeat, trying desperately to catch her breath as the lights twinkled innocently above her, refusing to budge. “Have we mentioned lately how you’re staying here without paying any rent?”
Gabriel chuckled and helped her off the ladder, waving Peter away. The second they were clear, he flashed a cursory glance out the window then held up two fingers. There was a metallic whirl as the bolts spun around in a rapid circle, falling into his open palm. A second after that, the light fixture itself drifted down gracefully and landed on a nearby table.
“What would you say that’s worth?” Gabriel tilted his head speculatively. “Two weeks?”
Magda swatted him with a grin, disappearing around the counter to fire up the coffee maker. “How about dinner? Dinner—and we forget the fact that you stumbled in at three in the morning and scared Peter and me half to death.”
Gabriel blushed and looked down at his shoes. It appeared the slight concussion he’d received from Stryder’s henchman the previous evening was a little less slight, and a little more concussion. When he’d slipped inside the kitchen window—trying not to wake his kindly benefactors—he’d inadvertently knocked over a row of tin pasta jars, sending them clattering to the floor. No sooner had Magda let out a scream than Peter ran down the hall with a baseball bat—only to find Gabriel standing in the middle of the room, covered in blood and bits of rotini.
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that.”
“What happened to you anyway?” Peter asked, striding forward to tilt back Gabriel’s chin, surveying the bruise with a critical eye. He’d done his best to heal it last night, much to his young friend’s extreme dismay. “You never said.”
Gabriel casually backed out of reach, pulling out three mugs for coffee as Magda flipped on the morning news. “Walked into a fire escape. You have too many of those in Brooklyn.”
“Uh-huh,” she replied sarcastically, flashing him a disbelieving smile. The smile faded, however, as she turned her face to the television. “That’s not the only thing we have...”
‘—man jumped to his death in the sixth subway-related suicide this year. Police have closed the investigation after concluding—’
“I gotta run.” Gabriel gulped down his coffee while it was still steaming, and headed to the door with a backwards wave. “Got lots of work to do with Natasha.”
“Work. Sure.”
He cast a pointed look over his shoulder, only to see Magda and Peter staring back with matching smiles, elbow-deep in grease from the light fixture. Choosing to ignore their subtle implication, he gestured to the gaping hole in the ceiling instead. “You realize that doesn’t exactly help the whole aesthetic, right?”
Magda rolled her eyes. “We’re having the new security system installed today. Don’t you remember? I’ve only told you ten times.”
Gabriel raised his eyebrows distractedly, thinking of other things. “Hmm?”
“Oh, forget it.” She chuckled, waving him off. “Have fun with Natasha.”
“Not fun, darling. Work.” Peter took a swig of his coffee, flashing Gabriel a conspiratorial grin. “So, what’s the deal there? You like this girl or something?”
An automatic denial rose to Gabriel’s lips, but it was outmatched by that same twinkling smile. The one he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he woke up. It sparkled mischievously in his eyes as he backed out the door, onto the sunlit streets. “...or something.”
Just twenty minutes later, he was knocking on the door of Natasha’s apartment. At least, he was going to. But, given the volume of the music she was blasting, there was no earthly way she would have been able to hear. He was about to simply unlock it with his tatù, when an angry-looking woman stuck her head out of a door farther down the hall.
“Are you going in there?” she demanded, not noticing the way his hands froze guiltily above the knob. “Could you tell the girl who lives there to turn that racket down?! It’s eight in the morning! What in the world is she thinking?!”
Gabriel hesitated only a split second, then a look of extreme pity came over his face. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. She recently lost her hearing. It’s still an adjustment, I’m afraid.”
The woman’s mouth fell open in shock as she clapped a hand over her heart. “She lost her hearing? But she’s so young! What on earth happened?”
“Ballet accident,” Gabriel answered sadly. “I’m sorry, I’m really not at liberty to say anything more than that.”
“Yes, of course.” The woman backed away with extreme deference, still shaken by the tragedy of it all. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for her, okay? In fact, maybe I’ll bring over some cookies later today.”
Gabriel nodded with a bittersweet smile. “Cookies would be nice.”
A second later, the woman disappeared and his hand waved discreetly over the knob, unlocking and opening the door all in one motion so he could slip inside.
