Nightlife

Chapter Nine

It was just a normal night at home. A Bud, an evening snack, lounging around in sweats and relaxing—it didn't get any better than that. The first aid, okay, that was a slight hiccup, but it wasn't the first time that had happened. Not for either of us. And one way or the other, it probably wouldn't be the last. Unfortunately, that was a positive thing. Considering our lifestyles, if there were no more injuries, it could mean only one thing: We were dead. I guess life was all about taking the bad with the good. This time Niko had taken the fall; next time it might be me. Hell, it probably would be me. To give myself credit where credit was due, I could kick ass with the best of them. But Niko, his reflexes were sharper, more honed, and his cool… well, at least he had a cool to keep. I thought cool was something to keep your beer frosty.

I took a swallow of said ice-cold beer as Niko, with one towel wrapped around his hips and another in his hands, finished gingerly drying off from his shower. The red areas on his shoulder, neck, and back were raw and looked painful as hell. The small welts on my arm stung viciously and they were nothing compared with what marred Niko's skin. "Did you get all the blood off?" I asked as I went to the sink and scrubbed my hands with an antiseptic soap.

He nodded, folded the towel, and placed it on one of the kitchen chairs. "Yes, I'm clean."

"You sure?" I persisted. "That stuff's like acid." The top of the tube of burn cream untwisted easily. I then flipped open a packet of sterile gloves, squirted the ointment onto the inner surface of the packaging paper, and pulled on the gloves, coating the fingers in the ointment in the process. Nice time-saver.

"Trust me, Cal. I was thorough, uncomfortable though it was." He settled in a chair, leaning forward as his arms rested on his legs. "Uncomfortable" happened to be Niko's euphemism for "excruciating," not that you would've known that from the way he sat tranquilly, his face impassive, and as unmoving as a statue.

Scooping some of the cream up in my gloved hand, I applied it to the chemical burn on his back. I used the lightest possible touch, but I could still feel him tense beneath my hand. Even so, his voice remained placid. "Did you dispose of my clothes?"

"Bagged them and tossed them into the incinerator," I confirmed. When Niko had been inside of Abbagor he must have been near a ruptured tendril or whatever passed as a blood vessel in the troll. The purple ichor had soaked through his coat and shirt, searing the skin beneath. And as agonizing as that must have been, I had to think it was probably not the worst part of being swallowed by Abbagor. But that was something that had to wait for the moment. We had to fix the outside before starting on the inside.

As I finished applying the cream to his back and then his shoulder and neck, I laid a light gauze bandage over the worst of the burns. "All done, Patches." I grinned faintly at the white dressings, stark against the olive tint of his skin. I might have the coloring of my father, but Niko was all Sophia. If it weren't for our eyes being the same, anyone would be hard-pressed to physically link us as brothers.

"Florence Nightingale had nothing on you, Cal, I'm sure." Niko straightened and that olive tone turned to white laced with green. He could school his face to the end of time, but even Niko wasn't master of his own complexion.

Stripping off the gloves and tossing them onto the table, I reached for a pill bottle I'd already retrieved from the cabinet. Shaking two into my hand, I held them out to him. "Take these. I'll get you some water."

He automatically balked. It wasn't anything that I hadn't expected. He was damn predictable in that respect. No alcohol, no drugs, nothing that would blunt the edge or dull the senses. Not even painkillers, no matter how much pain he might be in. "No problem," I said smoothly. "If the Grendels come tonight, you can just barf on them. Very ninja of you." I slapped the pills on the table in front of him. "Asshole. Suffer all you want."

Niko pursed his lips. "I'm not sure Nurse Nightingale had your bedside manner. But the point is taken." He picked up one pill and raised an eyebrow at me. "Compromise?"

Considering this was the hard stuff, definitely not over-the-counter, I knew enough to quit while I was ahead. "Compromise." I opened the refrigerator and handed him a bottle of water. Niko wouldn't touch tap water. I'd gotten rather used to the metallic taste myself. The delicate bouquet of chlorine and lead, what's not to like? "You had a tetanus shot about three years ago, right?"

