It was a nice dream. Hot as hell and very nice indeed. And then the dream changed. There were clothes involved this time.
It wasn't the only difference. When I thought of George, I usually pictured her, depending on the state of my willpower, in the same dress. A brown silk sundress…cherry chocolate. I'd seen her once in it and never forgotten the image or the feeling I'd had. So it didn't matter that it was fall and far too cool for that dress, I still thought it, dreamed it. Except this time. This time George was wearing a finely knit sweater, deep crimson, and filmy skirt of gold, bronze, and copper. She also had a tiny ruby piercing in her nose. It made her look exotic, a priestess of a far-gone time and place. A prophet, and wasn't that what she was?
"A ruby," I said in a voice thick with sleep. "Like your hair."
"It's a garnet," she corrected with a smile. "A practical gem for a practical girl."
Her hand was holding mine, our fingers linked. "I miss you, George." It was something I could only say in a dream, because admitting it in the waking world wouldn't do either of us any good.
"You don't have to." She leaned to kiss me. We'd kissed before, but not like this. Our first had been with the relief of rescue, the second a bittersweet good-bye. This was the kiss of a different life. Heat and hope and all the time in the world. There were only the two of us. No monsters, without or within. Dreams can be that way, the good ones. Then you wake up. You always wake up.
Because they are only dreams.
"Stubborn."
I opened my eyes as George's voice still lingered in the air. I actually heard it—heard her. She wasn't there, yet I knew if I saw her … if she showed up at my door at that moment, she would be wearing crimson, gold, and a garnet.
But that was something I wasn't going to think about. Couldn't think about. I touched the small plait of copper hair tied around my wrist, a memento of times past. Of doubts present.
No, I'd made my decision, and it was the right one. I knew it. In my gut, I knew it, even if no one else did. I sat up and waited for the pain to distract me from useless thoughts. It didn't come. I looked down. The bandage was still gone; it hadn't been replaced. There was no need to. The raw crater was gone. In its place was an indentation, still fist-sized, but more shallow, about a quarter of an inch deep— as if that fist had been gently pressed against soft clay. The scar tissue was purple and thick and ugly as hell. I couldn't have cared less. When I was a kid, Sophia had once told me that, while I was a monster, I was a beautiful one. I'd known from that moment on that what was on the outside didn't count for anything. Our mother had been beautiful too, physically, but inside she was as ugly as any Annis or revenant. Uglier in some ways. They had their excuse. She'd had none.
There was a rustle of paper as I pushed the covers aside. A note started to fall to the floor and I caught it before it could … with my left hand. The weakness was gone, the muscle damage repaired. Unfolding the paper, I read words in an unfamiliar hand. Now you are pretty.
Yeah, the wolves did appreciate a good scar. Delilah was no exception.
9
Niko had fixed the kind of food for breakfast that was normally banned from the apartment. Pancakes, bacon, greasy potatoes. Good, good food—not the soy, wheat, egg-substitute crap he normally tried to convince me to eat. "I should be dinner for a supernatural pit bull more often," I said around a mouthful of syrup and blueberries.
"Or not," he said matter-of-factly, turning a glass of juice back and forth between long, calloused fingers.
"Or not," I said apologetically. I didn't see the evidence of a sleepless night in his face, but I knew it was there nonetheless. I shoveled in another forkful of potatoes. "You tell the others about Sawney's new family?"
"The revenants? Yes. No one was precisely thrilled." It wasn't a surprise. Revenants weren't popular with anyone or anything. Dumb, smelly, and mean.
Leaning back with my belly full, I considered burping, but my knee gave a phantom twinge with the memory of the last time I'd had that idea. Nik enjoyed good manners and he enjoyed them in others…with great and occasionally painful enthusiasm. Painful for me anyway. Patting my chest lightly through the T-shirt I'd slipped on, I said, "Delilah did good work."
"Amazing work." He drank the juice in several smooth swallows and then pushed the glass away. "She was here nearly the entire night, but what she accomplished…" He shook his head. "She was worth every penny."
"I thought she was helping us because of Flay." I decided I could fit in one more piece of bacon and sat back up to reach for the plate.
"Yes, but she is Kin. Family is important, money is important. There's no reason she can't honor both. I admire her initiative. Your initiative, however, is a different story." A foot rapped my ankle briskly. "I cooked. You clear."