Moonshine

Chapter 13

Numbness can't last, as much as you might like it to.

Too bad.

I sat on the edge of the tub and focused on the tiled floor as Niko finished mopping the blood from my skin. He'd removed the torn stitches from my arm and cleaned the half-healed bite, but otherwise left it alone. The copper that had filled my mouth when facing the Auphe had been from a savagely bitten tongue; I kept that less-than-heroic gem to myself. The only real damage had been done to my neck, and that wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. The Auphe had made it clear my death would be the least of my punishment. They didn't want to try to use me again to bring an end to this world. They knew I was a less-than-reliable tool, and from the sounds of it, they had other ways in mind. No, they didn't want to use me anymore; what they wanted from me was far more simple than that: pain.

The bite of antiseptic stung under my jaw and I hissed. It was the first thing I'd felt since the rooftop and my first real reaction. "Welcome back," Niko said with quiet relief, opening a package of small butterfly bandages.

Not exactly happy to be back, I shifted my shoulders and remained silent. Turning over my hands, I gazed at the skinned knuckles. Niko had saved them from worse. Time and again, he'd saved me from all kinds of worse… including the Auphe. This wasn't any easier for him than it was for my worthless ass—to say the least. And he didn't have the luxury or going catatonic. Raising my eyes to his, I asked diffidently, "Are you okay?" The question came out stiff and uncertain as if I'd spent days mute instead of only hours.

"I've had better days." He applied several of the bandages. "Many, many better." Sliding the flat of his hand around to the nape of my neck, he squeezed lightly. "How are you?"

How was I? Now, there was a question. "Me?" I flipped my hands back over to see callused but undamaged palms. Our psychic was gone; there was no one left to read the lines and creases. "I'm fine. Just fine. Couldn't be fucking finer."

"Well, goody for you, because I am anything but," Goodfellow said, appearing in the doorway with his mobile face pale and set. Robin had the distinct displeasure of having been around nearly as long as the Auphe. He knew them as well as my brother and I did and hated them almost as much. "Niko, you may want to look at Flay. He's out here bleeding like the proverbial stuck pig, and he's doing it all over your carpet. I personally don't care if he lives or dies, but you may have some things to discuss with him."

"Flay?" Nik's face darkened. His hand gripped my neck tighter, then dropped away. "This promises to be interesting." As Robin turned and walked away, my brother watched me carefully as I stood. I wasn't sure if it was physical or mental balance that he was worried about. "We'll survive this, Cal," he offered with absolute certainty. "I swear it. We defeated the Auphe once. We'll do it again."

And George? How are we going to get George back now? I wanted to ask, but didn't. I didn't know that was ready to hear the answer.

I didn't remember Niko phoning Goodfellow or Promise, but he must have, as both were in the living room. Flay was as well, looking like extra-large road-kill. "How did he get here?" I asked impassively, leaning against the wall with folded arms and watching as Promise and Niko knelt beside him. Yeah, Snowball may have saved my life—emphasis on may—but I didn't delude myself into thinking that was his goal. He'd wanted Cerberus dead. Helping me had been an accidental by-product at best.

"From the looks of the hallway, dragging himself on his stomach while vomiting blood the entire way," Robin answered grimly. He'd retrieved our mop and bucket from the kitchen. "By the way, I do not do windows." He exited to dispose of the evidence, slamming the door behind him to underline his displeasure at the bout of manual labor.

Promise pressed another folded sheet to Flay's chest and turned to Niko. "I didn't know if you wanted him alive. If not, I apologize for your ruined linen." Her normally temperate voice was briskly businesslike. She wasn't wasting any Florence Nightingale sympathies on the half-dead wolf. Her hair hung in a tail down her back, tightly disciplined and smooth, but her clothes were a set of delicate lounging pajamas. Spiderweb fine, the white material wasn't snug, but it definitely molded her petite form. The long cloak she'd worn over it had been discarded on the couch in a jumbled hurry. She clearly hadn't wasted a moment rushing over upon receiving Niko's call. Her eyes when they lifted to mine were as soft as the silk she was wrapped in and full of an empathy I wasn't prepared to deal with. I dropped my eyes toward Flay instantly.

"I'm not precisely sure myself," Niko returned acidly as he used a thumb to pry open one of Flay's closed lids. Flay was still in his quasi-wolf form, his best chance of healing himself, and his fur-covered face was fixed in a rictus of pain. He was hanging on, but only just. At Niko's prodding the glassy red eyes opened. Surrounded by a line of nude baby-pink skin, they looked oddly vulnerable. "What are you doing here, Omega?"