He chased the pill with a swallow from the bottle. Aiming an assessing glance at me, he stated, "You're hovering, little brother." The gaze softened. "I am all right, Cal. I promise you."

I was hovering… some. There was no reason to. Niko was fine, in some pain, sure, but he wasn't going to be pushing up daisies anytime soon. Not from this, anyway. No, there was no reason to worry, no reason to consider this a grim reminder that without Niko I was alone in the world. There was no reason to dwell on the fact that without Niko there wasn't a single person alive that I could depend on. For that matter there wasn't a single one who even knew who I was, exactly what I was. Boggle knew and now Abbagor, but no one who had an untarnished soul. Except… except now there was Robin. But I'd managed to finish any trust there before it could even start.

"Of course you're okay," I said brusquely. "You're too damn pompous to die." Sweeping up the mess from the tabletop, I dumped it in the garbage. Grabbing my beer, I headed for the living room. "I'm going to watch the tube. Let me know if you need help dressing."

"If Goodfellow were here, I'm sure he would offer his help as well," Niko offered dryly as he eased himself to a standing position.

"I don't think that'll be a problem anytime in the near future." Turning on the TV with the remote, I surfed through several channels without actually registering them. Robin was as conceited as a male model, horny as a dog the day before it's neutered, and generally a pain in the ass, but he had tried to help us. And considering we had all but blackmailed him into it, it had to have been against his better judgment. Despite all of that, he'd stood his ground when Abbagor went on his homicidal rampage. At least he'd stood it until I gave him a nice big shove. Then he was just damn lucky not to end up buried in that same ground he'd made his stand on.

"I gathered that." Niko broke my train of thought and settled onto the couch beside me. He was careful to keep his back from resting against the threadbare cushion. The grooves bracketing his mouth said the pain medication hadn't even begun to kick in yet. "What happened while I was… unavailable? Did you tell him his shirt was so very last year?"

I snorted and gave a reluctant laugh. "That would've really gotten his goat, wouldn't it?" In my mind I could hear the faintest bubbling echo… Aupheling, little goat, come baaaaaaack. It sobered me instantly. "Yeah," I said absently. "Insulted his shirt. That's exactly what I did." I clicked the remote again.

"The man takes his wardrobe very seriously." Niko reached over and slid the remote from my hand and clicked the mute button. "But in spite of that, I think there may be more to the story."

"Too bad," I grunted, folding my arms and slouching bonelessly. "Because I'm not in the mood to tell any stories. Try channel fifteen. I think Charlie's Angels is on. All the martial arts your heart desires."

"Only in your perverse little mind would any of that pass for martial arts." A finger flicked the side of my head with a thump that connected hard enough to sting. "Then again, perhaps more perverted than perverse."

I gave him a glare and rubbed the spot with a knuckle. "My perversions are all that keep me going sometimes."

"That and a facile knack for changing the subject." Niko tapped the remote on his knee thoughtfully. "I could guess if you wanted. I'm rather good at that."

As if I didn't know. He was hell on wheels when it came to anything involving intellectual muscle flexing.

When we were kids he was busy dragging Colonel Mustard off to jail while I was still trying to figure out what the hell a conservatory was. What I'd found necessary to do to Robin wouldn't take many guesses on Niko's part. He was too goddamn smart and he knew me too well. "I needed a distraction." I shrugged. The gesture wasn't quite as careless as I wanted it to be. "I didn't have much to choose from. You survived. He survived. All's well that ends well, right?"

He grasped in an instant what had happened. For that matter, he may have known all along. Placing the remote on the table, Niko commented neutrally, "He's a good fighter. You saw that, and you had to know on some level that he could hold his own for the few moments you needed."

"Could probably hold his own" would've been a more accurate way to put it. And even though he'd chosen his words judiciously, Niko was as aware of that as I was. "It didn't matter whether he could or not, Nik," I said with bald honesty. "You know that."

He nodded slowly, eyes serious and calm. "I do. I also know I have a brother who would do anything to save my life. Anything at all. And that, Cal, is not such a bad thing to know." He stood, one hand using my shoulder for leverage. "You mind taking first watch? We're both going to need our rest for tomorrow. We still have a car to locate and I'm sure you haven't even begun to shovel your belongings in a pile for packing."

