To Be Free (22 page)

The kitchen is enormous, to say
the least. It features a fireplace and a door leading to the
cellar, as well as one leading to the backyard. The counter tops
are made of a white marble and everything about the equipment is
modern. Once we've drawn the curtains to let in some sunlight she
leads us into the dining room, where we do the same. She shows us
the cupboard where the silverware and dishes are kept in the dining
room, and leads us through the open doorway to the south of the
house into the vast library.

This room has floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves filled with tomes that have been well-preserved, and
three large windows that allow light to spill in over the
comfortable-looking couches, the large desk and the scattering of
chairs. Another fireplace, sharing the same pit as the one in the
kitchen, decorates the northeastern corner of the room.

The parlour has another
fireplace, dominating the southern wall and the walls have large
windows that bleed sunlight into the room, showing a view of the
piazza at the same time. The couches surround the fireplace, a rug
at their feet, and there's a TV set as well along the northern
wall, and a scattering of gaming consoles most likely imported from
Europe, as they've been banned in this country.

Then we ascend the stairs that
turn sharply about fourteen steps in, coming up into the hall on
the upper floor. Melissa's in the first bedroom we visit, the one
with the most windows, and she waves at us before ducking back into
the closet. It features a four-poster bed with sky blue sheets
thrown over it and the bay windows have their curtains drawn back
to let the early afternoon light spill in. There's also a dresser
and two armchairs in there.

The next bedroom is alike
except for colour scheme, as are the other two. The last thing she
shows us is the large bathroom at the far eastern end of the hall,
and by then Melissa's done putting away the latter half of the
luggage we brought with us. We follow both women to the piazza,
where Janice hands Seb a disposable cell. He looks at the grey
object in his hand quizzically, looking up at her afterwards.

“
We'll call
this cell once our guy will be bringing the documents. It shouldn't
take more than two weeks for us to do so,” she informs him, and
with a curt nod he slips it into his pockets. “For now, though,
just take it easy and relax until then. Alright?”

“
Thank you,”
Seb smiles, and I echo his gratitude as well. Both women smile,
shaking their heads, and Melissa holds up a hand.

“
It was our
pleasure, and when you make it across to Canada, give us a call,
alright? Let us know you're still alive,” she tells us, and we nod.
“Take care, both of you, and may our paths cross once
more.”

They're halfway to the SUV when
I shout after them, skipping the three steps to the ground and
jogging up to the women. They turn to look at me, curiosity
brimming, and Seb remains on the porch, confused.

“
Thank you
for saving his life,” I add, hand reaching for Melissa's shoulder
and giving it a friendly squeeze. My heart beats roughly in my
chest, and I swallow before I continue. “You saved his life, and
for that I'll never be able to repay you. I don't know what I
would've done...”

Janice laughs lightly, getting
into the car and starting the engine. In the meantime, Melissa
offers me a warm smile.

“
As long as
you cherish him and continue loving the man, that's more than
enough for us,” she informs me, and I nod. She then looks around me
to Nine, and I follow her gaze. “Hey, don't give this one up
easily, alright Sebastian? This man really loves you, and to be
honest in all my years doing this I've never seen anyone be willing
to go to such lengths for another being.”

I splutter, words failing me,
and she laughs as she removes my hand from her shoulder. I refuse
to meet anyone's gaze, rubbing the back of my neck, and I only look
back up to wave at them as they pull out and drive away, leaving me
completely alone with the man who's walked down the steps and
hovers a few feet behind me. His curiosity can be sensed.

“
She asked me
about those two days, the ones we spent being chased,” I offer
lamely, and I chance a glance up to see the temporarily redheaded
man tilt his head slightly to the side, green eyes watching me
curiously.

I miss those uncanny blues.

“
Are you
still blaming yourself for that?” he questions, reaching for me
with a hand that I avoid. I take the steps into the house, letting
my silence answer his question as I bite back the self-hatred
trying to spill out.

She wasn't kidding when she
said we have a lot to talk about.

I'm sitting in the library that
evening, a book in my lap and the fire crackling in front of me,
when Seb walks in and sits down beside me on the couch with a heavy
sigh. He pulls his socked feet up to the cushions, hugging his
knees to his chest and resting his chin on them. For a moment he
says nothing, and all that fills the silence is the popping of the
flames, the crickets singing outside and the occasional turning of
a page.

“
We need to
talk, Quinn,” he starts quietly, my eyes pausing halfway down the
page. I've managed to get through the first four books of
the
Iliad
since
I've sat down here, and my eyes stop on the passage
and sealed Hades' wound–he was not born to
die
once he's spoken. I sigh in a much
less grandiose manner than he, frowning.

“
There's
nothing to say, Seb,” I reply just as softly, continuing my trek
through the world of Homer's epic. He hugs his legs to his chest a
little more tightly, and drops it for the moment, eyes watching the
flames – he's taken off the contacts for now, since we've drawn the
curtains to hide the world away. I've done the same, but seeing him
with red hair is still a sight to behold.

I get to the latter half of the
fifth book when he speaks again.

“
I don't hate
you for it,” he tells me, the words already known to me. I frown,
realizing that he won't exactly drop the subject until we talk it
out at least a little, and I note the page number before I close it
and place it in my lap, looking to the flames. “It was
necessary.”

“
It almost
killed you,” I counter, closing my eyes and leaning my head back
against the headrest. The image of his tired face, the way his
steps would falter and he swayed, constantly attacked by the sights
of the past – it greets my eyes, and I subconsciously tighten my
hands into fists. “There were other options, so many more things we
could've done instead of me relying on your abilities that much. I
can't forgive myself for that... for almost being the death of
you.”

