The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(13)

“Oh…God,” Marisol whispered.

“He is too proud to ask you for aid, of course.” Ehric had to look away. “But we are his blood. There is naught we will not do to secure what future he may have.”

“I am not…I am not anything to him.”

“In that,” Evale spoke up, “you are misconstrided.”

“Misconstrued,” Ehric amended. “And that is why we are here. We want you to come to his bedside and…inspire him, in the way only you can.”

When she opened her mouth as if to argue, he wearied of the protest and put his hand up. “Please. Do not waste our time or pretend ignorance when you know precisely why you, of all people, would matter to him.”

Abruptly, the woman fell into a silence that seemed to compress her body, and he knew he had to give her space to feel most properly her emotions: Further commentary by anyone would just give her opportunities for defense. She, and she alone, was going to decide this course.

As the silence continued, Mrs. Carvalho placed plates before him and his brother, the food upon them so fragrant, he closed his eyes, lowered his chin, and breathed in the aroma.

“You have honored us, Mrs. Carvalho.” He turned to the grandmother, who had gone back to her stove. “We do not deserve such a feast.”

“Eat.” A gnarled finger pointed to the table. “Too thin. You are too thin. I make you more.”

Ah, her tone. Clipped, disapproving, accented with the unfamiliar. But her eyes were a-twinkled, and he knew that even as she kept a physical distance from them, she embraced them both with her food, welcoming them with a love that he had certainly never known.

Orphans, after all, were by definition unfamiliar with a mahmen’s heart and hand in their lives.

Putting his fork to its very best use, he found that the eggs were mixed with marvelous spices, and as he began to consume them, another tantalizing scent wafted up from the stove.

“What kind of cancer?” Marisol asked.

Ehric reached out to the center of the wee table and took a napkin from a holder. After wiping his mouth, he said, “It is of blood origin, and of recent and very virulent duration.”

“Where is he being treated? St. Francis?”

“He has availed himself of private physicians.” She would recognize Doc Jane and Manny, and he’d cross that bridge when they got to it. “The treatment he is receiving is top-notch. There is no better, I can assure you of that.”

“How long…” She cleared her throat. “How long does he have?”

“It is hard to say. But he suffers. Greatly.”

There was a long period of silence, punctuated only by their eating.

“He stopped calling me,” Marisol blurted.

“He has been in touch, then?” Not a surprise. And then Ehric became concerned. “Did he tell you aught?”

“He didn’t speak to me. He just hung up, but it was him, I know it was. And then the calls stopped.”

“Yes.”

More plates arrived, this time with something made from corn. And another thing of potato derivation that he recognized from that which Mrs. Carvalho had frozen for them before she left. The grandmother did not join them. She began to wash her dishes at the sink, and he knew better than to offer to help. Up in Caldwell, during their cohabitations, he and Evale had asked but once to be of any aid in her kitchen endeavors and she had been offended sure as if they had cursed before her.

It was not until he and his twin had finished their second and third servings that Marisol finally spoke.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “I can’t go back there. You have to understand. Even for him, it’s not safe for us up in Caldwell—”

Mrs. Carvalho interjected with sharp words in their native tongue, and the granddaughter bowed her head as if it would not do that she disrespect her elder with any disagreement. Still, Ehric knew by the line of the younger woman’s chin that she would not relent.

“We can keep you safe,” he offered. “Both of you. You have our word of honor that naught will befall either of you.”

The grandmother spoke again, her hands on her hips, her wrinkled face drawn in disapproval.

Marisol got to her feet. “No. It is not safe. Maybe I can FaceTime with him, or something. Or talk to him on the phone. Or—”

As Ehric rose from his chair, Evale followed that lead. “I understand. Forgive us for bothering you.”

“I wish I could help.” Marisol crossed her arms over her chest. “Seriously, if the circumstances were different, I—”

“Madam,” he said unto her grandmother. “You have paid us much grace and respect with this meal. We shall hold on to the strength it gives us and use that gift in your honor.”

Evale murmured an affirmation as both of them bowed to her.

When he straightened, Mrs. Carvalho had her hands tucked up under her bosom. She appeared by turns delighted by the honor they paid her and frustrated by her kin.

Turning to Marisol, Ehric bowed to her as well. “We shall not tarry herein nor bother you again.”

Marisol opened her mouth as if to speak, but he walked away, proceeding to the door. As he let himself out, he held the exit wide for his twin.

“Do not say it,” he muttered as Evale paused in the doorway. “Stay silent.”