Requiem for the Dead (24 page)

"A problem we obviously don't have." The ice in his voice scared me. "You already knew Vale had your parents when we spoke this morning."

Shit, now he was going to deconstruct the entire conversation. "Yes, I'd just gotten the information, but I hadn't decided what to do yet. I did go visit Ava after I left you and…then I kind of winged it. The only Felia who knew, besides Marcellus, was an enforcer of his named Demetrius. He helped smuggle us out of the compound and into a crematorium."

Wyatt's eyebrows went up.

"Tybalt is presenting my ashes to the Watchtower as we speak," I said.

The eyebrows went down into a deep furrow. "How long do you plan on staying dead?"

"Probably a few days while Elder Dane remains dead too. He wants the Assembly to vote in a new Elder intead of—I don't know, that's his thing. He says the vote should happen within three days, and that gives me plenty of time to go looking for Vale. The bastard still has the vampires' cure."

I was letting all kinds of important things drop in front of three pups I barely knew. But who were they going to tell? They were hiding out in Wyatt's apartment precisely because they had no one else.

"And that's the reason for the new look."

"Pretty much. You can thank Gina for thinking that far ahead. Because of the Frosts, my mug was all over the news for two days. I can move around more easily like this." I reached for his hand, but he pulled back. Stabbing me in the eye would have hurt less. I swallowed. "Tell me how to fix this, Wyatt. Us. I love you so much. You're the other half of me, and I need you. I've never needed anyone before, and I
need
you."

"I need you too."

"I hurt you today, and I can't apologize enough for that. I hate what I did to you, and I'm not asking for you to forgive me. That has to be yours to give, and I probably don't deserve it."

He flinched. "I can't pretend this doesn't hurt, Evy. A lot. We've been through too much to not be totally honest with each other, and I am pissed. I am so fucking pissed at you for putting me through that again."

"Okay." Pissed was an emotion I could deal with—and it was a very human pissed because his eyes retained only the thinnest ring of silver around the black.

"And as angry as I am, I do understand, and I'm so grateful that I didn't lose you for good. But I need a little time to get through the anger."

"I get it, believe me." I turned my hand palm up, and he pressed his hand into mine. The warmth of his touch traveled straight to my heart, and a hot tear slipped down my cheek. "I thought I'd totally fucked this up and you were done with me."

"Never." He yanked me into his lap, and I fell against his chest, grateful for the contact. To hear the solid thump of his heartbeat. To smell his skin and know he was still mine. "You're stuck with me, Evy Stone."

"Good, because you're stuck with me too."

We sat together for a while, existing without talking. I realized that the boys had made themselves scarce now that Wyatt's temper was down below critical levels. It had been interesting how his emotions had so intensely influenced theirs—probably a Lupa thing, since I'd never seen the same rage-share among the other Clans.

"So did you actually stab Elder Dane?" Wyatt asked.

The left field question made me snort laughter. "Yes. Not deeply though, and he took it like a trooper. Dane's a tough old bird."

"Cat."

"Whatever."

"And this Demetrius, he actually cut you open?" A dangerous growl inflected that question.

I tightened my hold on his waist. "Yes, exactly where and how I told him to. Hurt like fuck, but it's healing, and I'm fine. You don't get to hurt him back, hero."

He made a noise that might have been a raspberry. "Spoil sport."

My cell phone rang, which scared the crap out of me since I didn't know the ring tone right away. "It's Gina," I said to Wyatt before answering. "Dead girl walking."

Kismet groaned. "Really?"

"You can forgive a bad pun because I have good news. I'm with Wyatt."

"Thank Christ. How is he?"

"Moody but intact." That got me a poke in the ribs. "What's happening on your end?"

"Therians are pissed, humans are confused, and the only thing we can agree on is that Vale is an asshole who needs to be found immediately so the Assembly can deliver some much deserved justice."

"Sounds about right. How are the Frosts?"

"They're really confused and demanding to see you. I keep telling Astrid to put off telling them you're dead, but I don't know how much longer she can."

