Yay! Can you believe it? I finally managed to get a new chapter written for this story. I'm so sorry for the long delay. When my muse goes on vacation, he sometimes never wants to come back no matter how much I beg.
I hope you all enjoy, and I promise to try and have the next chapter up a lot sooner.
V
The trip home from Thwaite Tally-Whalker's office seemed a lot longer than the trip there. Maybe that was because I was dead-ass tired from so little actual sleep recently. Or, what the hell, maybe it was because I'd just happened to be pricked and pierced, not to mention almost devoured, by some weird reptilian chick who reeked of sex on a stick. Either way, both reasons put me in a really foul mood, which was bad news for the commuters on the overstuffed subway. I staked out my little body-width patch of personal space and defended it with enthusiasm—all snarls and sharp elbows—until, that is, Niko dropped a hand on my shoulder and made good use of a certain—painful—pressure point. A startled yelp flew past my lips.
"Cal, enough! Behave yourself!" Niko's snarl was by far more feral and intimidating than mine.
Having made his point, my brother's hand dropped away from my shoulder. Chastened like a disobedient five-year-old, I contented myself with settling into a broody snit despite knowing it was totally unfair to my older sibling.
By the time we reached our stop, I was feeling guilty and was a little worried that Niko would exact some form of workout torture to make me pay for my less than stellar behavior. At the rate I was going today, wracking up black marks, my brother would have me training for hours on end. Or—knowing Niko—maybe he'd just shove me in a time out chair in the corner, keeping me there with the finely-honed point of his katana if necessary. He gets a little testy when I act like an ass.
The train squealed to a stop, and I squeezed through the door, stepping on the platform just ahead of Nik. I waited for the river of people around us to dissipate somewhat before I muttered, "I'm sorry." As apologies go, it was sincere enough, but Niko's continued silence suggested he wasn't buying it. So I tried again when we reached street level. Humble pie might taste like crap but it worked wonders when consumed by pain-in-the-ass little brothers.
"Seriously, Cyrano, I'm sorry. I've been acting like an ass all morning and—"
"Yes, you have."
I rolled my eyes at his too quick agreement. "—and I think it's just because I'm tired, ya know?"
"I know. Which is why we're going to discuss this and get to the bottom of it."
Discussing it was the last thing I wanted to do, right down there on the "DO NOT DISCUSS" list with my Auphe father, Tumulus, and the awful things I did while possessed by the darkling. I knew by the tone of my brother's voice though that we would discuss my nightmares eventually.
My hope was to delay that conversation as long as possible. Therefore, a bit of deflection was in order once again.
"Don't you have a class to teach at the dojo this afternoon?"
"Don't I always on Thursdays? Besides it's not until 4 o'clock. We've got time."
Heh. Okay, not much in the way of successful diversion there. So I tried again.
"Didn't you promise Promise you'd come over and check her out," I paused long enough to snicker, "I mean, check out her new contract?" My question earned me a quick slap to the back of the head. Niko never appreciates my refined sense of humor.
"Promise's paperwork will still be there tomorrow, Cal. She'll understand."
I didn't quite give in to the inevitable, but I was suddenly disinclined to continue tossing out distractions—at least for now.
We made the rest of the walk in silence, arriving at our apartment building several minutes later. I let Nik take the lead, traipsing up the stairs. Well, he glided, I traipsed. Okay, more like trudged.
We were inside the apartment no more than 30 seconds, long enough for Niko to strip off his long duster coat and the various weaponry it contained in its depths, when he commanded, "Take off your shirt."
Slow on the uptake, I came back with the ever intelligent, "Huh?"
My brother sighed. "Cal, she got you with her nails, didn't she? I need to clean those wounds."
"Oh. Right." I hadn't told Niko about the wounds. How the hell did he know? Then I vaguely remembered yelping out loud when Shasa's preternaturally sharp nail tips had pierced my skin. Yeah, he would know.
I waited until he retrieved our extensive-out-of-necessity first aid kit from the bathroom before yanking my faded but serviceable t-shirt over my head. I stared mournfully at the ten holes in the material, wondering if it was a complete write off then balled it in my fist and tossed it onto the nearby armchair.
"Sit."
I sat. Niko could probably hear my eyes roll, but I sat. Like a good little half-monster—I mean little brother. Cyrano hated when I put myself down like that. Even if I was only stating the truth. Hey, I learned from the best—my mother.
"These don't look too bad. Most of them are shallow. Won't even need bandages."
"Oh, goody."
I grunted when he poured the hydrogen peroxide over the bloody slightly-curved grooves. It didn't hurt, just tingled a little and the fizzy bubbling felt weird, but the liquid itself was cold. I watched Nik wipe away the excess with gauze and then cover two of the wounds with butterfly bandages.
