Chapter 12
He was worried. Not just about the immediate threat that was the hit-and-run killer, or the MFM protestors who might target Beyond the Veil, although he was definitely worried about those, too.
He was worried that he wasn’t what Rayn wanted.
Because Rayn was definitely what he wanted.
Sometimes it scared him how much.
I pulled my thoughts back from Raj’s, feeling mingled guilt, discomfort, and pleasure.
The first two were because I wasn’t sure I wanted him as much as he wanted me—at least emotionally.
I wasn’t very good at emotional connections to other people.
Not only was it not encouraged at Tranquil Brook, but it was actively discouraged.
Particularly in the last handful—I thought it was a handful, although it could have been either more or less—of years that I’d been there.
I’d barely known the names of the doctors, nurses, and orderlies, much less the other patients.
You just didn’t get attached, because there wasn’t a point.
I’d grown attached to Melissa and Sam, to Ward and Mason and Hart, and even Beck, although less so.
I liked Jackson and Fiona, although I spent much less time with them.
I was definitely attached to Violette, even though I’d known her—the adult version of her—less than a year.
But she was my sister. There was something more there. Something automatic and irresistible.
And I was definitely getting attached to Raj.
I wanted to spend time with him. To hear his thoughts—at least most of the time—and to share meals and movies and books with him.
I wanted him to meet Sam and Melissa and Vi, although we hadn’t really gotten there yet.
I wanted to see him smile, hear him laugh, and feel the heat of his body under my hands and against my skin.
It was why I’d picked up the tie he’d been wearing yesterday, and had undone and put on the kitchen table while making dinner.
Although he’d spent the night, his arms holding me against his warmth, I hadn’t really slept, although I’d been able, at least, to relax, even if I couldn’t actually make myself close my eyes, afraid of what might find me behind my lids.
I found myself missing him, needing reassurance, even though I’d resisted his presence and been, in Hart’s terms, a complete dick about it last night.
It was the last Friday—or Saturday or Sunday—night in the month of October that we didn’t have a séance.
On the table, Victor let out a warbling squeak.
His voice-box didn’t work terribly well—at least not yet.
Mason had taken a look at him earlier, taken copious notes, and said that he thought it did, in fact, seem like Victor was looking more alive than he had been four days ago when I’d inadvertently resurrected him.
But he could squeak now. This was the third time he’d done it.
“I know,” I said to the rat, although what, exactly, I thought I knew wasn’t clear to me, or, probably, to Victor.
I got up and went to pull some leftovers out of the fridge, scooping some of Raj’s modified mac and cheese into a tiny bowl that Sam had given me, calling it a ‘ramekin.’ I used them to measure out snacks.
And now, apparently, to feed Victor, who immediately set upon the noodles when I pushed the ramekin over to him.
And then I jumped when my phone buzzed on the table.
Victor let out a slightly muffled squeak around the food in his tiny, semi-decayed mouth.
I picked up the phone.
Managed to get off early. Dinner? It was Raj.
Yes, please, I sent back.
Whadda you want?
I didn’t have the energy to make a decision as important as what to have for dinner. I don’t care. I’m too tired to think, I sent back.
I was also too tired to feel hungry. I hadn’t actually eaten lunch, even though I’d taken a container to work. I just hadn’t had the energy to get up to go heat and eat it. I knew that was counter-productive, but I just couldn’t do it.
When I’d taken Victor in to see Mason, Mason had eyed me critically and then informed me that I wasn’t going to be of use to anybody if I drove myself to exhaustion—or if I let the FBI do it to me.
He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t like I really had a choice.
In theory, yes, I did. Raj regularly reminded me that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to do, although he didn’t actually mean that.
What he meant was that I didn’t have to do anything I was unwilling to do, which was a very different thing.
Want was not something one had relative to reliving the memories of killers or their victims. Unwilling, however, was a different story.
I was willing. I didn’t want, but I was definitely willing.
How could I not be, knowing what I did? How could I possibly refuse to help find the killers of Arcanids, when I counted several of them as friends and one as my lover?
I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to, but I really had no choice. Not if I wanted to have any remaining quantity of self-respect.