I stared fixedly as actors mouthed silent words on the television screen. My own weren't much louder. "I think we should stay."

The fingers on my shoulder tightened almost painfully. It wasn't often I surprised Niko; this time I'd managed in spades. "Stay," he repeated. "Cal, considering what we learned from Abbagor, not to mention the Grendel in the park, I don't think staying is an idea that promotes our continued health."

I slid an emotionless look up at him. "And what exactly did we learn from Abby anyway? That I'm the result of some bizarre experiment? That while I might be less than human, I am the new frontier in genetic experimentation? That's nothing new, and it's nothing we haven't suspected for a long time."

"Maybe not." His hand dropped from my shoulder to rub at his forehead. "But if nothing else, the troll put it in perspective. The Grendels, the Auphe, whatever we call them… they once ruled this place, once ruled the entire world, and they'll do anything to regain that. No matter how far we go or how long we hide, little brother, they're not going to give up. If you are somehow the key, they are not going to let you go. We have to keep running. We may never lose them, but we can stay ahead of them. And we will."

And the ones we didn't stay ahead of, they would end up like the Grendel in the park, nothing but a distant and bloody memory of Niko's sword. That had been our life up until now; that had preserved my life until this moment. I knew that as well as I knew anything, but I also knew something else… Enough was enough. "You're right, Nik. I'm the bright and shiny key to something, all right, and the Grendels are never going to give up on me. One day they'll catch us. What's the difference if it's here or halfway across the world?"

"The difference," Niko pointed out with grim patience, "could be a matter of thirty or forty years. The difference could be almost a lifetime."

"Some lifetime." I kicked the table hard enough that it slid several feet across the stained and scarred plank floor. "Wouldn't you like to have a real job instead of just a string of crap details? Wouldn't you like to have a home instead of some piece-of-shit apartment? Wouldn't you like to have a genuine relationship with someone like Promise instead of… shit… nothing but one-night stands?" I know I wanted it for him even if he tried to deny he might want it for himself. And I wanted other things. I wanted the hope of touching a springy red curl, of rubbing the pad of my thumb softly across amber skin. I wanted to count freckles and see if they really did number as stars in the sky. I wanted to sit across from Georgina and have her tell me why she lied, and I wanted the reason to be one I couldn't question. All fairy tales are impossible, but I wanted this one badly enough to stick around and risk the brutal slap of reality.

"Don't you want all that, Nik?" I repeated.

There was silence, not accusing, just thoughtful. When he finally spoke, the grimness was replaced by unshakable conviction. "I'd like those things, yes. But there is something I want more… my brother alive. And, Cal, if I have to knock you unconscious and drag you out of town to keep you that way, then that is exactly what I will do." And just like that, the conversation was over. I could keep talking, but it would be pointless. The set of his shoulders, the flattened line of his mouth—all indicated that Niko was not in the mood for negotiation. In spite of that, I might have pushed. I normally did. But not now, not when I could see the bedrock of his stubbornness was still iced over with pain.

"Go to bed, Nik." Leaning over, I pulled the table back into position. The remote had fallen to the floor, so I retrieved it. "Four hours, and then I kick your ass out of bed."

"Cal…"

"Nik," I mimicked softly before grinning faintly. "Your towel's slipping."

He took a grip on the wayward terry cloth and gave in. "Four hours. No more." Then he disappeared down the hallway, his step slower than usual.

Four hours he would get. Four hours and then, if I could pull it off, four more. I could stay awake for eight hours, no problem. Considering what I would see when I closed my eyes, insomnia was my friend anyway. I'd lived through Niko's being engulfed by Abbagor once already; I wasn't looking forward to any repeat showings.

Turning the television's sound back up to a soft murmur, I stood and went to double-check the lock on the door. There were no windows to check, not the sort that locked. We had only the one window, but it was a doozy, taking up most of the far wall of the living room. I had no idea what the building had been years and years ago, but our apartment definitely had an unfinished quality to it. The ceiling was high enough to have any real estate agent dancing in glee, but it was also full of exposed wiring and rusty pipes. The floor was directly out of some run-down warehouse off the river minus the fishy smell. The super had put in a bathroom and kitchenette; those were the only modern touches. It was a dump, no doubt, saved only by the window. At night a thousand city lights glittered through the glass. It was like having your own personal view of the Milky Way.