Omega, the lowest-ranking wolf. Flay had been Beta, second-in-command, under Cerberus, but in our pack he was pulling up last all the way. When you were as intelligent as Niko, you could tailor an insult to even the most obscure of monsters. "No… where." Pink froth stained the white fur around his mouth. "Else… go."

True enough. He'd helped take Cerberus down, normally a good career move for a wolf. Upward mobility and killing your boss were one and the same in the Kin. But Flay hadn't fought one-on-one. He'd joined in with a human and a half Auphe to destroy his Alpha. When the first wolf caught a whiff of Niko's and my presence on the roof, Flay would hit number one on the Kin's most wanted list. As for Caleb, Snowball hadn't lived up to the expectations of that master either. I didn't know what Caleb's reaction would be, but judging from Flay's appearance in our apartment, I guessed it wouldn't be pleasant. Poor Snowball, he was a fur ball without a country.

My heart wept for him. Truly.

"Kill him," I said coldly. "He didn't know shit before. I doubt he knows anything now."

Niko gave a fractional lift of his eyebrows at the remark, but his only comment was, "Perhaps Robin could use some help in the hall."

He thought I might not be thinking precisely straight. He was right, and guess what? I was actually smart enough to know it. I left the three of them and walked out into the hall, closing the door with exquisite care. I thought that if I'd slammed it as Goodfellow had, I might not have stopped until it was nothing more than splinters.

"Good. A sour and sulky helper. Who says dreams don't come true?" The puck tossed me the mop and leaned gratefully against the wall, shifting the weight off his healing leg. The cheap tile floor was as much of a mess as he'd said. Exhaling harshly, I dunked the mop and got to it. The work went quickly. Luckily, it was late enough that none of our neighbors were up and about to make things dicey. As a matter of fact… I checked my watch and blinked. Four a.m. Shit. I'd been mentally AWOL a little longer than I'd thought.

"I was thinking Angistri."

I didn't bother to stop the rhythmic slap and swirl of the mop. "What?" I said, incurious.

"Angistri. It's a Greek island. Fairly secluded, utterly beautiful." He massaged the top of his leg and smirked. "Nude beaches." The leer faded as quickly as it had come. "It will be a long time before any Auphe finds us there. We'll find George and off we'll go."

The mop continued to move of its own accord. Back and forth. I followed along with it, silent. I'd finished half the hall before I finally spoke. "I'm sorry."

Having given up on the hopes of getting any sparkling conversation out of me, Goodfellow tilted his head. "Pardon?"

I watched as red-tinted water dripped into the bucket for several seconds before I submerged the mop again. "I'm sorry. Nik and I got you into this mess with the Auphe." The Auphe had made it clear that he'd take what was important to me before he actually took me. The means to save George would be only the first. What would be next? My brother, my friends… I swallowed and clenched the wood handle with a tight fist. Even if Robin hadn't been my friend, he'd still be on the Auphe's shit list. He'd been just as instrumental in bringing them down, if not more, than I had been.

"Caliban." Robin's mouth lengthened, then turned up slightly at the corners. "No one held a gun to my head." His eyes gleamed in reminiscence. "A knife to the throat, yes, but not a gun." He straightened and limped over to take the mop from my hands. "I made my choice, and believe it or not, I have no regrets." He swabbed. "Well, other than my constant exposure to what you imagine to be humor."

"What?" I rubbed a hand over suddenly weary eyes. "No swipe at my fashion sense?"

He took in my jeans and bloodstained T-shirt and gave an exaggerated sigh. "I know defeat when it rears its ugly poly-blend head."

As he started to clean, I pulled the tie from my hair to let the ponytail fall free. I ducked my head and strands of hair swung over my face, a curtain between me and the world. "Robin… thanks."

"For what?" he asked promptly. "For allowing you the privilege of basking in my charm? Gifting you with my wit and wisdom? Of course, it could be that I've saved your melancholy ass on more than one occasion."

I gave an involuntary snort, then looked up to say quietly, "I meant, thanks for sticking around."

"I'm good at many, many things. Excellent really." He finished mopping up the last bit of the blood trail and curled his lips in self-deprecation. "But sticking around hasn't always been one of those things. So… gold star for me." He opened the exit door to peer down the stairs and cursed. "All the way down. All the thrice-damned way down." Threading fingers through his hair, he flashed me a humorless grin. "Fetch the bucket, Cinderella. We have a long night ahead of us."