So here I was, sleepless, exhausted, magically drained, and watching my undead rat eating leftover boxed mac and cheese.
I left Victor on the table, knowing that he could get himself down if he wanted to, and went to the beanbag, where I curled up to wait for Raj.
I’d meant to check my email and messages on my phone, in case Vi had any questions about the séance the following night.
I fell asleep.
It was cold, wet, and dark, and it smelled like decay. There were gnarled tree roots under my cheek, the lumps uncomfortable, making my arm and neck ache.
I tried not to move, turning my head to look up, trying to see how far up the well went. Whether there was a snatch of sky overhead and whether it was day or night.
I couldn’t tell.
It didn’t matter.
I was going to die down here, because no one knew I was here and no one was coming.
Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes, winning the fight with my eyelids and streaming down my face.
Raj wasn’t coming for me.
He was dead.
I’d been staring at his ribs, the fur streaked with black and white and orange. They hadn’t moved. Not even the ruffling of the thick, glorious fur in the breeze. There was no breeze down here.
It didn’t matter.
I wasn’t going to get out.
I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.
I gasped as the sound of banging jerked me out of the well and the darkness of my subconscious.
More pounding—the front door.
“Rayn?” He sounded worried.
I scrambled up, my feet still uncoordinated and tangled up in my own head. I half-collided with the door, but managed to flip the lock and pull it open, to find a worried Raj on the other side.
I swallowed, barely able to hold back the tears.
“Are—”
I fell into his chest, giving up on trying to keep myself under control.
“Hey, mera ravi, what happened?” I could almost feel his confusion as he gently herded me into the room, one arm around me.
I felt him bend to put down the brown paper bag he was holding in his other hand, then he wrapped me in both arms, holding me tightly. “It’s okay,” he murmured into my hair. “Whatever it was, it’s okay now.”
I sniffled. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into his shoulder. “I—”
“Nightmare?” he asked softly.
I pulled back a little, looking up at him in confusion. “How did—”
He grimaced, although he softened the expression by brushing my hair out of my face with one hand, the other still around me. “I feel it,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “Whenever you have a nightmare. Whether I’m here or not. Awake or asleep.”
I felt my face flush. “I’m sorry,” I rasped, dropping my gaze.
“Don’t be,” he replied, pulling me close again. “You don’t ever have to be sorry for something like that.”
I sighed, leaning into him and letting his solid warmth ease the cold out of my subconscious. “I still wish it didn’t happen,” I grumbled into his shirt.
He let out a soft rumble of sound that I didn’t really understand, despite the fact that he did it fairly often. I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask, since I was afraid I wouldn’t like the answer.
I stepped back, drawing a deep breath to steady myself. “I should know better than to let myself fall asleep,” I said firmly.
“Let yourself?” Raj sounded incredulous. “Rayn, you’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”
I grimaced as I turned and led the way into the kitchen.
Much as I wanted to stay close to him, I didn’t want to sink back into the beanbag chair.
Sitting at the kitchen table would at least guarantee that my body wouldn’t feel tempted to fall asleep again.
“I need to actually sleep,” I replied. “Not have nightmares.”
He grunted, a sound I did understand—he agreed with me, but he also recognized that it wasn’t actually in my control. He made that sound a lot, especially at work.
But he picked up the brown bag that presumably held our dinner and followed me into the kitchen, setting it on the table as I pulled down glasses and got out plates and utensils. I didn’t notice the logo on the bag until I turned around to set down the dishes.
“You got Secret Sandwich Society?” For some reason, that hit me rather hard emotionally. It was the same place we’d first had dinner, although it hadn’t yet been a date. It was also what he’d brought me in the hospital after rescuing me.
Raj shrugged, pulling boxes out of the bag. “I thought maybe you’d like something a little… special.”
I liked the fact that he thought of it as special, too. That it meant something more than just food. Right now, I needed whatever threads of support and affection I could get.
I settled myself in one of the two chairs and waited for Raj to finish unpacking the bag. He took two boxes to the fridge and stuck them inside.
“What’s that?” I asked him, not remembering anything we’d ever gotten from Secret Sandwich Society needing to be chilled.