Four Roads Cross (Craft Sequence #5)(44)

He pulled back.

She stumbled into him. Beauty raged in her vein. There was nothing she could not be, there was no mold into which she could not be poured, the draw had been so strong and rich, and at its withdrawal she clutched for him, seeing too late his sudden horror at herhimself, at what they were—at what they were about to—at what they, at what she, had— He staggered into the moshing crowd, knocked into a blond-dreadlocked man, who shoulder-checked Raz back, and Raz, eyes wide and wet like marble library lions’ eyes in rain, moshed the blond-dreadlocked man harder than he’d ever been moshed before, sent him tumbling airborne into a pair of shirtless bodybuilders who fell like pool balls run from a single shot, two left side four right far corner six right side thunk thunk thunk, until only blond dreads was left standing, spinning, laughing a wild woo with hands raised in horn-sign as the fallen rose and piled on him in turn.

Raz looked uncomprehending at them, at her, and left.

She ran after him.

He snaked through the crowd. She never could have caught him but for Candy at the door, who blocked him in while she admitted two new customers—so Cat, ignoring Walsh’s waved good-bye, reached the alley before Raz left it.

“Raz!”

He didn’t turn.

“Don’t run from me.”

He stopped. “Then what? Do you want me to stay?”

“Did it look like I was pushing you away?”

“It looked.” He moved toward her so fast he didn’t seem to cross the intervening space. So damn quick with blood in him—how long did he go, anyway, without feeding? How long could he? And how would the hunger of a single taste after deprivation feel? She knew. She was all need, a single exposed nerve. Her clothes rasped her skin. Her skirt’s hem was tight as a knife. He was close, though not close like he’d been when they danced, not close enough she could touch him without his letting her. “It looked,” he said, softer now, “like you were out of control.”

“You responded. We kissed, dammit—”

“Don’t pretend that’s all. I tasted you. I could break that building in half if I wanted. I could fly.” She’d never heard such disgust in his voice before.

“I wanted it. So did you.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I thought you wanted to fix—”

“To fix myself? To fix what’s f*cked-up about me?”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, too fast.

“I see the way you look at me, like I messed up somewhere. You’re always in control, you never put a foot wrong. You never jump a ship before the signal comes. You never take a risk that’s not worth it. Unlike me. To all the hells with that. I know how the change works. I know you had to want to be what you are.”

“I wanted not to die,” he said. “Okay? I wanted to survive. And since then I’ve maintained. I’ve managed. All this”—he waved in a big circle—“these booths and blood and just taking from one another all the damn time. So when some kid loses control and gets a stake through the heart, it’s a piece of gossip to you people. It’s my life.”

“Is that what this is about? Brad?”

“You have a problem. You admitted you have a problem.”

“I’ve been working on it for a year.”

“Great. A year.”

“Fuck you, a year’s a long time for someone who can die. And I’m tangled, but I know enough to tell the difference between something I need and someone I want. I was wrong, fine. I’m not f*cking perfect. But you’re the one who keeps pulling back.”

He dropped his hands. “You want me to be the monster here, fine. I can do that. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

And he walked away.

The someone in fishnets by the trash heap had curled against the former bouncee. He passed her a cigarette. The someone took a drag and passed it back.

Cat swore in a growling grinding language not meant for human throats. Then she turned and ran.





23

Tara could not take notes on Shale’s surging back, and as the moon arced through the sky, the angle from which the road sigils were visible changed too. The night ran long and late with flight and rest. They landed on an ivied university battlement at 1:00 A.M. and Shale brooded northward as Tara scratched lines in her black notebook.

“Lady of the skies?”

“Lady of the skies,” he confirmed.

“All the skies?”

“She could not be Lady of all the skies. Each sky has its own Lady. But she is Lady of all skies over us.”

“I always thought that was weird. I mean, if we have three women of different faiths in the same army and they look up, they’re looking into the same sky.”

“Same space,” Shale said. “Different sky.”

“And this is her oldest epithet.”

He nodded.

She heard whispers from the tower to her left, and a scrape of lockpick over tumblers and teeth, and drunken laughter not quite stifled. She doubted students were supposed to climb up here—schools probably had to make rules about this sort of thing when students couldn’t fly—but explanations would be awkward. She hurried her notes. Shale’s religious signeurage did not quite mesh with modern ownership models, but she could bridge the gap. She’d learned how in the Hidden Schools, back when she wasn’t doing the same thing these kids were: breaking into places she shouldn’t be, and climbing towers not made for climbing.