"Maybe it's better if they think I'm dead." My heart hurt to even suggest it, and I hadn't realized until that moment that I kind of wanted a chance to get to know them. To talk to Chalice's parents at length and see what they were like. Maybe it was selfish though. Their daughter was dead, and they needed to grieve for her.

Right?

"It's more complicated than that, Evy. They saw Vale shift."

Crap. "How was that explained?"

"It wasn't. Dr. Vansis is calling it a post-traumatic stress-induced hallucination, but I don't think Mr. Frost is buying it. We're going to have to tell them something, and soon."

"Yeah. I know." I needed another complication like I needed another death in my repertoire. "Listen, how's Milo?"

"Healing but still on a lot of drugs. We haven't told him about your latest death. Marcus doesn't think we should until he's stronger."

"If we're lucky, he doesn't have to know until I'm alive again."

"How's that?"

I explained Elder Dane's wishes for the Assembly vote and my need to stay under the radar.

"Well, if you want a shot at Vale, he's contacted us," Kismet said.

"What? When?"

"A few minutes ago. It's why I called. He wants to ransom back the scroll and the cure. I doubt he knows what the cure is, just that you wanted it. He asked for half a million dollars, cash."

"Are you serious?"

"Perfectly."

"Where does he think we're going to come up with that kind of money?"

"He doesn't care. He gave us twenty-four hours."

"The vampire Families might pay it."

"For a gnome cure that we can't guarantee will work?"

"Yes. Gina, go to Alucard Communications and ask to speak to a man named Eulan. He's engaged to Isleen and he wants to save her. He'll hear you out."

"All right, I'll do it. And I'll tell the others that I spoke to Wyatt."

"Make sure Demetrius knows he can stop looking over his shoulder."

Wyatt grunted.

Kismet snickered. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to do what I do best." I glanced at Wyatt, who nodded, supporting me without question. "I'm going hunting."

7:45 p.m.

Hunting didn't happen as soon as I'd hoped. Mostly because I didn't have clue one where to start looking for Vale.

Scratch that. I had a pretty long list, including the decrepit police station where we were held and the old motel where the Marcus/Prentiss showdown happened, but Astrid knew about those places, too. She'd have Watchtower people scouring the locations, plus the homes and businesses of the rest of Vale's family and social circle. I needed to go somewhere my friends wouldn't notice me, and I couldn't think of anyplace.

The pups invited me to join them for dinner, and even though I was still a little queasy from the Juliet Potion, I sat down with three red-headed teenage boys and watched them devour box after box of Chinese food. Wyatt ate a healthy portion of food, too, while I picked at plain white rice with a pair of chopsticks. My lack of attention to the food gave me a chance to watch the men in the room.

Peter was definitely the alpha of the brothers. When we assembled in the small dining room off to the side of the kitchen, Mark had laid out the dozen or so white boxes, as well as a few wax-paper bags, packets of sauces, and pairs of chopsticks. The three of them waited until Wyatt and I had seated ourselves before taking chairs on the other side of the table.

Wyatt helped himself to pork lo mein and fried rice, and once he finished, Peter picked up a container, put a small amount of vegetables on his plate, then handed it to Mark. Mark sniffed and curled his lip. He gave it over to John without comment. They went like that with every container of food. Sometimes Peter took a lot, sometimes he didn't take anything, but he always served himself first. The whole thing was kind of strange, but it also fit with them letting me and Wyatt get our food before serving themselves.

No one really talked at first, beyond grunts and simple commands to pass the soy sauce.

"Mark?" Wyatt said. "In what year was the Treaty of Versailles signed?"

I nearly dropped my chopsticks. I definitely flung some rice across the table. Wyatt was watching Mark over a half-eaten spring roll, intently waiting on an answer to the most left-field question of the month.

Mark picked up a piece of pork with his chopsticks, as though the answer was written on it in brown sauce. "Um, 1918?"

"John?"

"June 1919," John replied promptly.

"Peter, when did the U.S. officially end our involvement in the first World War?"

Peter squirmed.

Wyatt sighed. "Anyone?"

"1921, after the Knox-Porter Resolution was signed," John said.

