The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(48)

Jane strolled forward, the boots she had put on back at the Pit no longer crusted with snow, the grass having cleaned them off. Her coat would be making her too warm, he thought—and sure enough, she removed it and ran a hand through her short hair.

I see you, he thought. And you are beautiful to me.

“So we just wait?” she said as she wandered around and then stepped into the colonnaded preamble to his mother’s suite of rooms. “Until Amalya finds us?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, look in here. There’s a bed and things—okay, well, not things really, but there is a bed.” She glanced back at him. “I didn’t really think the Scribe Virgin would sleep. You know…like us.”

V shrugged. “I don’t know what she did in there.”

She pivoted around sharply. “The Wizard of Oz. That’s the name of the movie. Guess I haven’t lost it completely.”

There was a long silence. And Vishous realized he would remember her forever here, standing in the white marble expanse, staring across at him with that parka over her arm and those snow boots.

“I’ve missed you,” he blurted. “More than I’ve wanted to admit—and now that you’re here with me, I can’t figure out why I worked so fucking hard to avoid telling you that.”





TWENTY-ONE


The following afternoon—was it afternoon? The arms on the wall clock said two and change, and it felt like afternoon—Sola stepped out of Assail’s room so that Ehlena and that other nurse, the one with the long robe, could remove his catheter.

He had been sleeping in chunks of two or three hours, and Sola had been doing the same, thanks to a cot that had been brought in for her. With him in restraints still, it wasn’t possible for them to lie together, but it was good to be stretched out and off her feet, right by him.

Ehric had been really diligent about sending her texts on the phone he’d given her about her vovó. Pictures, too, the snaps of the old woman at the stove, at the cutting board, pointing at Evale as if she were ordering him around, making Sola smile with happiness and relief. During the last month in Miami, she’d worried her vovó was slowing down, but maybe it was because she’d needed more mouths to feed, a bigger house to organize, a schedule punctuated by more than just church.

Ehlena stepped out of the room. “I think he wants a shower.”

Sola jumped to attention. “Really? I mean, yay! Are the restraints off?”

“Yes.” The other woman made slow-down motions. “Now, we really don’t know how he’s going to be. I don’t want to alarm you, but his mental status could change quickly and without warning. So please be careful.”

“I can handle myself,” Sola said grimly. “I would hate to have to with him…but I can take care of things if that’s the way it goes.”

Ehlena reached out with a reassuring hand. “Hopefully it won’t be necessary. And you know how to call us.”

“So he can have a shower? I can help him with that?”

“Yes, Dr. Manello has cleared him. There’s a chair in the stall for him to sit on and also a call button mounted on the wall, you’ll see it. I’m just one room over if you need me.”

The other nurse came out of the room, the one with the long robe, and her arm was in that same position, tucked against her torso as if she were hiding something or it hurt. But she was pleasant enough, offering that bow-thing she did and some murmured words of respect.

Sola was pleasant in response, but she didn’t waste time, flashing back into that room because she had a hunch that—yup, Assail was sitting on the edge of the bed like he was about to jump onto his feet, break off a piece of his Kit Kat bar to a disco track—and probably fall flat on his face and break all of his teeth because he was too weak to be doing anything other than giving sheets a job.

“Let me help you,” she said as she ran forward.

“I got it—”

“You don’t got shit—”

Except he did. He stood up and didn’t wobble, his body solid on those thin legs, his breath hitching only a little, his hands splaying out as he balanced on his own.

“Look at you.” Sola smiled, and had to blink back tears. “Next thing you know, you’ll be doing laps.”

“May I have your arm?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

Sola let him set the pace, and although he shuffled like a little old lady, she didn’t care. The idea that there was progress, any sort of forward motion—natch—out of the death throes he’d been in the night before was good enough for her. Yes, she realized he was still terminal, and she was going to have to keep facing that reality…but for as long as she could, she was going to stay in this present. Anything else was just too hard to think about.

“Okay, so I’m going to start the water,” she informed him as they entered the loo. “And you’re going to park it on this nice toilet right here—let’s put the seat cover down. Excellent. Good work. Now let me get the shower going.”

As he sat where she told him to, Sola extended an arm into the tiled stall and cranked the stainless-steel handle most of the way to the engraved “H” at the top of the fixture. Then she turned back around—