Chapter 68 #2
“‘Destroy’ is too small of a word for what would happen to me if she’s gone.”
My blood simmered at the pain lacing his voice. It curled with pleasure at the torment. Jagger would want to know if Luvic became a shell of himself. He’d delight in his heart’s destruction.
“I’ll help you.”
The muted sound of a cricket singing worked its way through the darkness. It sounded as if it were coming from far away—a distant, keening night wail.
Luvic shuddered in relief. “Thank you.”
I propped him up. He conjured a shirt, and slowly, we walked out of the bedroom.
He leaned against me, stumbling drunkenly, his arm thrown over my shoulder.
Once we hit the sidewalk, he adjusted his gait, shuffling and smiling tipsily at the few nighttime pedestrians we passed.
We were just two friends out for a good time, stumbling on our merry way.
We were quiet in the cab. Luvic tilted his head back against the leather seat, humming drunkenly along with his brother’s song playing over the stereo. He kept his eyes closed, feigning relaxation.
When we pulled to a stop beneath the darkened overpass, I helped Luvic from the car, catching him when he stumbled on the curb.
He looked up at Cora’s apartment building, his skin pulled tightly over his face, his eyes stark with worry.
A police car glided slowly past. I wrapped my arms around Luvic’s abdomen and laughed, tilting my chin toward him, smiling happily.
Luvic wasn’t in any condition to confront police or criminals tonight.
He needed to stay innocuous. Besides, I was still in my bridesmaid dress, and if you looked closely enough, you’d realize all the red splotches weren’t dye.
There was enough blood to make any officer suspicious.
Luvic understood. He grinned down at me and nuzzled my neck, feigning infatuation.
Then, as the police car turned onto a side street, we stumbled through the apartment building’s front door.
I’d been to Cora’s apartment only two previous times.
The first time was when she’d moved in and Finn, Luvic, and I had helped her unpack boxes and paint the walls.
Luvic had offered to conjure the paint colors onto the walls, but she’d patted his cheek and told him there wasn’t any fun in that.
Then she’d handed him a paintbrush. The second time was when she’d cooked Luvic a meal for his twentieth birthday and invited us all over.
We’d stayed up all night, drinking wine and playing poker.
Cora won every time. It was impossible to win any game against a woman who was the personification of luck.
Luvic thought it was hilarious, although he refused to give up, trying every hand to distract her, confound her, or trick her into losing.
Nothing worked until he conjured himself a royal flush.
After that, Finn and I left, grinning at Cora’s laugh as Luvic kicked the door shut after us.
Those were the only times I’d been. We were always careful when we met.
It was too much of a risk to go to Cora’s more than that.
It was the Night Den, the city streets, or nothing at all.
Ever since Luvic had become our friend, he’d made certain we understood we could only meet if we were disguised with illusion.
We could only meet if we were certain we hadn’t been followed.
We could only meet if it didn’t put any of us at risk.
He fumbled with the key, his hand shaking too much to put it in Cora’s lock. I took it from him gently. The lock clicked heavily. I slowly opened the door. Luvic gripped the molding, holding himself upright, and then carefully walked into the apartment.
I closed the door after him.
The lights were on, bathing the kitchen in a warm glow. Luvic stopped at the round table and touched a half-eaten piece of toast. There was a strange smell like overripe apple, fermenting coffee, and wet wood. The air was stagnant and overwarm.
The sink faucet dripped, a slow stream of water falling into a full coffee pot. The sound of running water filled the taut silence. The water ran over the edges of the pot and slipped down the drain. There was ground coffee and filters on the counter, a task abandoned.
Luvic had moved from the kitchen, stumbling from the living room to the single bedroom.
There was the sound of doors opening and closing, fabric being pushed aside, a jarring thump, a muttered curse.
Then he was back, staring at the two plates on the kitchen table.
One was empty except for a smear of red jam on the side.
The other held half a piece of toast and a strawberry with a bloom of mold at its tip.
“Is she here?” I asked, although there wasn’t really any need to ask it.
“No.”
I cleared my throat. “Do you think she stepped out for . . .?”
He pointed to the plates. “This was the breakfast we shared the last time I was here. She was making coffee when I left.”
His brown eyes were opaque, not sharing any of his thoughts or anything of what he was feeling.
“Two days,” he said, answering a question I hadn’t asked. He straightened, gripping the back of a chair. Then he swayed, and a quivering rage rushed over his form. “If she’s dead—”
I frowned, taking in the silent apartment. There were no chairs overturned, no dishes broken, no sign of struggle. “I don’t think she is.”
Luvic looked at me, his attention focusing on me with the hungry intent of a predator.
I shook my head. “If it were Last . . . if Last came here . . . she likes to play with people. She likes to hurt them. She’s cruel, but she doesn’t . . .” I frowned. “I don’t think she’d kill her. Not right away. She’s probably keeping her somewhere. Tormenting her . . .”
I trailed off at the expression on Luvic’s face.
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
He swayed and then let out a strange, grieving growl.
“I don’t know whether to hope you’re right or pray your wrong.
Have to find . . . where—” He swayed again but caught himself on the table.
He shook his head. “I’m . . . can’t . . .
don’t . . .” His voice slurred, and his pupils dilated and contracted, seizing as he blinked quickly.
“Gonna pass out. Don’t kill me while I’m unconscious. Okay?”
I grabbed him, leveraging him, and struggled toward the couch in the living room. He crumpled, and I shoved him backward so he landed at an angle on the cushions. The air rushed from his lungs as his head lolled to the side.
“Luvic?” I nudged him, and his limbs flopped, boneless.
His face was gray, unhealthily colorless. His eyelids fluttered, and his mouth turned down at the corners. He was sprawled half-on and half-off the couch. I tried to move him, but his legs were like lead.
I was tired too. It was only a few hours until dawn. I didn’t want to leave Luvic. Not like this.
I went to the door and bolted all the locks.
Then I turned off the kitchen faucet and clicked off the lights.
I curled on the floor, my back pressed against the couch.
For a while, I listened to the sound of Luvic’s breathing.
His hand hung over the cushion, his fingers twitching restlessly.
Finally, I gripped his hand in mine and fell asleep.