It was two hours, tops, but it felt longer. Sore and bone tired, I carried the mop and bucket back into the apartment, stepped over the bloodstain on the carpet, and fell onto the couch. No Flay on the floor meant he either was recuperating in the tub, or on one of our beds, or had been tossed out a window. The way my luck had been running it was probably one of the first two options. Damn it. Too tired to reach out and turn off the lamp, I crooked my arm over my eyes and waited for the darkness to come, Promise came first.

"He's scared."

I opened my eyes as her weight settled on a cushion's edge. Her hair lay across her breast in a sleek tail; her face was pale and grave. "Flay?" I grunted. "He should be. Where is the shithead? He better not be bleeding all over my bed."

"Flay is in Niko's bed." Her hand was small, but her grip was strong as she curled her fingers around mine. "But it wasn't Flay I was speaking of."

"I know," I murmured. No, not Flay, but I'd wanted to hang on to the pretense for a moment or so. Niko, who feared nothing on his own behalf, took on the weight of the world when it came to me. I sat up and gently extricated my hand from hers. I'd always thought Niko would've been better off without me.

Now I had to face up to the fact that everyone who knew me was in the same boat, including Promise. "It's the Auphe." An unnecessary statement if ever there was one. "They… shit." I rested my head in my hands. She had seen the worst of it last year; she knew about the Auphe. But there was something I wasn't sure that she did know. I wasn't sure it was something that anyone but Niko and I could know. Straightening, I said frankly, "Last year was bad, but it was just the icing on the cake. The Auphe have been with us our entire lives." My mouth twisted and I corrected, "My entire life. Nik's first four years were monster free." I wondered if he thought that had been long enough.

"And you thought it was over."

"We thought it was over," I confirmed heavily. "If we hadn't, I'm not sure…" I shook my head. Stupid, pointless thoughts. "You and Nik can have my bed." If she stayed, and for Niko's sake I hoped that she did. "I'm too tired to get off the couch anyway."

"Caliban." There was a touch on my hair. Sympathy, understanding, solace… and I wanted none of it.

Pulling away with care, I lay back down. "Good night, Promise. Take care of him."

She sighed and stood, bending to brush a kiss over my hair. "You already do that, the same as he does for you."

The Auphe, George, none of it could stand against the exhaustion. I didn't need a pillow or blanket. Sprawling on the couch in the dim light of the lamp, I slept hard with no dreams. When a nightmare comes true in your waking hours, it doesn't need to follow you into sleep. At least not this time. As tired as I was, I didn't sleep long. The sun, bright and hot, was streaming full force through the blinds when I levered sticky eyelids open, and I put the time around ten.

Four hours' sleep. All things considered, it was more than I'd hoped for. As I pushed off the tenacious remains of sleep, I saw something else as constant as the sun. A dark blond head rested against the arm of the couch, breaths even and deep.

I groaned. "Jesus, Nik. You turn down a bed and a beautiful woman to sleep on the floor. I wonder about your priorities, Cyrano. I do."

"Who's to say I didn't split my time equally?" He'd awakened immediately, probably before I managed to get the first syllable out of my mouth. Instantly alert, he sat up from the boneless slouching position he'd slept in and sheathed the knife that had been cradled in his hand. My own was still tucked under the cushion.

"Trust me. Time spent with Promise and time spent babysitting me don't work out quite the same." I rolled over onto my back and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. "You worry about me too much, Nik." My hand made an automatic grab for a braid that was no longer there. I missed Niko's hair, if only for the annoyance it gave him when I tugged on it. Letting my empty hand dangle toward the floor, I went on, "You should worry more about yourself. So should Promise and Goodfellow."

"Don't," he said firmly.

I turned my head back toward him. "Nik, you heard what—"

"I said don't," he overrode me. "It doesn't matter what it said, Cal. Not to me, and not to Promise or Robin. A few may have survived the warehouse explosion, but they won't survive for long. They…" He stopped, lips pressed tight. Closing his eyes, he massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I'm an idiot. They're back, aren't they? They're truly back. Bastards."

I extended an arm and hooked it around his neck for a rough squeeze. "Goodfellow says there's a Greek nudie island he could take us to."

His eyes opened, and lie snorted through his long nose. "And how is that better than the Auphe? Or less dangerous, for that matter?"

I stretched my lips into the closest thing to a grin I could manage. "Good point." I released him and sat up. "Do you think… ?" I hesitated, but then pushed on. "Do you think the Auphe took George?"

"No," he said with the certainty that let me know he'd already carefully weighed the possibility before dismissing it. "The Auphe are straightforward in their maliciousness. If they had wanted George, they would've taken her. Simply, and without the distraction of Caleb and the crown."

