The Sign of Seven Trilogy (91 page)

“You'd be right. Rude, which is no surprise, but accurate. In fact, I'd probably be better off hunkering down with some research, solo, for tonight. I'll do more digging on the stone because Cal's right, too.”

Eleven

SHE DIDN'T DREAM, AND THAT SURPRISED HER. Cybil had fully expected to be dogged by nightmares, portents, imagery, but instead had slept straight through the night.

Something accomplished, she supposed, as she'd gotten nowhere on the evening research. Hopefully, she'd do better today, rested and focused. Rising, she walked over to take a good, hard look at herself in the mirror.

She looked the same, she thought. She was the same. What had happened to her wasn't a turning point in her life. It didn't make her less, and it hadn't broken her down. If anything, the attack had given her more incentive, made her more
involved
and more determined to win.

It may feed on humans, she realized. But it didn't understand them. And that, she supposed, could be another weapon in their arsenal.

Now, she wanted a session at the gym to kick her energy level up. Sweating out the toxins, she thought, would be a kind of ritual cleansing. With any luck Quinn would be available for gym buddy. She pulled on a sports bra, bike pants, tossed what she'd need in a small tote. Stepping out, she noted Quinn's bedroom door was open, and the room empty. So, she'd grab a bottle of water out of the kitchen, and catch up with Quinn and Cal at the health club in the basement of the old library.

She strode into the kitchen, pulling up short when she saw Gage at the table with a mug of coffee and a deck of cards.

“You're out early.”

“Never left.” As she'd done herself, he gave her a long, hard look. “Bunked on the couch.”

“Oh.” It gave her a quiver in the belly. “You didn't need to do that.”

“Do what?” His eyes never left her face, adding another quiver. “Stay, or bunk on the couch?”

She opened the refrigerator, got out the water. “Either. But thanks. I'm going over to the gym. I want some cardio. I assume that's where Quinn is?”

“Noises were made. Why don't you stick with the Gumby routine?”

“It's not what I'm after. Yoga relaxes me. I need to pump.”

“Crap.”

“What?” she demanded as he rose.

“Cal's got half his gear here. I'll find something. Wait,” he ordered and strode out.

If she was going to wait, she wanted coffee, so she picked up Gage's mug and finished his off. He came back wearing a pair of gray sweats that had seen much better days, and a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt. “Let's go,” he ordered.

“Am I correct in assuming you're going to the gym with me?”

“Yeah, get it moving.”

She opened the fridge, took out a second bottle of water and shoved it in her tote. She doubted he could have done or said anything at that particular moment that would have meant more to her. “I'm not going to argue or tell you I can get to the gym fine by myself. First, because it would be stupid after yesterday. And second, I want to see what you've got.”

“You've already seen what I've got.”

She laughed, and felt better than she'd have believed possible. “Good point.”

She got a solid hour in, and had the bonus of watching Gage work up a nice sweat lifting weights. It was more than the very appealing view, she realized. Watching him gave her just a little more insight into him. He didn't want to be there, particularly, but since he was, he put his time to use. Focused, thorough, patient, she thought. It might have been more the cat-at-the-mouse-hole kind of patience than the altruistic sort, but the results were the same. He waited.

Looser and energized, she walked back with him. “Where will you go when this is over?” she asked, then moved her shoulders at his quiet look. “That's optimism, which is positive energy. Any particular destination in mind?”

“I've kicked around a couple. Probably Europe, unless there's something happening in the States. I'll come back for the wedding—Jesus, weddings now. You?”

“I'll go back to New York, I think, at least briefly. I miss it, and that's God's truth, so I'll give myself an infusion of crowds and noise and pace. Plus, I'll need to get back to work that pays. But I expect I'll put in considerable time here. The girl part of the weddings will be more demanding than your boy part of them. If I can swing it after Quinn's, I thought a few days on a nice island—palm trees and margaritas, and balmy, tropical nights.”

“That's a plan.”

“A flexible one, which is my favorite kind.” As they turned at the Square, she gestured to the Bowl-a-Rama. “I admire people like that. Cal and his family, who dig in and build and make a genuine mark on a place. I'm grateful they exist, and glad of the fact that by existing and digging in and building, they allow me to make flexible plans and visit lots of those genuine marks someone else has made.”

“No burning desire to make a mark?”

“I like to think I do make them, in my own fashion. I find things out. You need information to write a book, make a movie, rehab a house, build a shopping center, and I can get that for you. And I can get you information you didn't realize you needed or wanted. Maybe all of those projects would have gotten done without me, but I can promise you they're better with me. That's enough of a mark for me. How about you?”

“I just like to win. I can settle for having played if the game's solid, but winning's always better.”

“Isn't it just,” she agreed.

“But if I leave a mark, it gives the other players too much information, too much they might use if we faced each other over a pile of chips again. Better to have a blank slate, as much as possible. They don't know you, it's harder for them to read you.”

“Yes.” She spoke quietly. “Yes, that's exactly right. And to bring this into our situation, I had a similar thought this morning. It doesn't understand us. It can't really know us. It can anticipate some. What it did to me, what it did to Fox years ago by killing Carly right in front of him. It knows how to hurt, how to use specific weapons to harm and to undermine. But it still doesn't get it. It doesn't seem to comprehend that the opposite side of fear is courage. Every time it uses our fears, it only pushes us to find more courage. It can't read us, not accurately.”

“Wouldn't flip to a bluff.”

“A bluff? What bluff?”

“I don't know yet, but it's worth thinking about because you've got a point. I want a shower and my own clothes,” he added the minute they stepped into the house, and headed straight upstairs.

Cybil considered. She heard the voices from the kitchen. Quinn and Cal had left the gym a good twenty minutes before, and were probably finishing up breakfast and talking with Fox and Layla. She could go back, grab some coffee before going up. Or . . .

