Infamous: (A Bad Boy Romantic Suspense) (39 page)

I felt like I was holding two hearts in my hands. It was a huge, heady responsibility. Because I knew they would both die for me, without hesitation. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want heroics on my account. I didn’t want violence or blood or death. I wished there was a way around it but I couldn’t see one.

But there was one thing I was sure of: I wasn’t going to let any of them get hurt. Not by Alexis and not by Stoller. I would do whatever it took to keep that arachnidy creep distracted, and if I had to stake Alexis with a pencil, I’d do it. You protect the people you care about. You fight for them.

Dimitri was asleep and I slipped away, back out to the main room. I was tired but couldn’t sleep. So I curled up in a chair and watched the fire.

“Can’t sleep?” asked a voice from the doorway. It was Tina, standing there in some comically huge but very comfortable-looking pajamas. She brought a chair over and curled up similarly in it. She watched the fire, too.

“I want to, but I’m too keyed up. Too much on my mind,” I said.

“It’s always like that, before a battle,” she said.

“Ugh, I wish it wasn’t like that,” I said. “I feel kind of…torn in two,” I admitted.

“Between Robert and Dimitri, you mean?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes and no. I mean yes, obviously, although they haven’t exactly asked me to choose. But there’s this other looming choice, between who I am, being human, and…not,” I finished. It was only way I knew how to put it.

“I understand, in my way. I had to choose between my people and what I knew was the right way to be myself. It’s never easy, but you’re stronger and better for making these kinds of choices,” she said.

“You know, you’re way too smart for your own good,” I said, laughing a little.

“I get that a lot.” Tina smiled. “Did I help?”

“Yes and no. But you knew that,” I teased. She laughed at me.

“That’s what a good friend does. You have to figure it out for yourself. I just offer my ancient wisdom and, occasionally, snacks.” She offered me a chocolate. I took it gratefully.

We sat in companionable silence after that, eating chocolates and watching the fire. Have you ever noticed how flames seem to dance? How the sparking embers flare like dying stars? It’s like a whole universe, burning away.

Eventually Tina went to bed and I stayed up. I knew I should sleep but it just wouldn’t happen. I knew I could crawl back into bed with Robert or Dimitri for a little more passionate distracting, but I didn’t. I wanted time to myself. To be myself. To really feel who I was and what I wanted.

The problem was that who I was seemed to be in direct opposition to who I wanted to be. And who I wanted to be wasn’t all that sure about that, either. That’s me, Emma the Notorious Waffler. I was getting frustrated with the indecisiveness of my own mind.

Eventually I drifted off into a haze of confusion and waited for the next day to dawn.

The next night broke cloudy and misty and rainy. We were relieved to have such typical UK weather. A bright, shiny moon would have been a bit of an issue. And apparently rain was something almost all supernaturals weren’t overly fond of. It dampened their heightened senses or something.

I let the rain fall on my face as we left the hotel. It felt normal and earthy to just let myself get rained on. I’ve always liked rain, although I prefer to be enjoying it from a dry, warm place. It fell onto my upturned face like dropping tears, gliding over my eyelids, down my cheeks, over my lips. I sipped some.

“What are you doing?” asked Robert, giving me a soft smile.

“Enjoying being alive,” I said. He quirked a brow.

“We need to leave,” he said, offering me an arm. I saw Dimitri come out of the building, then spotted something else. An apothecary sign.

“Can you wait for just a minute? I need some lip balm for the ride,” I said, heading over.

“Lip balm? Now?” Robert asked. I nodded.

Inside the apothecary was bright neon light, harsh and yellow, the kind that makes everyone look really sick. I knew I only had a few minutes, but I wandered the aisles anyway, picking up a candy bar, some chocolate for Tina, and idly looking at makeup. I had this feeling it could be my last time making a pointless drugstore hit and I wanted to enjoy it.