Sure enough, t
he music was deafening. A strange mix of Radiohead and Metallica blaring from two dueling computers. Gabriel walked uncertainly into the living room, wincing against the pounding bass as he glanced around the messy apartment.
“Natasha?” he called, his voice no match for the noise. “You in here?”
There was no response, just the systematic throb of the windows as they trembled precariously with every crash of the drums. The place appeared to be deserted; Gabriel would have been instinctively worried if he hadn’t spotted Hans skittering covertly into the heating grate, dragging what looked to be the remains of a cell phone behind him.
With another irrepressible smile, Gabriel lifted his fingers and the stereos shut down instantaneously—blanketing the room in sudden, ringing silence. A second later, a head of messy hair popped up from the other side of the kitchen counter.
“Gabriel?” Natasha sounded confused and looked even more so, staring across the kitchen in complete disorientation with an ironically ballerina-esque topknot tilting precariously on her head. “What’re you doing here?”
He did his very best to repress a smile, as blown away as he’d been the first time he’d seen her. Delicate, pixie features. Bright ocean eyes. How was it possible that a single girl could be so beautiful, sitting on the floor in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants?
“It’s eight,” he replied simply, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned casually against the wall. “We had plans, yeah?”
Her eyes grew impossibly wider as she glanced at the clock on the wall in dismay. “It’s eight? Already? When did that happen?”
“Shortly after seven.” He watched her discreetly the whole time, playing it off with an admirable air of nonchalance as she pushed to her feet and gathered herself together. “What were you doing, anyway? Brooklyn battle of the bands?”
“Oh, that?” She glanced towards the living room, noticing the tag of her t-shirt and twisting it the right way around. “I was meditating.”
Gabriel slowly raised his eyebrows, wondering if they had a different definition for that on this side of the pond. “...to Metallica?”
“Canary told me I should try it.” She shrugged, flashing him a quick grin as she slid past him down the hallway. “The music was my idea.”
“I’ll bet,” Gabriel murmured, fighting another smile. He deliberately turned back to the living room as she darted into her bedroom to change, making a conscious effort not to act as out of sorts as he felt. “So, this whole punctuality thing, that was just for me?”
He could practically see the sarcastic grin. Practically hear the snort of laughter as she hastened to get dressed. “Just relax, London. I’ll be there in a second and then we’ll continue unravelling your twisted past. In the meantime, why don’t you make yourself at home? Brew some tea...enjoy a quick round of cricket...”
This time, he was unable to fully restrain his laughter. “Cricket?”
There was a dubious pause. “Is that you guys? Or is that Australia?”
“Your cultural awareness is an inspiration.”
The dresser drawers shut, but he could still hear her giggle. “Last night, I was Googling dumb things about England. And you know what, it was the weirdest thing.” She skipped down the hall, grinning from ear to ear in a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt. “Gabriel, I saw your picture—”
She froze dead still in the entryway to the living room. A few feet away, Gabriel froze guiltily as well. A full minute passed then she tilted her head to the side, accusingly.
“Were you just cleaning my apartment?”
He slowly lowered his hands, closing his fingers around the stray chips he’d been absentmindedly sweeping off the bookshelves. “...no.”
A charged silence fell between them. Her lips twitched. He gave nothing away.
“What’s that in your hand?”
He looked down in surprise, like he was shocked to discover the thing was even attached to his body. “Nothing. Why? What’s in your hand?”
Her lips twitched again, unable to fully conceal her grin. “Is that something they teach you in spy school? To answer a question with another question?”
“Would that surprise you?” Before she could answer he flashed her a charming smile. “I like your apartment. It’s got...character.”
She wisely chose not to contest this and leaned thoughtfully against the wall, her eyes flickering around the four corners. “I’ve been thinking lately that it looks a little empty. Like a scrapyard come to life. Maybe I should get a pet. An easy one. Like a goldfish.”
Gabriel started to answer then paused, shooting her a sideways look. “Is that some kind of backhanded jab at me? You get a fish, you think I’ll come here for worship and prayer?”
She let out a burst of laughter, filling the room from the floor up. An automatic smile warmed Gabriel’s eyes, but before he could say a word she grew abruptly serious.
“I don’t need to backhand jab at you. Not anymore.”
