Part 14 (2/2)

It all sounded so intensely appealing that I almost whimpered. But how could I possibly just hop in his car like I'd hit a reset b.u.t.ton? I'd spent the last two months going to extreme lengths to hide from Incy. But I know I couldn't stay here.

”I don't want to push you. I know you're doing this... experiment, or whatever, for yourself, and I want to support that,” Incy said kindly. It reminded me of the time I'd decided to study ballet, in Paris, in the late forties. He'd gently pointed out that most successful ballerinas began their studies at early ages, five or six, maybe seven. And I was... you know, already more than four hundred. But he'd still been supportive, had gone with me to get my leotard and shoes. Even came to a recital, before I finally wised up and dropped the whole thing.

”But I'm just saying, if you wanted, you could come hang out. You don't have to stay with us, or me, if you need more s.p.a.ce,” he said quickly. ”You do what you want to do. You could fly out of Boston tomorrow, go anywhere else. But of course you'd be welcome to stay with us. I'd love for you to come on the cruise. Who else could truly appreciate the cross section of humanity that one sees on cruises? Pretty much only you.” He and I were always merciless, dissecting wardrobes and hairstyles of fellow pa.s.sengers while we sat at the bar, slugging back gin rickeys. Ha-like I should talk about anyone else's clothes or hair, right?

That was the coup de grce: The cruise sounded like heaven. Sixty days of people-watching and seeing fabulous things and not having to think at all. Not having to work, or learn, or prove myself worthy in any way. Not having to look at Reyn, to see Amy's face s.h.i.+ning up at him. Not having to see River, giving me chance after chance.

I'd run away from Incy before. I'd become convinced he was evil and dangerous.

And I'd run away from River before.

I was quite the runner. Never the soldier-on-through type. For some reason I pictured Reyn being disapproving of my cowardice, unable to respect my need to flee. He would think I was being a sissy, a big baby.

Good thing I didn't care what Reyn thought. That whole situation was impossible, anyway. I knew that.

Nothing seemed certain, rock solid. No decision, out of my three choices, seemed like a good idea.

I truly did not know what to do, but whatever I decided would have a huge effect on me, on my life.

Give me a sign, I pleaded silently. G.o.ddess? Universe? Anyone? Anyone? Give me a sign. Tell me what to do.

Please, someone tell me what to do....

”Nas?” Incy's voice was gentle. ”Come on and get in the car. I'll take care of you. Okay?”

CHAPTER 18.

Three hours later we were facing the million bright lights of Boston. We'd stopped a while back and bought wine and some Twinkies-and let me say that they are two great tastes that taste pretty vile together.

Every once in a while Incy would look over at me and smile.

”What?” I asked.

”I'm so happy to see you,” he said. ”I know it was stupid. You're a big girl, after all, but I just couldn't shake my worry. And also, you know, it was hard on me.” He gave a wry laugh. ”I mean, enough about you. Let's talk about me. I'd gotten so used to doing everything with you that I was out of balance for a while.”

I took another swig of wine-the finest that a 7-Eleven on Highway 2 had to offer-and felt my first tingle of alarm since I'd gotten in the car. How out of balance had he been? Was getting into this Caddy the stupidest thing I'd ever done? Well, yes. I mean besides the general stupidity of it. Had I blithely gotten into a car with a killer?

”What do you mean, out of balance?” Here was some personal growth: pursuing something I might not want to hear but should probably know. It was something new and different for me, all of this lesson-applying. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, in case he suddenly became visibly insane or started morphing into a werewolf or something. Again, werewolf = deal breaker.

Instead he chuckled sheepishly. ”I hadn't realized how dependent I'd gotten on you,” he said frankly. ”I was so used to consulting you, planning stuff with you, thinking of us doing things together. With you gone, I wandered around bleating pathetically until Boz slapped me and said, 'Pull yourself together, man!' ”

He said the last bit in an English accent, as if quoting a movie, and laughed.

”Huh,” I said, still watching him.

Incy shrugged. ”I always missed you-didn't stop missing you-but I did figure out how to dress and bathe myself.”

No, I had not done that for him. For G.o.d's sake. He was exaggerating.

”Oh.”