As I went to find the lip balm—my lips really were feeling dry—I saw something else in another aisle that made me think of a plan. It was a long shot, and it would require a whole series of events to play out perfectly…but if they did, there would never be a better way to stop Stoller. For good. So I picked up a little bottle of what I’d seen and some cherry lip balm, and checked out.

When I came out, all three were looking at me like I was the most unbelievably silly human being in the entire world. I just smiled, quietly pocketed my purchases, and handed Tina the candy.

I looked out at Trafalgar Square, the tall gold statue, the steps to the National Portrait gallery, which even at this time of night and in this rainy weather had lots of people coming and going. I took a deep breath of the damp air.

Then I turned to the car and got in.

Inside was warm but quiet. Robert and Dimitri made room for me between them, which felt very symbolic and heavy with meaning. Tina was driving. In the seat across from us were various pieces of equipment they might need. Rope. Stakes. Silver crosses. Apparently the cross itself wasn’t particularly useful but the silver was. There was also salt, which I found odd. And there was a lumpy duffel bag that contained I had no idea what.

We’d all dressed in stretchy black, which suited Dimitri and Robert exceedingly well. Their lithe, broad limbs were complemented by the form-fitting fabric. I felt a little lumpy but also soft and curvy. Since we were dressed for stealth, I didn’t much care if I looked good or not. I’d made sure to wear a supportive bra, though. I hate the things usually, but you can’t rescue someone if your boobs are getting in the way or bouncing painfully.

You’d think sitting between two hot guys you’ve been sleeping with would be awkward. And boy would you be right. I felt like the proverbial sore thumb. Which has always been a weird saying as far as I’m concerned. I’ve had a sore thumb; it didn’t stick out any further than usual. Maybe they meant a broken thumb? Anyway, I felt weird.

“So, this is a very awkward silence. We might all be dead in a few hours. We should try to guess each other’s favorite color or something,” I said brightly. They both looked at like me I’d sprouted a new head. So I smiled.

“Mine is blue, but the specific blue the sky gets in spring at six p.m. on a day when it’s been raining but suddenly gets clear,” I offered.

“That’s…very specific,” said Robert, smiling a little.

“Well, what color is your favorite says a lot about a person. If you just say ‘blue’ or ‘red’ it’s like, well, what kind of red? Or blue? There are so many tones, shades, moods. There are angry reds, sexy reds, cool reds, warm reds. Some blues are more green. So you have to know what kind you mean,” I said, aware I was rambling. It filled the otherwise awkward silence.

“I think mine might be gray,” said Dimitri quietly.

“Really?” I asked, curious.

“Yes. A soft, deep blue-gray. The kind you see in the sky before a daytime thunderstorm,” he said. I looked at his profile. It was a strangely poetic thing for him to say. His voice was sad, almost regretful.

“Mine would be pink,” said Robert. Which was even more surprising than gray.

“Pink?” I said.

“Yes. The intense, vivid pink you get in a sunset, streaking with orange clouds, in the summer,” he said. Given that the last time he’d seen a sunset, he’d still been alive, that seemed like a pretty vivid memory. I wondered if I’d miss the sunset (or sunrise) if I made the choice to turn.

“Well, you both surprised the hell out of me,” I said and smiled. The tension was at least somewhat broken and we eased into a more comfortable silence. It no longer felt hostile and tense, though there was still that looming sense of expectation. I guess I was a little excited about what we were going to do. Which I felt a bit guilty about. We were all in incredible danger and Tasha was being held prisoner. I knew what that felt like.

I put my head back and closed my eyes, attempting to rest. But my heart was beating fast and hard, and I felt keyed up, like I’d just drunk six espressos and topped it off with speed. Every part of me wanted to jump up and down or run or do something that burned off a bit of this excess adrenaline. Underneath all that, I was tired, almost bone weary. I hadn’t slept well and the combination made me feel wired and drowsy.

Instead of resting I fell into a strange half-sleep where I had what I can only think of as visions. Maybe being around so many supernatural beings had rubbed off somehow. Or maybe I imagined it. But they felt real and prescient and predictive of things to come.