With a feral cry she attacked him head-on, using the techniques he’d shown her the other day in the park. Well...in theory. There was very little discipline to the way she threw caution to the wind and sprang towards him, hurling her slender body through the air.
Gabriel caught her with a gasp of surprise, letting out a burst of laughter as her flailing legs tangled with his and the two of them crashed down onto the couch. Most people would have given up at that point, but not Natasha. If anything, the fighting only got dirtier as they twisted around on the cushions—shrieking with laughter and cursing to the skies.
Her hair flew into his face, his legs pinned hers against the couch. She elbowed him sharply in the ribs, he caught her wrists with one hand and bit the side of her neck. When she predictably failed to overpower him she clamped her teeth down on his wrist instead, evoking another burst of laughter as she rolled on top of him, wrapping her legs around his waist.
It was at that point that they both froze. The laughter died away, leaving them in an awkward silence. One filled only with the sound of shallow breathing as they lay on the couch.
Gabriel glanced down, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Her shirt had slid up to the base of her ribs, and for the first time ever he saw the delicate ink swirled across her lower back. His eyes shot up for permission as his hand froze in its tracks. “May I?”
She nodded silently and he peered over her shoulder, his cheek pressed against hers.
It wasn’t at all what he expected, but by this point he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was exactly what Natasha was. Unearthly beautiful. Captivatingly bizarre.
Utterly, inescapably, enchanting.
His fingers trailed lightly over the delicate lines, sending a host of shivers running up her skin. It was the image of a face. A lovely face, only it was strangely blurred, as if he was viewing it from underwater. One hand was raised, touched lightly to the temple, but the eyes were the most telling. The eyes were staring straight down into his very soul.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured, pulling in a silent breath before he found the strength to look her in the eyes. “Your gift...is beautiful.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to say. Screw tatùs. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. So much more beautiful, and frustrating, and unexpected than she could ever imagine.
But he didn’t. He froze, silent, on the couch. Watching the opportunity pass him by.
She had yet to roll off his chest. His hands had yet to leave her lower back. For a split-second, he thought she was going to bolt right then and there. But she didn’t. Instead, she pulled herself an inch higher, gazing intently into his eyes.
“What about your ink?” she asked suddenly.
Her body fit nicely into his. Light. Comfortable. Warm. He could easily fall asleep.
“My ink?” he repeated in surprise.
Hadn’t she seen it already? Surely, they’d been through it in one of his memories. At the very least, she had to wonder how he’d put together all those shelves.
Her eyes sparkled as she waited for a demonstration. He was more than willing to oblige.
Without taking his eyes off her for a second, he lifted his hand in the air. A sheet of metal floated off the stack of raw parts in the corner and sailed towards them, twisting and reshaping itself into a delicate rose—one that hovered in the air before her.
She reached out to touch it with a look of wonder. Fingers tracing each exquisite petal. Each fragile thorn. Her lips parted with a silent gasp, a quiet surprise that illuminated every corner of her lovely face. But, just as quickly as it had come, she was quick to hide it—tucking her hair behind her ears as she retracted her hand with a guarded sarcasm. “What? You can’t buy a girl any real flowers?”
It was a momentary reprieve, but it was quick to fade. The second the words echoed out into silence, the two of them were left staring at each other once more. Just inches away.
Gabriel’s pulse quickened as his eyes flickered down to her lips. Every instinct in his body was telling him to get closer, but some abstract caution made him pull away. This could never work, could it? He couldn’t drag this beautiful creature into his mess of a life.
“I should go,” he murmured, dropping his gaze to the floor.
He waited for her to push to her feet. For her to come to her senses and run for the hills.
But she didn’t.
She stayed right where she was, staring down at him with those magical eyes. “Or you could stay.”
He kissed her. He didn’t think, he just kissed her. It was the best thing he’d ever done.
It was sweet. Tender. Almost shy. A far cry from what he was used to. Something that left him exhilarated and terrified all at once. Her breath fanned out over his face and he closed his eyes, pulling her closer as his arms tightened around her back. Suddenly realizing he was never going to get enough of this feeling. Suddenly realizing she could never be close enough.
Without thinking, he gently got to his feet. Holding her effortlessly in his arms. His lips still pressed against hers as he carried her to the bedroom. They were halfway there, when she suddenly opened her eyes in alarm.