I hear him shift, but I don't
look at him as I swallow thickly, my throat suddenly tight and
dry.

“
You mean
more to me than life itself, love,” I continue, hating the way my
voice tightens and falters, breaking. Running an angry hand through
my fringe, I look to the ceiling so high up, the lights
illuminating the room gently, softly. “I'll always hate myself for
making you use your powers to the point where you couldn't even
stand.”

“
You can't
control yours just yet, Quinn,” he counters gently, and I feel him
press his fingers to my forearm lightly, trailing them up and down
along my skin. I nod, closing my eyes again and biting back my
anger.

It wouldn't be fair of me to
get angry at him when it's not him I'm angry at.

“
We got lucky
in Yreka when you managed to control your gift long enough to help
me fight them,” he continues quietly, and I look to his fingers
trailing over the healing wounds on my arms, the once-black skin
now a bruised yellow. It still hurts like hell, and it's been half
a week. “The result caused you endless pain – you couldn't sleep
well for at least two days because of this, and you weren't in your
right mind to begin with. I was more than happy to offer my help
when you asked me to, if it meant that you could rest a bit longer
and recover from the wounds.

“
I'd do it
again in a heartbeat.”

Finally I meet his blue-eyed
gaze, the sight of those familiar blue orbs much more welcome than
the green they've been all day thus far. He smiles warmly, holding
my gaze as his hand finds mine and laces our fingers together. I
return the pressure he presses lightly, and my self-hatred has
abated somewhat.

I know it'll never truly fade,
though. It can't.

“
You're
beautiful,” I blurt, and he tilts his head slightly, probably not
having expected that outburst at all. It's true, though; the
firelight simply accents the features I've memorized with my eyes,
from the prominent cheekbones with skin stretching over his
structure just a little too tightly, hinting at the past he's lived
through, to his lips he's bitten constantly with his
worry.

Then he
smiles, closing his eyes and leaning against me, his legs
half-lying on the couch. I settle myself more against the armrest,
sort of between that and the back of the couch, so his head can
rest against my collarbones instead of my shoulder and settle
against me, my legs propped up on either side of him. I pick up
the
Iliad
again,
turning back to my page, and he huddles closer to me, one hand
keeping mine trapped and the other holding my nightshirt a
little.

“
Can you read
it to me?” he requests, closing his eyes, and I look down at him as
best as I can from my angle.

“
From the
beginning?”

“
If you
want,” he nods, and I free my left hand to snake it around his
waist instead, holding him there, and I turn back to the start.
Clearing my throat, I begin.

“
Rage–Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son
Achilles,

murderous, doomed, that cost
the Achaeans countless losses,

hurling down
to the House of Death so many sturdy souls...
”

He's snoring lightly by the
time I get to the second book, after having read to him about seven
hundred and thirty five lines – which is what the first book
consists of, really – and I set it down on the ground by the couch,
shifting so that I can stand and pick him up in my arms. For a
moment I stagger, getting used to his weight, before I carry him
out of the library and up the staircase to the second floor. There,
I bring him to the room with the most windows, which is where
Melissa stowed his clothes away, and tuck him into the bed. The
entire time, he offers not a single complaint.

Instead, once he's lying within
the comfort of the sheets he turns onto his side and sighs in his
sleep, and I kiss his hair before I leave him in that room,
crossing the hall into the other bedroom where my own clothes
lie.

That night is also the night I
realize that I've gotten so used to having him beside me as I fall
asleep that falling asleep without him there is nearly impossible,
and I pass out from exhaustion instead of gradually succumbing to
sleep.

The first
week is like that. We share the cooking and cleaning jobs, but
other than that some days you'll find us in the parlour, playing a
game or watching TV; sometimes I'll be in the library reading some
more – having moved on from the
Iliad
to
The Epic of Gilgamesh
, two books I
honestly believe you should read before you're thirty – and
sometimes, during the late evenings, we'll be outside either
sparring playfully or rest by the shore of the Sound, occasionally
swimming out into it even though it's getting colder and the
water's like ice on some nights. The end of August comes and goes
during that time, and gradually Seb continues learning to control
his ability, although there are some nights I can hear him tossing
and turning in his sleep from across the hall, nightmares his
guest.

Some nights, I know, he doesn't
sleep at all.

I've also started trying to
understand my ability better, to varying degrees of success. It
seems I'm limited to the elements that create and are part of a
storm – those being water, fire, wind and lightning. I practice by
playing with the fire we burn in the fireplace in the evenings,
lighting it up myself, and I learn very quickly that if lightning
and fire touches my hands, they do the same as last time, to
varying degrees of pain. Sometimes there's hardly any pain in the
charred burns, sometimes it's a crippling agony that has my friend
holding me against him, singing to me softly and trying to calm me
down as I kneel on the ground, unable to breathe through the
pain.

A week and a half after we've
come, after playing one of our childish games of twenty-one
questions and talking about our childhood, our likes and dislikes,
and who we are as people, I sit on the sill of one of the bay
windows in Seb's room, watching the storm rage outside. The wind is
howling against the house, and the lights flicker every few
minutes, threatening to give out completely. Lightning lights up
the night, the thunder so loud it makes the house shake, and the
rain is so fast it turns everything into a wall of darkness, to the
point where I can't see the ground or the trees I know are nearby.
Seb's making use of the shower after I'd vacated the bathroom, my
hair still dripping slightly and making a cold drop slide down my
spine every once in a while.

I look into
the room, to the slightly messy sheets he hasn't really fixed yet
on the bed pushed against the wall. There are piles of clothes
strewn about, some clean and some not, and three books from the
library sit on the dresser –
Works and
Days
, the
Egyptian Book of the Dead,
and
the
Theogony.