Chapter 23 #2
“No.” He shook his head, a quick flicker very much like Frank tossing away a bad tactic during discussion. “You can’t think like that, Cass.”
Which was something Trille might have said.
But he was dead, shot in the stomach during the ambush of a stupid, shitty little campsite, and the cops had probably pawed through all their belongings.
Apoc’s collection of Westerns, Bern’s Hawaiian shirts—they’d probably sold Trille’s medical stock already, high-grade medical shit went for a good amount on the street.
Civil asset forfeiture was just another word for lining their own pockets; it was the way the world rolled.
I’ll think what I want, thanks. Everything else was out of her control; only the few cubic inches inside her skull remained. And even that was liable to be swamped by the terrible, silent chaos of other people’s messy emotions.
Cass tacked unevenly over dusty wood flooring, made it to the bathroom under her own steam, and thank God there was a small scrap of frosted window letting in a glimmer of grey morning. She didn’t have to pee in total, airless darkness. It was probably the only break she’d get.
He watched as she staggered to that haven; she felt him staring at the closed door. But it didn’t matter.
Nothing did.
* * *
The red plaid futon sofa folded down to a twin bed, thin as paper but that meant it didn’t puff up too much dust when creaking into position.
Linens were found in the antique pine wardrobe, the largest piece of furniture in the place and stuffed not only with blankets and a few towels but other oddities, including pots and pans unable to fit in the few, tiny kitchen cabinets.
Wonderfully, the weak electricity worked, a bare bulb in the kitchen ceiling lighting up neat as you please.
Plus, there was firewood—but Cass stretched out on the futon, her arm over her eyes, and did her best to ignore the faint sounds of her travel companion moving around.
He probably couldn’t stop. After a casualty the only thing keeping most bogey-hunters going was focusing on the next task, and the next.
Staving off the inevitable crash with with chores, with planning, pushing away any thought of grief or breakdown until the ache decided it wasn’t going to be tended so it might as well quit shouting.
She should’ve been upright and helping. But nothing seemed particularly important, even when her body was gripped by waves of shivers—withdrawal or adrenaline hangover, there was no way of telling. It could even be the constant terror she’d been marinating in since childhood.
“Here.” The futon squeaked as Nigel settled gingerly on its margin, offering a sunshine-yellow mug. Steam lifted gently; it smelled very nearly like coffee. “Freeze-dried, I’m afraid. There’s some canned soup and crackers, probably stale. I wish it were better.”
“Oh.” Cass pushed gingerly upright to something approximating a sitting position, trying to summon a smile or whatever passed for one. The mask of her face might crack in half if she strained any harder. “Smells good. Whoever owns this place deserves a medal.”
“When we reach safety, the Sons can reimburse them. With an additional reward, if you so choose.” He held the mug carefully, its handle toward her. “No mercy like a Dreamer’s, we say.”
“Huh.” This was a new wrinkle; funding was a perpetual problem for bogey-hunters. The coffee was far too hot, but she cradled the mug gratefully. “What kind of resources do you have? The Sons, I mean.”
“Money is easy.” One lean muscled shoulder lifted fractionally, dropped.
Nigel’s jacket, now well broken-in, didn’t bother to squeak.
Every movement was so precise and controlled—she couldn’t imagine him uncertain, or afraid.
“What’s difficult is finding potentials before he does.
But you’re a full lirai, it’s amazing. You have no idea what kind of marvel you are, Cass. ”
A wave of dark, hysterical laughter bubbled in her midsection. “Yeah. Sure.” A bad one. She could turn any situation into horrific death-by-bogey. Hey presto, abracadabra, there was a monster ready to leap on anyone who got too close. She didn’t even need a wand, a pointed hat, or wizard robes.
“It’s true.” Nigel studied her, the swordhilt poking up over his shoulder again like an inquisitive pet.
The herringbone-wrapped leather was dark with a substance she probably didn’t want to know about.
“Every night you spent in a city or campground, the normals around you slept without fear. Every time you helped your friends kill the unclean, you saved lives.”
“Not enough,” she mumbled into the yellow mug. It was never enough. And the price for any victory was so, so high.
“I can’t imagine how you survived, or what it took to keep going.
” Nigel leaned toward her—just an inch, but it felt like a laser focused on her, his icy eyes slightly narrowed.
“Once we reach safety, other Dreamers can teach you about your gifts. You’ll help turn the tide—with enough Sons, you could cleanse an entire city.
You’re hope, Cass. The most hope I’ve seen in a very long while. ”
He looked just a little bit older than Bern, but something in the way he said a very long while was…
odd. It was nice of him to try making her feel better, she supposed.
“Thank you for the coffee.” Cass returned to staring into the mug.
“I used to know a hunter who chewed freeze-dried crystals, like tobacco. Can you believe that?”
“I can.” Nigel didn’t move. “Will you try to believe me?”
The shakes had largely gone away. Maybe it was the simple warmth of a beverage, in a small house relatively cool with trapped nighttime despite the desert summer-simmering outside. “I’ll try.” It did no harm to agree, if it made him feel better. “I’m sorry about Ed.”
“He’ll find us.” Nigel said it firmly, his chin set and eyes very nearly flashing.
Cass didn’t even have enough spit to swallow. She lifted the mug, let the steam tickle her nose. “Do you really think so?”
In other words, did he really think his fellow bogey-hunter was still alive?
“He will.” Nigel sounded utterly certain, but then again, so would any soldier wanting to keep up morale. Believing for as long as you could was yet another hoary old bogey-hunter tradition. “I’d best watch the soup. Just rest. When you’re better, we’ll move.”