Vicious Grace (21 page)

I could feel my mind wrapping around the idea even as my head shook its own decisive
no
. There was something about it I liked. That I wanted to be true. That maybe the thing under Grace was scared, alone, and thrashing in its sleep. Maybe it was one of the good guys, and so maybe Eric was too. I had to put it aside now and focus on David.

“Listen to yourself,” I said. “You don’t go after someone who’s drowning. Because you might get hurt or worse, and you sure can’t help that way. Right?”

“Right.”

“And what’s your plan? Go to Grace Memorial?”

David opened his mouth. At the counter, one of the beautiful women broke out in a peal of laughter. She wasn’t paying attention to us, but it still had the feel of the universe mocking us. David blushed and shook his head. His face could have been put in a dictionary beside
chagrin
.

“I’m going in after the drowning guy,” he said. “Because I’m an idiot.”

“You’re being called,” I said. “You’re trying to answer. That’s not dumb. But it is dangerous.”

“You want me to go home,” he said. His voice was sour.

“I do. I want you to wait until we know what we’re looking at. And I swear as soon as I know something, I will tell you.”

He sighed, staring into the black surface of the coffee. The espresso machine hissed and spat. Pink Martini gave way to some modern big-band swing. I took his hand. It was warmer than I expected, and when his fingers squeezed mine, I made myself smile.

“Trust me,” I said.

In my imagination, a vampire I’d known once took a drag on his cigarette, smiled with ruined lips, and said
Being new to the game makes you an easy mark, kid. Happens to everyone
. It would have been simple to use David now. It was almost harder not to. He wanted me to ask him for something. I could tell him to write me a check for his whole savings, and he would. I could tell him to go to Grace Memorial just to see if the hospital attacked him.

Or I could keep him safe. Give him a real life and the chance to live it. Push him away and tell him to run like the devil was after him. It probably was. And that was the one thing I could say that he wouldn’t listen to.

“I trust you,” he said. “Just don’t leave me out.”

“Promise,” I lied.

SIXTEEN

I sat at the table for a while after David left, then went up and bought myself a latte I didn’t want so that I could keep sitting. The music moved on, landing on eighties nostalgia, some guy telling me it was always mesh and lace and offering to stop the world and melt with me. But the coffee wasn’t bad if I put enough sugar in it, and the emotional equivalent of a loose scab was forming in my heart. I knew the grief and anger and fear were there, but if I didn’t jar myself or scratch at it, I could ignore them. I wasn’t, for instance, in tears. That was a start. I could almost think
Aubrey might leave me
without breaking down.

The Sunday afternoon crowd stayed light. Behind the counter, a nice-looking blond guy and a hatchet-faced woman who seemed too old to be steaming milk for a living talked about television while they cleaned the wood-grained laminate and straightened stacks of prepackaged biscotti. The beautiful girls were joined by two equally beautiful guys. They laughed and flirted and raised arch eyebrows. The trains of the El came by now and then, the clatter of their passage competing with the music. I remembered Kim sitting at the Bump & Grind Café with a latte and heartache of her own. I even remembered feeling sorry for her.

The scab shifted a little, threatening to slip off and expose the wound. I looked out the window, forcing myself back to the here and now. Either it was later than I’d expected or the clouds were thickening. The darkness had spread from under the El and was loitering in the street. I considered calling Ex or Chogyi Jake. Or a cab. I wanted to talk to Aubrey. I wanted to talk to Uncle Eric.

This was the moment when I needed a best friend. Sad and sobering, but I didn’t seem to have one who wasn’t already hip-deep in the problems I wanted to get away from. I pulled my cell phone out of my backpack and stared at it. There were almost two hundred contacts in the phone book, most of them put there by Eric. A few that were particularly mine. None of them felt right. All those numbers and no one to talk to.

Except.

My heart sped up just a little as the whole plan popped into my head. It wasn’t like thinking of it so much as remembering something I’d already planned. I picked up my cell phone and went back to the counter, digging through my backpack as I walked. The blond guy trotted up with a professional, practiced smile.

“Get you something else?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Stay there for a minute. Here.”

I still had the same wallet I’d had at ASU. The fake leather was cracked and the fabric underneath showed through. I opened it, pulled out a hundred, and put it on the counter.

“I need a little favor,” I said. I started dialing my old phone number. The shape of the digits on the number pad were familiar and alien at the same time. “Just ask for Curt.”

“Curt?” the guy said.

The phone on the far end started ringing. I passed my cell across the counter.

“Curt,” I said. “You know him from school.”

The blond guy mouthed
school?
and then I heard the click and a compressed, distant voice saying hello.

“Hi,” the blond guy said. “Is Curt there? This is John. From school.”

The voice on the other end muttered something. The blond guy widened his eyes and pursed his lips in a little mock-naughty
oh
, enjoying the game of it. A new voice came on. Younger. Male. Questioning.

“Curt?” the blond guy said. “Great. Hang on.”

He handed the phone back to me. I pushed him the hundred. He looked at me like I was being silly and pushed it back.

“Hey, little brother,” I said. “How’s the Bible belt treating you?”

There wasn’t even a moment of shocked silence.

“Sure, I’ve got the syllabus in my notebook,” Curt said. “Let me just get to my room, okay?”

He sounded so much older than when I’d left home. There was gravel in his voice now. I supposed he was probably shaving. It broke my head. While he bumped and clattered down the hall to his room, I made my way back to my table. A long way away, a door shut.

“Hey,” he said softly. “What’s up? What are you doing?”

“I’ve been traveling with some friends. We’re in Chicago.”