"I'm so confused right now," I said. "What's with the history quiz?"

"Being cut off from Thackery meant their education stopped," Wyatt said. "They might be orphaned Lupa, but they're teenagers and they still need to learn. We're picking up with an easy subject."

"History is easy?"

"Those who don't study history are doomed to repeat the past."

"Thank you, Aristotle."

"Actually, it was George Santayana," John said, "and what he said was—"

"Will you turn it off before I fong you?" Peter asked. "Geez, we know you're smart, okay?"

John flushed red and looked down at his plate.

"Fong?" I said. "Do I even want to know?"

"It's from a movie," Peter replied. "It's slang for kicking or beating up. Wyatt doesn't have a TV, but we had one when we lived…um, with Dad." He looked away.

Dad meant Walter Thackery, may he rot in hell.

"So is John the only one who did the reading assignment?" Wyatt asked.

"I tried," Peter said. "I really did but I'm not good at that stuff. I never was, even when Dad—Thackery, taught us."

"You didn't like anything he taught you?"

"I liked learning how to fight."

"And I said we'd work on that together."

I almost flung more rice across the room with that little nugget of information. Wyatt was going to teach the kids to fight? He was taking this "under his wing" thing seriously. More seriously than I thought, and that might not be good for him, considering they were wanted by the Assembly. A month ago, I'd have loved to see all three of them dead, and now Wyatt had practically adopted them.

Thumping my head against the table wouldn't change anything, so I refrained.

"We'll find something you enjoy studying more than world history," Wyatt said. "As long as you promise to try."

"I do promise," Peter said. "We all did."

Wyatt pop-quizzed them a little bit more while they cleaned their plates and divvied up what was left in the containers. John got everything right. Peter didn't know a thing. Mark was about fifty-fifty. The entire production was sort of adorable in an alternate universe kind of way. Wyatt sounded like any parent making sure his kids were ready for a big test.

"I don't want to die."
Words spoken in earnest by a sobbing, terrified boy I'd watched being tortured for information at an abandoned construction site. A boy identical to the three eating dinner with me. A boy who'd died sobbing in a pool of his own blood, sweat, and piss because I'd thought Wyatt was dying, and now we were protecting that boy's surviving brothers.

"I don't want to die."

I pushed away from the table and found the bathroom tucked down the hall from the living room. Closed the door, turned on the faucet, and then sat down on the toilet as the emotion bent me in half. So much that it wasn't able to manifest as tears, because I wasn't sad. I'd done my job, like I always did my job, but the end result was that I'd participated in the capture and murder of a teenage boy. No, three teenage boys. Brothers to the boys I was trying to help now. Boys Wyatt saw as family—he didn't have to say it, because I saw it.

I wrapped my arms around my aching middle and rocked a while, letting the regret worm its way up and out. The shame of looking Peter, Mark, and John in the eye, knowing I'd done the same thing to their brother—I'd looked Daniel in the eye while his fingers were being cut off.

"Shit." I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, needing to rub those images away.

Someone else had done the cutting. Someone else had landed the killing blow. But I'd been complicit. I'd done the asking, and I hadn't stopped anything. I didn't have the stomach for that kind of torture anymore. I could kill goblins all day long to keep them from hurting innocent people and never bat an eyelash at the slaughter. Halfies, too. This was completely different.

Thackery had been given these children to raise as he saw fit. He made them into the villains I'd once hunted. Had they been given to a loving parent, someone who wanted them to grow up sane and happy, they might all still be alive. Their family wouldn't have been ripped in half. They wouldn't be hiding out in the apartment of the man they'd tried to kill and only succeeded in changing.

For the first time, I hated myself for the thing I'd become—the killer that Boot Camp had created and unleashed on the world.

"Evy?" Wyatt knocked. "May I come in?"

"Yeah."

He pushed the door open far enough to slip inside, then shut it. He didn't ask, simply knelt in front of me and gathered me into his arms, a solid presence I'd come to depend on more than I ever thought possible. The tears still wouldn't come, so I clung while he stroked my back.

"What happened?"

"Bad memories," I said.

"Of?"

"Killing their brothers."