Part 18 (1/2)
”I just want to go home,” I admitted.
”You know what?” William said. ”This works out. I mean, if everything you've said is true, Garnet. I've got to get busy. Magic is really out there. I just have to find it. I'm going to meditate for real tonight.
Maybe some G.o.d will inhabit me.”
”Be careful,” I said softly, not even certain he heard me over the roar of the engine.
We drove in contemplative silence, me watching out the window for favorite landmarks: the Capitol dome with its gleaming white Federal columns, the carousel, the lakes and parkways. I caught a glimpse of State Street as we pa.s.sed it, teeming with the post-bar crowd.
”Did you see that?” asked William. ”I think that guy was a gigolo.”
I craned my head to see.
”In Madison?” Izzy said, ”Probably he just had bad fas.h.i.+on sense.”
”No, I swear,” William insisted. ”He was totally doing that 'Pretty Woman' thing with the cars.”
”It's called cruising,” I suggested, though there'd been something familiar in that swagger. Did I know the guy? I hadn't really gotten a good look at him; it was more likely he just reminded me of someone.
”He's probably just gay.”
”He could still be a gigolo,” William insisted. We argued amiably about the viability of prost.i.tution in Madison the rest of the ride home.
Despite the open windows, the tang of bleach greeted me when I walked in the apartment door. I frowned at the arrow stub in the window frame and the hole behind the potted sunflowers. I'd really hoped to come home to discover it had all been a silly dream. f.u.c.k.
Both Izzy and William had offered me crash s.p.a.ce, but I'd declined.
I sighed in the direction of the smashed plaster and laths. Well, the Vatican now certainly knew about my existence. An earlier version of me would have pulled out the packed suitcase from the back of my bedroom closet, packed up Barney, cut my losses, and run at this point. After what happened tonight with Sebastian and Feather and everyone, I felt a deep bond forming. If I left now, it would be at the expense of my friends.h.i.+ps. Last time, when I fled, I had nothing more to lose. Now it was different. I stayed for myself, yes, but for everyone else, too.
I straightened a few of the pictures on the wall, dusted the counters, and did a couple of other tidying/nesting things, and then finally I felt so exhausted that I couldn't keep my eyes open. I retreated to the bedroom, threw off my clothes, and crawled into bed. Barney hopped up on the mattress and snuggled on my chest. I ran a hand along her gray ruff and paused to scratch behind an ear. She purred contentedly. ”Tomorrow,” I told her, ”we hunt Vatican agents.”
I sat bolt upright when I heard the door creak open.
The Vatican. I reached for the oversized sweats.h.i.+rt I kept at the foot of the bed and dragged it over my head. A weapon, I thought. I need a G.o.dd.a.m.ned weapon.
Standing up quietly, I glanced at the athame on the altar. It was a cheap reproduction dagger I'd bought at the Renaissance Festival, and it was duller than s.h.i.+t. Though I loved the black-velvet-covered grip, the old thing could barely cut through the apple I sacrificed every year during my Halloween ritual. I had serious doubts it could damage a fully grown priest/a.s.sa.s.sin. Besides, the Order had turned the coven's daggers against them. The prospect of the same thing happening to me seemed far too likely.
So I dropped it in favor of the fist-sized sandstone rock I'd ”liberated” from the Valley of Fire National Park in Nevada during my vacation there a couple of months back. It felt heavy and solid in my hands and serious enough to bash a head in.
Even so armed, I hesitated at the door before opening it. I listened carefully. For a moment I thought I'd dreamed the noise until I heard cursing coming from the living room. Either the priests had extraordinarily foul mouths, or it was Parrish tripping over the pile of books I'd purposely left in front of the door.
Leaving the rock on the altar, I grabbed Sebastian's sweatpants from where I'd tossed them over a chair earlier today and stomped into them.
”I didn't expect you back,” I called as I made my way into the living room.
”Ever?” Parrish had found a change of clothes somewhere, and, amazingly, looked tras.h.i.+er than usual.
He still favored leather pants, but he now had on, of all things, a tank top that clung to his chest like asecond skin. It was very nineties, and it should have looked ridiculous on him, but it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the muscles of his washboard stomach.
”I thought you'd sell Sebastian's grimoire off to the highest bidder and skip town,” I confessed.
He acknowledged the possibility with a faint shrug that set the fabric of his s.h.i.+rt stretching along the hard planes of his pectorals. ”I considered it.”
I'd wanted to play it cool, but I couldn't help but ask, ”Is it safe?”
”Yes,” he said, with a glance at a pile of leather in the corner that my brain eventually pa.r.s.ed as saddlebags for a motorcycle. ”I even brought it back.”
My apartment wasn't the best place for the grimoire, especially since the Vatican would be back in the morning. Even so, part of me was relieved. I wanted it close.
Parrish's finger stroked the shaft of the sawed-off arrow. The soft, almost loving, caress he gave the wood sent goose pimples rising on my arms. ”You've had some fun without me, I see.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest lest Parrish see the effect he was having on other parts of me. ”I wouldn't call it fun, precisely.”
”No? From your note I'd guess you had a visit from our friends from Rome. Besides, this place stinks of spilled blood.” His mouth twitched up in an admiring smile. ”How many did you bury this time, Garnet?”
”None,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. Parrish made it sound like a game, but the Vatican could easily have killed Sebastian, like they'd murdered my friends before. ”Sorry to disappoint you.”
”You never disappoint, Garnet.” A seductive smile spread across his face. ”I'd tell you how ravis.h.i.+ng you look, but you wouldn't believe me.”
I laughed, feeling an old familiar warmth stir deep in my breast. Parrishhad come back. His actions showed me what I had always known: he was trustworthy. I could count on him in a pinch. When the world fell apart, Parrish would be there to help pick up the pieces.
Not like Sebastian. He'd proved to be something other than I'd expected tonight.
”Baggy sweats turn you on, do they?” I said more than a little flirtatiously.
He nodded, very seriously-far too seriously, in fact. ”I've never gotten used to women in slacks. It's so...revealing. Without a corset and petticoats, you might as well be bare, the way your body moves under that fabric.”
I suddenly felt the absence of a bra keenly. To hide my consternation, I said, ”Why are you working so hard, Parrish? You look like you've fed tonight.”
Even though the room was mostly dark, other than the lamp I'd left on for him, his skin looked healthier, more natural. I suspected he'd spent his time away in the arms of some willing victim of his many charms.
He gave me the barest twitch of a smile, and his eyes studied the floor almost as though he wereembarra.s.sed. When we were dating, I will admit I never liked the fact he had s.e.xual or at the very least near-s.e.xual relations.h.i.+ps with his ”donors.” I tried to tolerate it. I mean, he had to drink to survive.
Parrish had usually bl.u.s.tered at my jealousy. The way he studied his boots made me think he seemed almost ashamed.
”What's wrong, Parrish?” I asked.
He sat down on the couch with his arms resting along the back, opened in a welcoming, come-hither pose. With the barely there s.h.i.+rt accenting his muscles and the slight spread of his legs, he looked like a Playgirl calendar boy.
Oh, s.h.i.+t. Now I knew who the gigolo we saw on State Street reminded me of: Parrish.
Could it be? Was Parrish selling himself-or his bite- on the street?
No, no way.
But then I remembered what he'd said about leaving Minneapolis. He was out of money. He had...
what had he implied? Some embarra.s.sing incident caused him to beat a hasty retreat?