by Bryn Donovan
“You showed up to kill her? That’s one way to meet a girl.” Jonathan didn’t smile. “Oh come on, looks like she’s forgiven you. Is it serious?”
“I’m going to marry her.”
Michael’s jaw dropped open and he looked to Val, who didn’t appear surprised. He turned back to his brother. “Does she know this?”
He smiled again and actually looked smug. “She does.”
Michael shook his head. It was sudden, but then again, Jonathan seemed made for serious relationships.
They had never seemed wise to Michael. Their work was so dangerous; the chances of it ending in tragedy were too high. He’d already lost his mother and had seen it wreck his father. Who knew how long any of them would be here? It was better to go lightly, taking and offering pleasure and distraction, enough to get through the night and face the day after.
He asked Val, “Do you know her well?”
She nodded. “I helped her get her powers under control. And I oversaw her initiation.”
He’d never imagined Val doing anything so, well, grown-up. But of course, she’d been doing pretty grown-up things with him.
Again, he felt like two different people—the one who knew Val as a comfortable, familiar friend, and the Michael-without-memories who saw her as endearing, powerful, and unbearably sexy. It made his head spin.
“She really is crazy about Johnny.” The wistful tone in her voice affected him like a reproach.
He told Jonathan, “Well, I like her. She and Nic helped stop you from shooting me. If I were you, I would’ve killed me.”
“I didn’t believe it at first, either,” Val said. “We had a memorial service for you. You came back from the dead.”
It was strange to think of them at his funeral. He shifted in his seat. “Speaking of people coming back from the dead. Tribunal? Why are we so sure it’s them? Who else is back, Vlad the Impaler?”
“It really is them,” Val said. “That guy confirmed it when I was in his psyche.”
Jonathan nodded. “Before that, Lucia ID’d them before she died.”
“Lucia.” His blood chilled. They’d said she’d died. And later, they’d said a Scholar had been killed…they’d meant her.
“I was her contact.” Jonathan’s voice was stark. “I’d broken through after they started to interrogate her. She spoke her drop code, and I gave her absolutio.”
Shit. Michael had never had to do that for anyone; speak the words of absolution and comfort to the dying to help the soul move on to the next plane. In truth, he probably should’ve done it for Jonathan, when he’d come close to death after being shot, but Michael hadn’t been able to face the possibility of losing him.
He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t known Lucia well, but well enough to know that she’d been an overcaffeinated genius with gorgeous green eyes and iffy personal hygiene, and that she and Samir had been over the moon with one another.
“We shouldn’t be talking about this,” Val said. “You’ve been through so much today.”
“No, I want to know what’s going on,” Michael said, raising his head. “How’s Samir?”
“Devastated,” Jonathan said. “Capitán made him Cassie’s mentor. I don’t think he wants to send him anywhere for a while.”
“I need my gun,” Michael said.
Jonathan gave a grim smile. “We need a target. But Nic can get you one.”
“I should talk to him.”
“You should call Dad too.”
He didn’t think he was ready for that. “How’s he been doing?”
“Not good.”
Val’s jaw set. “He blamed Jonathan for your dying.” Jonathan gave her a reproachful look. “Well, he didn’t tell you he didn’t blame you.”
Michael bristled. “That’s bullshit.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“The hell it doesn’t.” Another memory took over Michael’s mind. Jonathan was small, and their father shouted at him for leaving a mess in the kitchen—a mess Michael had made. Jonathan didn’t correct him.
Michael took a steadying breath and pushed the past aside. It didn’t overwhelm him as much as before.
Jonathan shrugged and took another swig of beer. “I don’t know why you’re the one always getting mad at him. You’re his favorite.”
“That’s why I get mad at him.”
Jonathan’s eyebrows raised, and then he looked away.
His brother and Val told him about what he’d missed when he’d been gone, and about how whether Dr. Holst and Capitán Renaud would allow him to resume his position as a Knight immediately, as Michael hoped. After almost an hour, Jonathan said, “I’m going to head back. I should call Cassie.”