“Wicked.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It got a little weird. I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Well,” Curt said, “everything here is a fucking opera production. Jay’s thinking Carla—that’s the fiancée—got knocked up on purpose so he’d have to marry her. And it turns out her mother’s Mexican, and Mom is dead set on making sure no one at church knows about it. Dad is saying that Jay should have thought about all that before he sinned, which effectively puts him on the same side as Carla and our new Latino branch of the family. Oh it is high, high drama.”

“Yeah?” I said, leaning back. “Tell me all.”

For almost an hour, Curt poured out gossip and trivia and the family’s dirty laundry. He never asked how I was doing. He never asked what was going on with me or if I had a boyfriend or if I was happy or what I was planning to do next. He was the perfect self-involved teenage boy, and I loved him for it. When at last my father’s distant bellow demanded to know who Curt was talking to and why it was taking so long, Curt signed off with “Call me back and I’ll tell you the rest.” I put my phone back in my pack. I’d run the batteries down below half their charge on that call alone, but it had been worth it. I didn’t know if it was the reminder of a life larger and broader than my own occult minicabal and our very real problems or only the glimpse of the world I’d escaped, but I felt calmer. Still angry. Still hurt. But calmer.

I got another latte with a slice of pound cake this time, and tried to put the situation in order. I knew that I needed to deal with the
haugsvarmr
one way or the other. I also knew that I couldn’t do it while I freaked out about all my friends leaving me, so I needed to find Aubrey. And after him Chogyi Jake and Ex. If I was on my own, it would crush me. But Chogyi Jake was right; I’d been crushed before. Hadn’t killed me. The ache in my chest came back, just to remind me how bad it had been. How bad it would be this time. It didn’t matter. Before I could do anything else, I had to know where I stood.

I tried calling Aubrey’s cell and got voice mail. Either something was up with his cell phone or he wasn’t taking my calls. That was all right. He’d just found out that his marriage had ended because of something about a thousand times more complex than he’d thought. With that kind of unfinished business hanging loose, I figured I knew where to find him. On my way out the door, I waved to the blond guy behind the counter and bowed my head a little.
Thank you
. He rolled his eyes and waved back.
It was nothing
. The small complicity was nice, and I tried to hold the feeling as I hailed a cab and gave the driver Kim’s address.

A stiff wind had picked up by the time I reached Kim’s place. The air was heavy and muggy, with the ozone smell of impending rain. The blue skies were gone; the storms were coming back. I pulled my jacket tight around my shoulders. Steel and concrete stairs rang under my footsteps. I kept telling myself it would be okay and at the same time imagined ringing the bell and having Aubrey open it wearing a sheet. The fake iron apartment numbers were cracked. The pale door had a long scratch in it. Clouds had muffled the late afternoon light. I waited for what seemed a long time to see if I would press the doorbell. Then I did.

Kim answered the door wearing old gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Her hair hung in limp, sweaty lines, and her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed red from crying or sleeplessness or both. Her gaze tracked up and down slowly, judging me.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Is he here?”

“Did you expect him to be?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“I don’t know if that makes you an optimist or a pessimist,” Kim said. She walked into the apartment, leaving the door open as if she expected me to follow, so I did.

For a moment, I thought the little apartment’s disarray came from yesterday’s revelation, but the clutter was too deep for one day’s work. Piles of magazines lurked at the edge of a patterned beige couch. An exercise bike lurked in the corner, dry cleaning bags hanging from its handles. Cobwebs haunted the corners of ceiling and wall. A plastic laundry basket commanded the dining room table, and I couldn’t tell if the clothes in it were dirty or clean. The air smelled like old pizza. It was the kind of place I might have lived in without the windfall of Eric’s fortune. Kim glanced around, seeing it because I was there. She shrugged.

“It’s home,” she said, almost apologetically. “You want a drink?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” I said.

“Stop being so fucking formal. How about rum and Coke? I don’t have the vodka for screwdrivers.”

“Um. Sure.”

I had never seen her like this. The aggressive intelligence was still there, but not so tightly controlled. Her hypercompetence had slipped, and the despair behind it showed. I sat on the arm of her couch and watched her over the breakfast bar. The kitchen was tiny, so she just spun slowly in place, reaching up for a glass, turning to pluck a bottle of Captain Morgan out of a cabinet, and then opening the refrigerator for a red and silver can. She didn’t have to move her feet.

“Aubrey took off, then?” she asked.

“Most of last night. And again this morning,” I said. “I figured he’d come here.”

“Haven’t heard a word from him. Why would he be here anyway? I just told him I’d been sleeping around on him. I don’t think men usually find that endearing.” She pushed a glass across the bar, the soda still fizzing, and started another one for herself.

“But the Mark of Naxos. The love spell . . .”

Kim waved her hand, pushing the words away.

“So what if he used magic to get me into bed? I’m still the one who chose not to tell Aubrey about it. I’m still the one who chose to take off instead of trying to figure things through. Did you think sleeping with Eric was the only way I betrayed Aubrey?”

“But . . .” I started. My head felt like it was full of cotton ticking. I felt like I’d tricked myself into arguing against Eric, and I wasn’t sure exactly how it had happened. Kim drank half her rum and Coke in two swallows, then coughed. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I think I owe you an apology,” she said.

I had imagined a thousand scenarios in coming to Kim’s apartment. Aubrey absent, Kim apologetic, and rum and Coke hadn’t figured into them.

“I threw a fit,” she said. “I was embarrassed and . . . No. I was humiliated. I
am
humiliated. I don’t like my private business being thrown around in front of everyone. When I saw that file, and how he had played me, and that all of you were going to have to know too . . .” She paused. Her chuckle dripped with self-loathing.

She took a sip from her glass, and I mirrored her, then looked down at the drink. She mixed them strong. I wondered how many she’d already had. How many it would take to wipe away what had been in that file. She shook her head.