Flicking off the lights, I sat on the couch, ignoring the TV and watching the window instead. Promise wasn't the only one who missed the stars. But as with most things in life, sometimes you just had to make do.

I didn't doze off. Niko and life itself had trained me better than that. But I did let my eyes unfocus and my mind empty as my ears stayed alert for any suspicious sound. It was a state I'd gotten used to over the years. Restful but ready. So when I first heard it, I was off the couch and down the hall before my thoughts fully kicked in. My body automatically reacted, even though the sound wasn't suspicious, just out of place. Unfamiliar. Wrong. The rustle of sheets, the shifting on a creaking mattress, it was the sound of a restless sleeper. But I was the only one of those in the apartment—at least I had been until tonight.

In the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitated as Niko struggled for his life a second time that night. He wasn't like me. He didn't toss and turn, kicking the blankets to the floor. His throat wasn't tight as he choked back a shout. His reaction to the terror of a nightmare wasn't the same as mine, no, but that didn't make it any less disturbing or any less desperate. As I watched, he changed position again. It was just by a few inches, but it still set the mattress to a subdued singing. His lightly stubbled jaw tensed until the bone was silhouetted through skin like old ivory. A solitary hand released its fistful of sheet and slid under the pillow to grip something a bit more substantial and a whole lot more deadly than a handful of cloth.

I knew better than to try to shake Niko awake from the dream. He wouldn't gut me, half asleep or pot, but it might still give us a nasty moment. Whenever possible, I was all about avoiding the nasty moments. Instead, I stepped closer and murmured, "It's okay, Cyrano. There's no one here but us chickens. Go to sleep." Whether it was my voice, the familiar nickname, or even my scent, it worked. Niko's face smoothed out, the taut set of his shoulders relaxed, and he slid deeper into a more restful sleep. My brother… humans in general… didn't have the developed sense of smell I did, but even so, they had a better one than they gave themselves credit for. I remembered reading once (a Niko-assigned book, of course) that memory was more intricately linked with smell than any other sense. It might be that Niko could pick me up, at least on a subconscious level. I wondered what I would smell like to him. Hamburgers and chili dogs? T-shirts washed with dish detergent because I was too lazy to go to the Laundromat? If laziness itself had a smell, I was bound to reek of it.

Niko, on the other hand, smelled like home. It sounded trite as hell, but it was true. I wasn't saying he smelled like homemade cookies or baking bread. I hadn't had that kind of home—probably no one outside a Disney movie had. No, Niko didn't smell like an amateur bakery. He smelled like steel, sharp and deadly. He smelled like the oilcloth he used on his blades. And he smelled green. That must've been all the health food he ate. Unusual smells for the average person maybe, but they were all the things that had kept me safe, alive, and sane all these years. If that wasn't a definition of home, I didn't know what was.

"Night, Nik," I said under my breath, slipping back out of the room and pulling the door closed behind me. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall with my arms folded, and stared into darkness. I hadn't asked Niko what it was like to be trapped inside Abbagor. I wasn't sure he would tell me. Wouldn't it be a stupid question really? Kind of like asking someone how it felt to be in hell. Hey, just how hot is it down there, huh? Is it the heat or the humidity? And, hey, is that torture and disemboweling by demons really as bad as they say it is? Jesus. There's a sheer level of awfulness that's incapable of being put into words, a terror so intense it can't be expressed. But in the end, even if Niko couldn't tell me exactly what it was like, couldn't articulate the godawful horrific details, he could tell me one thing. He could tell me how he felt. Then and now.

I didn't know if it would help; I was no psychologist. But if it'd help me regain the crown of nightmare king, I'd give it a try. Niko needed his sleep. It took a huge amount of energy to mercilessly nag me day in and day out. Mind settled for the moment, I pushed away from the wall. It was time for another sweep. The locks on the door were excellent, but nothing was foolproof—in locks or life.