Michael nodded. “I’m going to drop by Nic’s.” He glanced at Val. She was supposed to go everywhere with him, but he wanted to talk to his friend privately.
“Go on without me,” she said. “I’m sure it’s fine. You’ve been stable a while.”
Michael got up, profoundly uncomfortable. How was he going to deal with what had happened between them?
As he reached the door, following Jonathan out, she said, “Michael.”
He froze and turned around, prepared for a demand or condemnation. God help him, she was as irresistible to him as ever, with her soft, rounded face that invited caresses, her lush mouth that suggested much more. How had he never seen it before?
Would he ever be able to un-see it? It seemed impossible. Her eyes glistened, and he balanced between guilt and panic. She said, “Everything’s back to normal.”
He should’ve been glad to hear it. Instead, his heart broke a little. “Okay.”
*
Nic answered the door in a T-shirt, sweatpants, and bare feet. His eyebrows raised when he saw Michael. “Salaam. What’s up?”
“I remember everything.”
“Seriously?” Nic gave a wondering half laugh. “Come in.” He shut the door behind Michael and pulled him in for a quick hug. “Welcome back.”
God, it felt good to be connected again, to know the people who knew him. Nic hadn’t really touched him since they’d found him on the mesa, maybe realizing that it made him uncomfortable when everyone was a stranger to him.
Well. He sure as hell hadn’t minded being touched by Val.
“Sit down, have a drink.”
Although Michael had already had a beer, he didn’t object.
Nic’s quarters were smaller than the one Michael shared with Val—a bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. Michael sat down in the only chair. Nic took a green bottle of soju from the fridge and swirled it in one hand, creating a little tornado of the vodka-like liquor inside.
“Did you already talk to Jon? How are you feeling?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. It’s been weird.”
“I’ll bet.” Nic handed Michael a small glass and filled it. He poured another one for himself, set the bottle down on the little table next to Michael, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Michael recalled Nic saying that in Korea, no one poured his own drink, but that even the guarída in Seoul didn’t observe that point of etiquette. Nic clinked his glass against Michael’s. “Salud.”
Michael downed the shot with Nic and kept himself from making a face afterward. He’d never liked the stuff; to him, it tasted more or less like rubbing alcohol, with a bitter finish.
At the taste, Michael flashed back to being with him at the karaoke bar in Vegas. Michael had asked Nic if he could kiss him, and Nic had laughed and shoved him away. Later, Michael had left with a woman from Iowa who was there for a bachelorette party. The morning after, he’d woken up with the worst hangover of his life. The memory of the bar, the blaring music and the neon-lit bar, superimposed itself over Nic’s room.
“What is it?” Nic asked.
Michael realized he was staring into space and blinked. “Nothing. I was remembering we had this in Vegas.”
“Ha, that’s right.” He sobered. “Mellie got it for m
e.” Melisande Demir, the Steward who’d overseen Anantara, the one who’d invited him to dance when he’d been itching to. One of the victims of the shooting. Nic made the sign of respect for the dead, and Michael did the same. Then Nic refilled Michael’s glass. Michael knew from experience that he was just being a good host—he wouldn’t be offended if Michael didn’t take a second shot.
The day after he’d tried to kiss Nic, he’d felt stupid. He’d had no reason to think Nic had wanted that. The acute feeling of being an idiot overtook him again. “Sorry I tried to kiss you.”
“What?” Nic squinted at him, and then realization dawned in his eyes and he laughed. “I forgot about that.” Michael’s scalp burned with embarrassment. Nic seemed to notice he wasn’t laughing and said, “You were drunk. All you did was ask. I thought about saying something later, like if I was into guys at all, it would be on.”