Most were fleeting, just glimpses of images without context. A face here, a voice there. Sometimes just a flash of color or a night sky over a city I didn’t recognize. I heard my mother call my name the way she always did in the morning before school.

The most vivid of these visions, however, was strangely simple. And familiar.

It began with a hallway of doors. The ones on the left were blue, the ones on the right, red. I knew that the ones on the left were past, the ones on the right, future. It was cold in the hallway; I could see my breath.

The first door I chose was blue. It opened onto my room back home, with its childish bed and floral décor. My stuffed animals were all neatly arranged on the windowsill. Clearly my mom had been in there; it had none of my usual extreme clutter.

I touched different, familiar items. My favorite teddy bear, Mr. Snuffles. My old-fashioned hairbrush I’d found at an estate sale and insisted on buying even though it was tarnished and couldn’t really be used. The bristles were sharp against my palm. My bedsheets, well-worn flannel with a tiny rose print. They were soft and comforting. I sniffed them, the fresh scent of dryer sheets with a hint of lemon.

From somewhere downstairs I could hear my mother humming, incredibly off-key. I made my way down and watched her in the kitchen. She was wearing her plaid nightgown with the
Little House on the Prairie
neckline. It was so worn and faded it looked gray but had once been blue. A little like her eyes, which had shifted in a similar way over the years from sun and age.

She bustled, her small, plump form moving easily and confidently around the stove. I could smell the pancakes, hear the pan sizzling when she spooned the batter in.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” she said in her slightly gravelly voice. I smiled. It’s what she always calls me.

“Hey, Mom.” I sat down at the small kitchen table we rarely used. “Where’s Dad?”

“At the store. He wanted to get ahead of the holiday rush,” she said. I was eyeing her graying curls, sticking up a little crazily in the back from sleep.

“Oh, right. It’s Christmas,” I said quietly, realizing I smelled pine and that it was three years ago, when I visited for a whole week. She was so happy to cook for me, I must have put on ten pounds between all the pie and extra-thick sandwiches and ice cream. Not to mention the pancakes every morning.

She handed me a plate piled high and I looked at her face. The morning light was unforgiving, showing every line and crease. She looked older than I remembered. I guess love can give people a kind of agelessness in your mind. It lights them in only the most flattering ways, smooths wrinkles. But I loved seeing these flaws. They were a part of her. The humanness of her.

“I love you, Mom,” I said. She smiled.

“Love you too, Ems,” she said, kissing my cheek. I could smell the coffee on her breath.

“How’s work?” I asked, stuffing pancakes in my face. They were perfect, just a little crunchy on the outside, damp with butter, thick with syrup. I sighed, feeling more at peace than I had in months.

“Work-like. How’s school?” she asked, getting herself a plate.

“School-ish. You know. Studying. Tests. The usual,” I answered with a smile. She didn’t smile back.

“I worry about you, Ems. You don’t go out and do enough,” she said, sitting down. I sighed.

“I know, Mom. I just want to get through this semester and then I promise I’ll go to a party or two, okay?” I said.

“Promise?” she asked, a crooked, beloved smile on her face.

“I promise. I even promise to do something mildly irresponsible like drink a beer,” I said.

“Good girl! Now eat. You’re too thin.”

I watched her pour syrup over her own pancakes and then the image froze, liquid mid-drop, her face stuck in a fond smile. My chest felt tight, squeezed in a vise of love and regret. I hadn’t gone to any parties. And I hadn’t visited more than once or twice after that. I’d been too busy. With what, I don’t know. Nothing that seemed important anymore.

Then I was back in the hall, tears on my cheeks. This time I chose a red door. Maybe it would be less painful.

It wasn’t.

I stood on a precipice, a cliff overlooking an angry sea, crashing against the shore with white foam. I could feel the salt spray against my face, even so far above.

A stunted black rock beach was below, the rocks shining wetly in the moonlight like thousands of irises staring up at me, unblinking. I felt dizzy from the height and yet I couldn’t look away for some reason.