The Key to Starveldt (26 page)

Mentally, Jess kicked herself. ‘That’ll do it,’ she said, lamely. ‘Sorry. Again.’

Laine sighed, rubbing the side of her head. ‘Can’t be helped. Anyway, they weren’t doing anything. I don’t know why he was in there, but all he did was trip over the doona.’

Jess burst out laughing. ‘That’s all? But the look on his face! Seriously?’

‘Seriously.’

Jess grinned. ‘Look, I’ll understand if you want to take the moral highground and not say anything. But it would be my honour – nay, my sisterly duty and privilege – to mock the absolute hell out of him tomorrow.’

Laine’s lips twitched. ‘Won’t Solace get caught in the crossfire?’

‘It’s regrettable,’ Jess said, ‘but she’s a big, strong girl with a sense of humour. She’ll cope.’

Chuckling, Laine nodded. ‘To hell with the moral high ground. Mock away.’

S
olace woke to find that she’d curled up with Evan sometime during the night. Her head was resting on his bare chest, and one of his arms was wrapped around her shoulders. Once or twice, the same thing had happened with Manx, but this time, it felt different. She lay still, heart hammering, not wanting to wake him up until she figured out why she’d let him stay in the first place. Partly, it was out of laziness: she’d been genuinely tired, and couldn’t be bothered arguing much longer. But she’d also felt like company. Living at the warehouse, Solace had liked sharing a bed with Manx, not just for the added warmth, but for the particular solid comfort of knowing there was another person nearby, someone who could be trusted or talked to in the middle of the night. It had been nice to know that she fell into that category for Evan, too, no matter how clumsily he’d phrased it. Nonetheless, he’d seen her as close to completely naked as anyone ever had – and, as consequence, so had Jess and Laine. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and relaxed herself. She’d let him stay out of friendship and, if truth be told, a smidge of loneliness. Nothing more.

Satisfied with this logic, she blinked the sleep from her eyes and eased herself away from Evan, trying to avoid any sudden movements.

‘Good morning to you, too. Or afternoon. Or whatever.’

By dint of considerable effort, she managed to sit up slowly rather than jerk away. Evan grinned lazily, his free hand cupped behind his head. Solace glared at him, though her mouth twitched, spoiling the effect.

‘How long have you been awake?’

‘Not long. A few minutes, maybe. Didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Likewise.’

An awkward silence descended. Solace got out of bed, stretching pointedly by the wardrobe.

Evan took the hint. ‘Let me get dressed first, seeing as how I don’t have to take anything off. Then I can face the wolves.’ He groaned, hauling himself up.

‘All your own fault,’ said Solace, disinclined to be sympathetic.

Evan grabbed his jeans. ‘I know, I know. Ugh. Ten bucks says everyone else is awake on the other side of that door and ready to eat my heart.’

Solace snorted. ‘Not a bet I’d take. Besides, if anyone devours you, it’ll be me. You know, what with the vampirism and all.’

‘You’ll understand if I don’t find that comforting.’ His head vanished as he pulled his shirt on. When it reappeared, his hair was even more ruffled and he wore a grimace. ‘I’m an idiot, aren’t I? A complete moron. None of this would’ve happened if I’d just gone to Laine.’

‘Maybe.’ Solace pursed her lips. ‘But at least we’ve grown as people.’

Evan sighed, shooting her a look that was mingled respect and irritation. ‘You’re a hard woman, you know that?’

‘Go on.’ Solace crossed her arms, head tilted towards the door. ‘Time to be honest with everyone. Feel free to elaborate on how we’ve never had sex, ever. Vociferously.’

‘Saints preserve me,’ Evan muttered. He paused by the door. ‘Wish me luck? Or at least immunity from physical dismemberment.’

‘How about you just imagine me saying it?’

‘Witch.’

‘Clown.’

They both grinned. Evan took a deep breath and ventured forth.

After he’d gone, Solace stared at the door. The prospect of facing her friends was intimidating. It left her in no great hurry to get dressed.

‘Might as well have a shower,’ she said out loud, half expecting someone to run in and stop her. When no one did, she sighed with relief and headed for the towel rack.
Some things, at least, are sacred.

‘So, you never slept with Evan.’

‘No,’ sighed Solace, for what felt like – and probably was – the fiftieth time that morning.

Electra’s grey eyes danced with amusement. ‘But he still saw you naked.’

‘Half-naked! Look, ask Laine. She’d know if I was lying. I’m not. We’ve been through this. Right? So can we move on, please? Okay? Okay!’

Solace leaned back in her chair, thoroughly irritated. Across the table, Paige giggled. They’d gone out for breakfast at one of the closer eateries, and despite Evan’s explanation and her confirmation of events being almost two hours old, her friends refused to let the matter drop, egged on unashamedly by Jess.

Laine had the decency to remain silent, but that was only because she actually
had
slept with Evan. If Jess knew about that side of things, she was playing it close to the chest, preferring to re-enact her brother’s clumsiness in tripping on Solace’s doona through a series of arm-flailing pantomimes. Manx insisted on finding a double entendre in everything Evan said, which had stopped being funny even before the third rendition of ‘that’s what she said!’ Paige didn’t make jokes, which was somewhat of a mercy, but laughed uproariously whenever Harper did.

That was the other thing, Solace thought: by the way they sat and the constant presence of Harper’s arm around Paige’s narrow shoulders, it seemed that the two had not only settled their differences, but were something of a couple. She was happy for them, of course, but hardly able to comment – it would’ve been an obvious effort to change topics, and no one else had brought it up. The hivemind had evidently decided that her own nonexistent dalliance with Evan was far more interesting.
Besides
, she reminded herself,
they’ve been through enough already.