“You did say that,” Michael said, suddenly recalling. “At breakfast.” A big, fancy buffet at the hotel, with lobster, crab legs, and blinis topped with caviar, but it had also included mini corn dogs, which they’d both found hilarious. He could envision the spread as clearly as if it were laid out in front of him.
Nic studied him. “Why are we talking about this now?”
Michael sighed. “My memories are messed up. They all seem new. A half hour ago, I was remembering when Jonathan got shot outside Mexico City, and I about lost it.”
“Not that surprising. It scared the shit out of me.”
“But more random things too. Jonathan was telling me all these things that happened when I was gone, and I suddenly remembered this time I was a total dick to this kid when I was in Cairo…” His shame deepened, and he shook his head.
“You can’t apologize to everybody,” Nic said more quietly. He traced the rim of his glass with one finger.
Michael looked at the name on the bottle label. “Chum Churum. What’s that mean?”
“‘Like the first time.’ Mellie said she couldn’t find my favorite brand. It was so nice of her to look.” Michael knew Nic wasn’t that picky; he’d more often seen him drink beer or Johnnie Walker, though in New Mexico and Nevada, maybe they were more often available.
“You knew her from Paris?”
“Yeah, when we were teenagers. She and Didi were friends.” Nic’s older sister was still in Paris, Michael recalled; his younger sister was in D.C., like his mom. “We still texted once in a while.” His eyes filled with regret. “Why is it so hard to realize how amazing people are when they’re still around?”
Michael knew exactly what he meant. The catastrophe did make him feel more caring and concerned about every single person in Manus Sancti. “She was dancing with me, and then she was talking to Aquario about his dog…and then that was it.”
“We’re going to find every one of them. And we’re going to tear them apart.”
In favor of that sentiment, Michael touched his glass to Nic’s and took one more sip. He looked at the bottle again.
Like the first time. That was how everything had been until a couple of hours ago. And it was strange to think that what was happening now, what he could see and hear and feel—the shadows in the room, the sound of Nic’s voice and the words he said, the feel of the padded leather armrest and the gleam of the green bottle—all of these would be lodged in his memory, though probably deep in his subconscious.
Nic got up and put the bottle back in the fridge. When he returned and sat down, he said, “Maybe the memories don’t know where they belong in your brain yet. They have to get sorted into different time periods again.”
“Could be.” The theory comforted him. It made about as much sense as anything else. “I’ll ask Dr. Holst about it.”
“Pretty impressive that Dr. Holst cured you immediately.”
“I don’t know if it was just the meds.”
Nic gave him a questioning look. “What else?”
Michael told him about being on the beach, not glossing over any of the details this time.
“Wow,” Nic said. Michael realized he’d been hoping Nic might say something about how he wasn’t surprised. No such luck. His friend’s eyes were wide. “Was that the first time you kissed her?”
“No. We’d already…” He tried to think of how to put it. The memory engulfed him. Maybe it would always be easy to access, down to the smallest details—the exact curve from her waist to her hips, the sound of her quickening breath.
Nic’s jaw sagged in disbelief—and maybe disapproval. “You didn’t.”
“No,” he said again, and then sighed. “Kind of.”
“Shit. I mean, you’ve been really into her since you came back, but I didn’t think she’d go for it. No offense.”
Some taken. But he didn’t have a right to be offended. “She, uh…she said she had a crush on me for a long time. Years.”
“Huh. I don’t know her that well, but I wouldn’t think you’d be her type.” This irritated Michael even more, which was ridiculous, considering the most rational part of his brain agreed. “What are you going to do now?”
“Leave her alone, I guess.”
“Probably a good idea.”
Michael reminded himself Nic wasn’t trying to twist the invisible knife in his gut. He hardly knew anyone with better judgement than Nic. On missions, Michael put his fate in his friend’s hands all the time. If Nic thought that his being romantically involved with Val was a terrible idea, it probably was.
“Did you say jasmine perfume?” Nic asked, and Michael looked up at him again, bewildered. “The perfume Val was wearing.”
“Yeah, she said it was.”