Since the shower was already running, she stripped in the bedroom before strolling in. Hair dripping, Gage narrowed his eyes when she tugged back the curtain and stepped in with him.

“Mind?”

His gaze skimmed over her, then stayed steady on hers. “There's probably enough water for both of us.”

“That's what I thought.” Casually, she picked up her tube of gel, squirted a generous amount into her hand. “And twofers are more efficient. Plus.” Watching him, she soaped her breasts in slow circles. “I could pay you back for the night spent on the couch, and the stint at the gym.”

“I don't see any money on you.”

“Barter system.” Slick and soapy, she pressed against him. “Unless you'd rather take an IOU.”

He plunged his hand into her hair, got a good grip to jerk her face up to his. “Pay up,” he demanded, then closed his mouth over hers.

There it was, she thought, outrageously grateful. There was the instant thrill, the response, the need. It had taken nothing from her. His body moved wet and hard against hers, his mouth took from hers, and there was nothing, nothing but pleasure.

“Touch me.” She demanded it, using her teeth, her nails. Nothing fragile here, nothing damaged or in need of tending. Touch me, she thought, take me. Make me feel utterly, utterly human.

He'd wanted to give her time, had been prepared to give her room. And perhaps to give both to himself as well. But her need, the challenge and raw edges of it spoke to his own. So he touched, hands sliding over that sleek skin as the steam plumed and the water pounded.

And he took, pressing her back to the wet tiles, keeping his eyes on hers as he thrust into her. What he saw in hers was dark delight. He gripped her hips to anchor her, drove them both to peak.

Winded, she dropped her head to his shoulder. “Just hang on a minute.”

“Same goes.”

“Okay. All right. Thanks for getting into the spirit so quickly.”

“Same goes.”

She laughed, stayed where she was. “This might be a good time to say that I didn't like you, particularly, when we first met.”

He let his eyes close, let himself steep in her scent. “I'm going to repeat myself again. Same goes.”

“My first instincts are generally very accurate. Not this time. I do like you, and not just because you're very talented in bed, and in the shower.”

Idly, hardly realizing he did so, he traced the tattoo at the base of her spine with a fingertip. “You're not as annoying as I initially thought.”

“Here we are, all wet and naked and sentimental.” Sighing now, she eased back to study him through the steam. “I trust you. That's an important issue for me. I can work with someone I don't completely trust, it just makes it a little more of a challenge. I can sleep with someone I don't completely trust, it just means it's going to be a very brief encounter. But the work's more productive, and the sex more satisfying, when I trust.”

“You want to shake on that?”

She laughed again. “A superfluous gesture, under the circumstances.” She lifted the gel again, turned his hand over and poured some into his palm. And turned. “But you could wash my back.”

 

AN HOUR LATER, CYBIL POURED HER FIRST FULL cup of coffee, and had to admit she felt well-buzzed without it. She went upstairs to the office where Quinn and Layla sat at laptops. On the chart, her rape was documented.

Good, Cybil thought. It was good to see it there, straight-out, and know she'd survived it intact. “I'm going to keep the setup in my room this morning,” she told them. “But I asked Gage to come back later. It's time we tried another link. I'm hoping one or both of you will hang around, act as an anchor.”

“We'll be here,” Quinn said.

“Did you know Gage stayed, slept on the couch downstairs?”

“We talked about going back with him, to Cal's.” Layla swiveled away from the keyboard. “He said he was staying. The fact is, none of us wanted to leave in case you had a bad night.”

“Maybe because none of you left, I didn't have one. Thanks.”

“I've got something that might perk you up, too. This house.” Quinn spread her hands. “Or the land this house is on—considerably more of it at one time, but this particular plot? Ann Hawkins's grandson Patrick Hawkins, son of Fletcher, owned it. Fox is checking on his building, but I'd say we're well on the way to proving another theory.”

“If this is right, and even if Gage's definition of it as prison is more accurate than mine as sanctuary,” Layla continued, “it could give us a viable way to protect people. At least some people.”

“The more we can protect or at least give a fighting chance to, the more we'll be able to focus on attack.” Cybil nodded. “I agree. And we are going to have to attack. It's going to have to be at the Pagan Stone. I know we haven't discussed it, not in detail since the men are resistant, but whatever we do to end it is going to have to be done there. We can't be here, in town, putting out fires, trying to stop people from hurting themselves or each other. We all know when and where we'll take our stand.”

“Midnight,” Quinn said with a sigh. “As July seventh begins. As this Seven begins, in full. I know you're right. I think we all know it, but it feels like we're deserting the field.”

“And it's going to be harder on them, the guys,” Layla added. “Because they tried it before, and failed.”

“We're not deserting the field. We're taking the game to ours. We won't fail this time, because we can't.” Cybil looked back at the chart. “It doesn't know us. It thinks it understands, and part of its understanding is that we're weak, fragile, vulnerable. It's got reason to think that. It comes, and in a very real way, it wins. Every time. Getting stronger, every time.”

“Dent took it down,” Layla reminded her. “For centuries.”

“Dent broke the rules, sacrificed himself. And he was a guardian.” Quinn angled her head as she studied Cybil's face. “And still, it was a stopgap, still the burden and some of the power had to be passed on. Diluted, fractured. It took the six of us to reform that power and we still don't know how to use it. But . . .”

“Yes, but. We have it now, and the means to learn. We know the time and the place,” Cybil said again. “We're complete with the six of us. Those images I had, of something happening to each of us. I think they were warnings. It has to try to fracture us again, to dilute what we have. We can't and we won't let that happen.”

“I'll talk to Cal about ending this at the Pagan Stone. Part of him knows it has to be that way already.”

“The same with Fox,” Layla said. “I'll talk to him.”