”Then I started, you know, just planning for one.” Another sheepish shrug. And he seemed so freaking normal. Incredibly normal and healthy, even more than when I'd left. Maybe my leaving had been good for him? Broken a bad pattern between us? Maybe I had been radiating darkness even then, and it had affected him, affected all of us. With me gone for the longest period of time in a hundred years, he'd been able to detox. In which case it would all certainly happen again-I was still dark. But I was aware of it now. Would that help? I didn't know, and thinking about it made my head hurt. I didn't want to think about it, a.n.a.lyze everything to death. I just wanted to... feel better.

Even if Incy was better off now, standing more on his own ice floe.

I guessed it would eventually become clear. Either things would be okay, or my life would become a much more treacherous atrocity than I could possibly imagine. One or the other. Somehow I'd deal with it, like I'd dealt with everything else-450 years of famines and plagues and floods and wars and cras.h.i.+ng economies.

I stared out the window at the busy Boston streets, pleasantly fuzzy from the dreadful wine, wrapped in the warm coc.o.o.n of Incy's Caddy. I had uncountable memories of being in a car with Incy, from the very first Model Ts to today's Caddy. Between us, he and I had totaled something like eight or nine cars, prompting multiple newspaper headlines like ”Miracle Survivors in Serious Collision.” I remembered us driving on the Autobahn in Germany and across a dark, empty desert at night. We'd had fabulous sports cars and old tin buggies with wheels like bicycle tires. Incy and I. So many memories.

My mind conjured River's face, and I drank deeply from the bottle to blot it out. Would any of them be surprised that I had done this, that I was with Incy again? Or would they shake their heads and think that they'd always known I would screw up spectacularly? Would they look for me? Had they looked for me? And Reyn... he'd wanted something from me. And true to form I'd run away from him like a rabbit from a fox.

For less than one second, the merest flash of a blip of time, I imagined the relief of Reyn coming to get me, Reyn storming in, wresting me away from Incy, saving me from-myself.

Then I was furious that I'd had that thought, that I was so weak I needed someone to save me from myself. Screw that! They didn't know better than I did! Their lives might work for them, but it had been torture for me! I wasn't made for that. It hadn't worked out. I berated myself for picturing Reyn as the strong one, stronger than me. I was plenty strong enough. I could absolutely take care of myself, like I'd done for the past four and a half centuries. I didn't need him or anyone else to remake my life or save me from anything.

I was fine.

And I was more than ready to have a good time, after two long months of drudgery and frustration.

”Here we are,” Incy said, pulling under the overhang at the Liberty Hotel. We'd stayed here several times before; it was one of Boston's best and spiffiest. The fact that the building had once been the city jail raised its coolness rating to at least an eight. The designer had referenced that in various ways-one of its restaurants was named Clink, for example.

A valet ran up and opened the door for Incy, and a bellhop opened my door.

”Welcome to the Liberty, madam,” he said. ”May I get your luggage?”

”I don't have any.” I swallowed, thinking of what I'd left behind. My amulet. My mother's most precious thing. My family's tarak-sin.

Plus all my ugly work clothes. Good riddance. I had a safe-deposit box here in Boston with money, pa.s.sports, etc. See? There are no problems. Only solutions.

”Ah. Very good,” he said, trained to not notice that I was wearing a fabulous coat too big for me over dirty jeans and work boots. Smiling, he hurried over to open the heavy hotel door for us.

I stepped through the door and back into my old life.

It was horribly bright. Light hit my eyelids and I pushed my head under my pillow. I was on a big, deliciously comfortable bed, arms and legs out like a throwing star.

Light?

I bolted upright, regretting it immediately as my stomach lurched and my head bobbled on my neck like one of those dashboard dogs.

It was light outside! I must have way overslept! I must have- I wasn't home. I was at the Liberty, in Boston, with Incy. I blinked groggily at the clock. It was 8:13. I a.s.sumed AM. I hadn't slept this late in months. I leaned toward my side table and clawed for the phone, then punched the room-service b.u.t.ton. Moving slowly, I piled up my four fluffy down pillows and lay back very carefully.

I ordered a bunch of pastries, a couple of mimosas, and some Alka-Seltzer, then let the phone flop out of my hand onto the bed.

It was astonis.h.i.+ng that I was with Incy again, in Boston again. We'd gotten in at around ten last night. Incy had been so cheerful, taking me to the top floor and grandly opening the door to the hotel's biggest suite. Inside, Boz and Katy, vividly alive, and Stratton and Cicely were arguing about something from-I swear to G.o.d-Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

<script>