“Morty mentioned jasmine in that Egyptian fragment. Which they couldn’t get hold of, by the way. They broke into that museum, but apparently they do a terrible job of cataloging.”
“Huh. Sounds like the Egyptians knew what they were talking about.”
“You’ll have to tell Capitán about that.”
Michael shifted in his seat. “Don’t tell anyone else about the rest.”
“Obviously. No one’s going to be thinking about it, anyway. Everyone’s talking about the Tribunal.” Nic quirked a smile. “Well, that and how you ran straight at a gunman like you were out of your goddamned mind.” Now he sounded more like a mission runner.
“They must be talking about you too, then. You know—”
“You’ve got to be careful,” Nic said, completely cutting off what Michael had been going to say about how he should still be going on missions, not running them. “You were the only Knight I ever lost. It ruined my track record for a while.”
Warmth spread through Michael’s chest. “I can’t believe you went back to look for me.”
“Seeing your vitals show up was like seeing a ghost. And your brother seriously came close to punching me in the face.”
“His girlfriend had a broken ankle and you were most of the way home, and you made them turn around, anyway.” Not too many people would’ve made that call. It was just another example of Nic’s good judgment. If Nic hadn’t gone back, Michael might’ve frozen to death. He owed his friend so much.
“Hey, I can’t always be sensible.”
An alert sounded from Michael’s phone, and he stiffened. It was the sound reserved for a call from Capitán Renaud. Nic’s eyebrows raised as Michael picked up. “Salaam, Capitán.” Until a few hours ago, he wouldn’t have known the proper way to answer the phone.
“West. Vega called me.”
Michael’s father was longtime friends with Capitán, and Michael still would’ve never called him this late in the evening unless there was a dire threat to Manus Sancti—not even if he was dying. And not even if he’d had the man’s number, which he didn’t. He and Val had an unusual relationship.
“Have you called your father yet?” Capitán asked.
“No, sir.”
“Do that soon. If Dr. Holst clears you tomorrow, tell Joe to get you a phone and a gun. Your psyche’s been stable, so move out of Vega’s s
uite in the morning. Whitley will tell you where to go.”
The plane ride where he’d started to fracture again hadn’t been that long ago. Had Val asked Capitán to get him away from her? Probably. And to be honest, she’d pointed out that he could heal himself.
After his memories had come back, she’d perceived his alarm and confusion. She might’ve also regretted what they’d done, now that he was himself again. She might’ve wanted him as a newly minted soul, besotted with her, free of the past.
Despite a past crush, maybe she wanted nothing to do with the real him. Or maybe he’d broken her heart.
He preferred the first option, and they both gutted him.
Capitán asked, “Where are you right now?”
“Um. In Nic Joe’s room.”
“Tell him to videoconference me in private.”
“Obedezco.” Capitán hung up, and Michael put down the phone.
“What did he say?” Nic asked.
“He said you need to videoconference him in private.”
Nic’s eyes widened. “Me? Now?”
“Yeah.” Capitán had guessed correctly that Michael would be with Nic. Michael couldn’t help but be impressed, even if he wasn’t surprised.
“I must’ve fucked something up.” Nic shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what, though.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” Though Michael would’ve felt the same way if he’d gotten that order. “You’ve done nothing but kick ass lately.”
When he returned to the suite, the lights were off, and he didn’t turn them on. He closed the door behind him with what he knew was almost laughable care so he wouldn’t make a noise and disturb Val.
She was lying on her side of the bed near the balcony, the moonlight from the window casting a faint silver lining around her motionless form.
He walked noiselessly toward the bed, close enough so he could see her breathing. She was asleep, her dark, curly hair fanned on the white satin pillowcase. Longing stabbed him through the heart. She looked like an angel.
He had no business watching her sleep. He retreated to the other bed, thus far unused, took off his shoes, unzipped his pants…and then zipped them up again, crawling under the covers fully clothed.