I felt something inside me unclench a little. George in Caleb's hands was gut-wrenching; George in the hands of the Auphe… it was a connection in my brain that I couldn't even make. "Okay." I blew out a heavy breath and repeated, "Okay." I retrieved my blade from under the cushion and watched the sunlight ripple on its surface. "Now tell me, why the hell is that mangy Flay in your bed and not headfirst down the incinerator where he belongs?"

"He wouldn't fit?" he offered with a raised eyebrow. At my unappreciative growl, Nik stood, stretched, and relented. "He doesn't know anything useful that he's aware of. But now that he is persona non grata with the Kin and Caleb, he may be able to advise us on what Caleb's next step would be. It would only be a guess, but a guess is more than we have now."

It was smart thinking and good strategy, but in the end, it came to nothing. In seven hours Flay didn't wake once. Oh, sure, he'd shared his bodily fluids, all of them, with us… all over Nik's bed. But consciousness? Words? No. Promise said she'd seen it before, a self-induced coma that concentrated all a wolfs resources on healing. Nothing could wake the son of a bitch and don't think I didn't try. I did. And with an enthusiasm I didn't like to think about. Finally, Niko dragged me out to the kitchen and pushed me into a chair. "Drink," he commanded, depositing a glass in front of me.

Looking at the container of brown liquid dubiously, I said, "Yeah, thanks anyway. What ails me I don't think your wheatgrass can cure."

"And torturing an unconscious wolf will?" he retorted.

I felt the burn behind my skin spread to tingle in my mouth. Shame. What had seemed completely justified only minutes ago now seemed far less so under my brother's gaze. So I did the very least I could do. Taking the glass, I drank. Expecting the usual healthy concoction, I nearly choked on the scorch of whiskey. Considering our mother, it was the last thing I'd expected Niko to slip me, but oddly enough it was just what I needed. One swallow was enough. Hot as my rage, the alcohol burned a path down to my stomach and woke me up. That was the best way to put it. It woke me up, jarring the cycle of fear and hate and letting me step free of it for a moment.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear, Cal." He put his hands on the table and bent down to fix me with an unwavering look. "I don't give a damn what you do to Flay. I do, however, give a damn what you do to yourself. All right?" He didn't give me time to respond. "Now…" After removing the still half-full glass to the sink, he sat down opposite me. "Goodfellow called. He's had an idea."

Justifiably suspicious of any patented Goodfellow scheme, I asked, "What kind of idea?"

"Abbagor."

That had been the original Goodfellow extravaganza that had birthed my suspicious nature to begin with. To hear it repeated was the nastiest sort of déjà vu. "You've got to be shitting me." I jerked back in the chair so abruptly I nearly tipped it over. "Jesus. Tell me you're shitting me."

"Would that I could," he said impassively.

"He tried to kill us last time, Nik. You do remember that, right?" I said caustically. I sure as hell did and as memories went, it wasn't among Christmas Day and the smell of puppy breath for warm and fuzzy. Abbagor was… Shit, Abbagor was Abbagor. A mass of living flesh, buried victims, and an appetite for violence and blood that was legendary. He was also a troll, but not like any fairy-tale troll I'd seen in any book. He was not like anything I'd seen ever… anywhere. And what he had nearly done to Niko… Christ. "He tried to kill us, and he tried pretty damn hard."

"As Goodfellow reminded me, with considerable condescension, he'll most likely try to kill us this time as well. But apparently Abbagor knows everything about anything," he said with distaste. "He is our best chance at tracking down the other crown."

"The other crown?" I frowned. "You think it still exists?"

"It's possible. The first survived. Why not the second? I think it at least bears looking into. And the best place to look into it happens to be with Abbagor. He, as he's proven before, knows something about everything."

I closed my eyes. Unfortunately it was true. The troll was an information miser. If there was something worth knowing, he knew it. Hell, even if it wasn't worth knowing, he knew it. "Great. Just… great. I don't suppose you'd do me a favor and hang around topside when we go visit the son of a bitch?"

"Considering the three of us barely walked away last time, I would have to say no," he said dryly.

What went unsaid was that the previous year we'd been at top form. No wounded arm for me, no Goodfellow limping around like a lame horse. "Wonder where I can get a bazooka on short notice," I said, grimacing.

"Sufficient unto the day the ass kicking therein." Nik's hand landed on my shoulder, then urged me up. "We'll worry about it later. Facing Abbagor without sleep isn't wise."

Facing Abbagor at all wasn't wise. As a matter of fact, it wasn't anything less than suicidal. And it didn't matter a damn. We were backed in a corner; we were drowning. If Abbagor was the only straw within reach, then…

We'd just have to grasp it.