City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(113)

“Yeah, living out there, the standards are different.”

“And the fact that he chooses to live out there …”

“No,” he says abruptly. “It may seem crazy to you, but it’s a choice, and not a sign—” A sharp shake of his head, and he loses a little of his usual confidence, faltering as he says, “If I had any idea … I would have warned you …” He gets to his feet. “I’ll take care of this. You’re safe here, and you should get some sleep.”

“I don’t want—”

“Sleep,” he says, and lowers himself into the chair. “I’m not going anywhere. We can talk later.”


I stir from sleep, but not for long enough even to roll over and see if it’s light out. I hear Dalton arguing with someone and think situation normal.

Then I remember it’s far from normal as the last day floods back. Mick’s death and the arson and the fact my best friend may have done both and she betrayed me and now she has to leave, but then there was the forest and that kiss and then Jacob and a glimpse of another Eric Dalton, a side of him that I need to understand if I ever want to get closer to him, and that kiss, and dear God, am I actually even thinking about that, in light of everything that happened?

It’s not as if a kiss somehow cancels out the horror and the pain, but it’s easier to focus on, and I keep thinking of a poem I memorized in school, and I don’t even remember why, but it wasn’t an assignment. I think it just spoke to me, somehow.

Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kissed me.

And I don’t know why I’m thinking about that damned poem, except that I’m half asleep and still high from the morphine, and I’m listening to Dalton arguing with someone, and I’m glad he’s feeling more himself, but I’m sad, too, because more himself means the rest has passed, and yet that’s good, isn’t it? Forget the kiss. It’s silly. Inconsequential. I have important things to occupy my mind and no time for that.

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that my best friend has betrayed me,

Say that I’ve been stabbed, but add,

Eric kissed me.

Seriously? Screw this. No matter how much pain I’m in, I’m not taking any more drugs. Good night.





Four



I’m done with this shit. That’s the thought filling my brain when I wake again. I went to sleep thinking about Dalton and that kiss, and I wake thinking about the exact same thing, but in a very different way.

He kissed me. It was 100 percent him, even as he was saying he didn’t want it, and when I did the right thing and put a halt to it, how did he react? Stalked off in a snit after repeatedly lecturing me about being alone in the forest. He left me alone in the forest.

I’m pissed, and I’m going to let myself be pissed.

So when I wake and notice someone in the chair, I almost close my eyes again. Then I see it’s Anders.

I rise and look around.

“Do you want me to get Eric?” he says.

“No,” I say, perhaps a bit too vehemently, and his brows shoot up, and I hurry on with, “It’s fine. He needs a break.”

“Sure as hell didn’t want it, though. The only reason he left was to tell the council they can go f*ck themselves.”

My brows lift.

Anders moves to sit on the bed. “They want him to take Diana tomorrow.”

“I heard him arguing with someone downstairs. Was that the same thing?”

“Nah, that was Beth. She can …” He made a face. “You know what she’s like with Eric. Trying to take care of him, mothering or whatever. She’d been pestering him to leave you alone and go rest, and he was already cranky about that. Then she tried telling him he shouldn’t fight the council. That set him off. I feel a little sorry for her, but …” He shrugs. “She means well, but he really doesn’t like her hovering and fretting over him, and she never takes the hint.”

“Hmm.” I shift in the bed, and I must wince, because Anders reaches for a bottle at my bedside.

“If that’s morphine, the answer is no,” I say. “I have work to do.”

“Which you can’t do if you’re sweating with pain.”

I wipe my forehead. It is indeed beaded with perspiration.

“Take a half dose,” he says. “Then water and food.”

“Speaking of hovering …”

“No, I’m advising. If you tell me to go to hell, I’ll shut up.”

“Okay, give me a half dose. What time is it?”

“Seven.”

I look at the window and see twilight, which doesn’t help. Before I can ask, Anders says, “It’s morning.”

“I’ll take the drugs and any food you can scrounge up. Then I’ve got a list of people I want to interview.”

“Um, you’re not going to be leaving that bed for a few days, Casey.”

“You can bring them to me.”