Chapter 22 Return and Retribution
RETURN AND RETRIBUTION
Ifollow Malam down many flights of stairs. After I make it down several, I pause, my legs shaking and the wound pounding with my heartbeat. Malam continues without me, but he must realize I’m not following because after a moment, he turns and comes back.
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asks, his voice soft. His face is still frozen in a mask. Strong feelings flit across it, and he’s focusing on something over my head, against the wall.
“I don’t need to be carried, I just need to rest for a minute,” I say, and the annoyance is clear in my voice.
He nods, still staring at the wall.
A few moments later, my legs have stopped threatening to give out, and the pain in my side has receded. I move forward again, and Malam turns, walking in the lead. This time, though, he walks more slowly and stays closer to me.
After several more sets of stairs, we arrive at the ground level.
After taking a few more moments for me to rest, we leave through the front door of the building, and Malam hails a carriage.
As it comes to a complete stop, the horses snort, trying to crane their necks to look at me around the blinders.
I huff at them as I move to the carriage, agreeing with them somehow about the irritation of emotional males.
The ride is quiet. Malam continues to stare at something above my head, his face still a mask. In the silence, I lean my head back against the carriage and take the opportunity to rest.
Eventually, the carriage slows, and I hear him shift and feel him staring at me.
I open my eyes and see him glance away momentarily.
His shoulders are tense, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
“I would be thankful if you don’t tell anyone about the apartment or Lily,” he says, and I hear vulnerability in his voice.
I meet his eyes and nod. “I won’t tell anyone,” I say, my voice still slightly raspy with disuse from the past couple of days.
He nods once and then departs the carriage, and I follow him.
When I look up and see the steps to the familiar front door, though, my feet freeze for a moment. As I look at the door to my home, I’m not quite able to move towards it. It feels like a lifetime ago I was last here, and while I knew this was our destination, seeing it feels different.
Malam stops and turns to face me. Then, to my surprise, he steps closer to me and wraps his arms around me, holding me gently for a breath. After a few moments, he steps back and offers me his hand, “Come with me,” he says.
I take his hand, and he draws me gently but firmly up the steps and through the front door and into the entry hall, where Fem and Lent close in around me. Arms embrace me and voices welcome me home.
“Gentle,” Malam growls quietly.
Suddenly, I feel the energy in the room shift. I detangle myself from the embrace of the boys and glance up just in time to see Malam point at Dio.
“You!” Malam snarls and, grabbing Dio by the upper arm, shoves him through the door into the office.
Stalking after him, he slams the door behind them, and we can hear raised voices.
“Fuck,” Fem says, gnawing on his lip. “I'd better go keep an eye on that and make sure the mansion doesn’t turn into a crime scene.”
I feel a spark of something in my chest, not worry for Dio, of course, maybe concern for Fem? Malam can handle himself, and there is something gratifying about imagining Dio facing an angry demon.
As I consider, Lent says, “Come on,” quietly to me, taking my arm and directing me gently from the room. “Let’s give them some space to work that out.” His voice is calm, but I see the worry on his face as he looks back over his shoulder at the closed door.
He leads me to the room with the floral wall and settles me on a couch. Reem joins us, walking through the door behind Lent. As I sit, Lent takes the linen bag from my shoulder.
“I’ll put this in your room,” he says quietly.
“There’s some food in there,” I say, and have to smile as his face lights up.
“Her food is in there,” Reem admonishes.
Lent’s face falls.
“I’ll share,” I say to him, “I just ate a massive breakfast.”
Lent brightens up again and pulls the food out carefully, setting the neatly wrapped packages on the table in front of the couch.
Reem ignores him. Moving to stand in front of me, asks, “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Some water would be nice,” I say quietly. “Oh, and my books, they’re under the bed.”
“I’ll get the books for you, and Lent will get you some water,” Reem says. Irritation creeps into his voice as he glares at Lent, who has already begun rifling through the packages of food.
Undeterred, Lent pushes himself up and heads out the door just in front of Reem.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the couch, more than a little glad to be home.
Reem and Lent soon return, and we fall into a companionable quiet with Lent occasionally offering me bits of the food Lily packed. When he asks where I got it, I tell him that Malam gave it to me for the carriage ride in case I was hungry.
I’m happily focused on my book, munching on some small pieces of strongly spiced, crisp bread, when the door behind me opens.
The boys look up, and I turn around to see Fem walking into the room.
His shoulders are drawn up and tight, and his face is blank.
He looks at me momentarily, and I see strong emotions quarreling on his face.
Then he pushes his hands into his pockets and turns sideways, looking away from me.
He’s clearly uncomfortable about something, and I look back at my book, giving him space.
Unbidden, Lent and Reem rise and move to stand near him. They begin talking, and I hear the words, “still alive,” before deciding that whatever they’re talking about doesn’t concern me.
Instead, I focus back on my book. The energy in the room slowly shifts as I hear an indistinct conversation behind me. A while later, the door opens and then shuts, and everything is quiet except the sound of footsteps. Then one of the boys moves around the couch to sit, facing me, on the table.
I glance up, away from my book, and see Fem looking at me. He still looks uncomfortable, and he swallows as he searches my face. “Hey,” he says simply, but his voice is tight.
“Hi,” I say as I try to determine why he’s so uncomfortable.
I sense him fiddling with something and see that he has his medical kit on his lap.
“Can I look at the wound on your stomach?” he says, his voice soft.
“That’s fine, I guess,” I say quietly.
He gently moves the blanket on my lap and then unbuttons the lower part of my shirt and pulls it aside.
I watch his face as he focuses on his task, and I can tell when he sees the wound.
His whole body freezes, and he stops breathing for a moment.
He licks his lips, and then he masks his expression as he says, “Hold this.”
I take the bottom of my shirt and hold it open so that he can get to the wound. I wince as he pokes at it gently.
“How long ago did the stitches come out?” he asks matter-of-factly.
“I’m not quite sure. I was sick for a while and lost track of the days,” I say.
I note that he hesitates again, but his expression is still masked, and after a moment, he begins to breathe again. “It seems to be healing well,” he says softly.
He digs in his medical kit and pulls out a small container. I expect he’s going to apply something to the wound, but instead, he hands it to me.
“This can help with the pain if it still hurts. Otherwise, it should be good as long as you take it easy for another fortnight,” he says as he looks searchingly at my face.
He then closes up his kit and stands. “You can close your shirt.”
As I’m fastening the buttons, looking for where I put my book, I notice he’s frozen in place.
He says softly, “Do you still want to hurt yourself?”
I pause for a moment, searching my thoughts.
“No, not at the moment,” I say.
He turns and leaves the room as I return to my reading.