As Electra swapped yet more jokes with Manx, Solace sighed and stabbed at the last piece of sausage on her plate. Glancing down the table, she caught Evan’s eye and grimaced pointedly. He made a face in return.
We’re the only ones not finding this funny
, she thought.
And Laine.

For the first time that morning, she found the courage to study the psychic directly. Laine was pale and immaculate, dressed in new clothes foraged from the wardrobe in her room: an ankle-length skirt covered with a layer of black lace, and a fitted black bodice over a blouse with long, flared sleeves and such a wide neck that the tops of her shoulders were left bare. A black velvet choker graced her neck, its single pale blue stone resting in the hollow of her throat. The colour exactly matched her eyes. It was a beautiful outfit, doubtless chosen to display both Laine’s figure and her aesthetic. Solace wondered how much of the effort was an attempt to impress Evan, or at least catch his eye, and how much was simply enjoyment in finding new things. Unerringly, Laine chose that moment to look up from her scrambled eggs, watching Solace with her usual calm gaze.

‘It’s okay,’ Laine said, to the puzzlement of everyone listening. Her eyes flickered to Evan. ‘Nothing else needs to be said. We’re fine.’

At the other end of the table, Evan choked on his breakfast and Manx started laughing all over again. Only Solace saw the discreet, grateful glance exchanged between Evan and Laine. Whatever residual guilt she’d been feeling about the night before vanished, and though Manx’s ear-burning puns were still decidedly unfunny, she suddenly found that the teasing wasn’t so hard to bear.

By the time Glide had slept, woken, recovered his wits and stumbled across Sydney to the Gadfly, it was slightly after midday. The club was open, which was a relief – but then, it was always open. There was no bouncer on duty during daylight hours, and no cover charge, for which Glide was dully grateful. Sharpsoft had left him a small amount of money along with the salve for his wound, and he wanted to spend as much of that as possible on food and alcohol. All too soon, he’d be broke, friendless and back where he’d been that first week after he’d left the hospital, sleeping in gutters and talking to walls as the visions crept in and claimed him. He loathed himself, utterly and completely.

Moving through the dim, thin shoals of other daytime drinkers, he reached the bar and ordered a double vodka and Coke, hoping the sweetness of the mixer would help in knocking back as much tranquillising booze as possible. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but Glide simply stared at him until the man went about his business. It was a neat arrangement, and one he hoped would serve them both well in the hours to come.

A drink in hand and with his pocket lighter to the tune of ten dollars, Glide headed automatically for the red leather lounge suite in the far corner, only to halt, unable to proceed.
I sat with them there. I lied to them there. No.
Disgusted and shaken, he looked about for another seat, wondering why he’d come back to a place that reminded him of what he’d done, of what he was. Subconsciously, he knew it was penance.

Spying an empty table, he sat down heavily and closed his eyes, raising the glass to his lips. The Coke smelled sugary sweet, the vodka beneath it sharp and cheap with all the bouquet of methylated spirits. He thought of kissing Solace, tasting the innocent need in her, wanting her; of the look in her eyes as the brick came down. He thought of knocking Phoebe unconscious, of Tryst kicking wildly against the strength of a sleeper hold, of Claire’s pleading voice and wide, scared eyes. He thought of the knife sliding into him, twisting against bone, and realising
I deserve this, please, let me die.

But death hadn’t come, and neither would absolution.

His hand was shaking. He downed almost half the glass in one gagging swallow. His mouth burned. He wanted to weep. Pushing the drink aside, he let his head slump on the tabletop. A universe of self-recrimination flickered at the edge of consciousness, the regret and error of a thousand worlds begging him to
see, come see
. A wave of dislocation followed. Glide gripped the edges of the table, holding on as though the whole world was in danger of tilting sideways.

Just as he reached the brink of giving in, he felt a hand close over the back of his wrist. The spell was broken. He inhaled raggedly, not wanting to look up. Probably the barman wanted to throw him out. He groped for his drink with the fingers of his free hand, but the glass was nowhere in reach.
Definitely the barman, then.

He looked up, and felt his heart stop beating.

Glide tried to pull away from the man sitting opposite him, but the fingers gripping his wrist were strong, their nails digging into the soft flesh beneath the heel of his palm.

Mikhail Savarin smiled. His teeth were sharp and uneven, yellowed with age. In his free hand was the drink he’d taken from Glide. Without lowering his gaze, he raised it, sniffed the contents, made a disapproving face and drank, long and slow, until the glass was empty. Glide felt paralysed.
Sharpsoft was meant to kill me. They know I’m alive. Did he make something up, tell them I survived by accident? Or have they turned on him, too? What do they want
?

As Mikhail continued to smile, he forced himself to speak. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Humans and Rare, we are all creatures of habit.’ Mikhail spoke with a cheerful inflection, but his voice was low and soft. ‘We return to what we know. Were you alive, it was my belief that you would return to the warehouse. Accordingly, I’ve been keeping watch.’ He paused, setting the empty glass aside. ‘Solace Eleuthera seems very displeased with you. But then, anger at the death of one’s comrades makes a compelling basis for hatred, don’t you think?’

Every muscle felt stiff and swollen. Glide opened his mouth, but no words escaped him. Instead, he felt his head nod.

Mikhail smiled again. If there’d been any warmth in him before, there was none now. He leaned forward and hissed, close enough that Glide could feel the old man’s breath on his face.