After he was done, the fingers on his left hand rested for a millisecond on the back of my neck before dropping away.
"Why don't you stow the kit and put on a clean shirt? I'll start some lunch."
My stomach growled. "What're we having?"
"Whole wheat spaghetti."
"With meatballs?" My voice was hopeful.
"Soy crumbles."
"Ugh."
My nose instantly wrinkled, and I breathed a huge sigh of disappointment. There was just no separating my brother from his health food. Still, the soy crumbles tasted almost like meat. It was worse when he snuck vegetables—like zucchini or eggplant—into the sauce. Ick. At least we had a nice big round plastic container of "fake" parmesan cheese in the fridge. A mountain of that on the spaghetti would hide the taste.
"You'll survive. Get the laundry together too while you're at it so I can do a couple of loads. We need some clean clothes around here."
It was my turn to do that particular chore, but I wisely chose to remain silent and close up the first aid kit before heading to the bathroom to stash it in the cupboard under the sink.
My brother's words from a minute ago proved quite prophetic when I entered my bedroom and started searching for a clean t-shirt to throw on. There wasn't one. We really DID need some clean clothes around here. I settled for pulling a t-shirt off the top of the pile in the corner. It was wrinkled and had a hole in it, but it didn't smell so I figured it was relatively safe.
After shrugging into the t-shirt, I gathered up my dirty pile and went to Niko's room, grabbed the stuff out of his hamper. Yes, my brother uses a hamper for his clothes—me, I use a corner. Same principle, just different styles.
I dumped the stuff on the couch and was about to head to the kitchen, from where surprisingly good smells were emanating, when a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Robin Goodfellow on the other side, lounging against the door jamb. He was resplendent in purple silk. I covered my eyes.
"Ah, great, a visit from Willie Loman. Just what I needed today."
"Good afternoon to you too, Caliban. Are you going to let me in or continue to stand there and block the doorway?"
I flipped him the bird and stepped to the side. After he crossed the threshold, I shut the door with a resounding thud. "Nik's in the kitchen."
"Excellent. I thought I smelled something good."
I wasn't sure if the puck was referring to the food my brother was cooking or whether he was referring to Niko himself so I kept my mouth shut and stomped to the kitchen.
"Our very own playboy puck is here," I muttered and plopped down into a chair at the table.
Niko glanced over his shoulder. "Robin. Glad you're here. Join us for lunch?"
"I would love to. Had I known we'd be dining on pasta this afternoon, I would have brought a little vino rosso with me."
I rolled my eyes. "Just sit down, Loman."
"Cal, set the table."
I grumbled but stood and did as Niko ordered, gathering three mismatched plates, forks, glasses, and paper napkins. I briefly considered just dumping it all in the middle of the table but remembered the black marks already on my record for today and proceeded to set the table properly. From the refrigerator, I grabbed the parmesan cheese and three cokes, setting them down just as Niko brought over the big bowl of spaghetti. It actually smelled good, and I found myself looking forward to eating something—a rare occurrence that last few days.
I was just reaching for my coke when my brother pulled it out of my hand. He gathered up the other two cans and put all three back into the fridge. Nik then pulled a pitcher of ice water from its depths and poured some in each of our glasses before setting the pitcher in the center of the table. He ignored my glare every step of the way.
Tuning out the chitchat between Niko and Robin, I piled some spaghetti on my plate then waited impatiently for Goodfellow to finish with the parmesan cheese. When he was finally done with it, I eagerly snatched it from his hands and started to shake the ultra fine crumbles of cheese on top of my food. I barely got a dusting of white when the plastic container was unceremoniously yanked from my grasp.
"Hey!"
Niko didn't respond to my outrage. He just put the cheese back into the refrigerator, never breaking his conversation with Robin.
I picked up my fork and sullenly shoved spaghetti into my mouth. The food wasn't half bad, and I downed several forkfuls in quick succession. Without warning, between one blink and the next, the red on my plate took on the deep hue of blood. The blood from my dreams. I dropped my fork and pushed away from the table.
"Cal?" Niko's voice was full of concern.
I flicked my eyes to him and then back to my plate. "I-I'm fine. Just full already." I drained my glass of water before picking up my plate and dumping the rest of my dinner in the garbage can. Tossing the dirty dishes into the sink, I hurried from the room, refusing to give in to the urge to run to the bathroom to puke up what I'd just eaten. Instead I threw myself down on the couch, my feet on top of the pile of dirty clothes, and closed my eyes. I don't really remember, but I must have instantly fallen asleep.
It was only fifteen or so minutes later—as I subsequently learned from Niko—that the terrified screaming started.
TBC…
