Like I didn't know that.
How she knew that—now, there was a different question altogether. "You finally looked, then?" I asked cautiously, uncertain if I really wanted to know the answer to that and feeling like the absolute shit she meant me to. I'd turned her away once. I couldn't take a chance; I couldn't be with her if I didn't know how things would end up. I couldn't risk her like that. I had to know … if she were with me, did she survive the Auphe who were still running free out there? More importantly, did she survive the Auphe in me?
"Caliban," she said, her anger fading slightly to a resignation over an argument we'd had time and time again.
Of course she hadn't looked. She never looked at her own life and she never tried to change the truly monumental aspects of the lives of others. What was supposed to happen would happen. It was only the little things that could be played around with. She wasn't the only one who was angry. I'd pushed her away to save her and she wouldn't even look to tell me if it was necessary. I cut her out of my life to keep her safe, to keep her alive, and she wouldn't…goddamn it.
I looked away.
I didn't want to see the red and gold or the hurt, the anger, and the reluctant understanding that ran under it all. If I couldn't have it, I didn't want to see it. "Robin's in trouble. Someone is trying to kill him and doing a pretty good job of it. We need to know who it is." Across the street, a garbage truck rumbled. It was easier to watch than what I could sense crossing George's face. "I want to know. Robin wants to know. Even Niko, the only person more Zen than you in this world. We want to save Goodfellow, so who the hell is behind it? We got one human. Was he in charge? Was he the last one?" If she wouldn't look at the future, maybe looking at the past and present could help us.
I heard her shift and stand, her robe a rustle of warm velvet and cool silk. "Robin did something once, something quite…" Her voice trailed off, the anger now buried. This wasn't about us anymore. This was about a friend. "I imagine he has a lesson to learn. Life seems to be like that," she continued, her sympathy for him plain. "I can't change that, and I shouldn't try." Which was her way of saying she wouldn't try. "Try to have faith. Robin is clever and he has loyal friends. Trust that that will be enough."
That was the problem with George, one of many. She saw the big picture, and a single life was only a small part of that picture, only one of many lessons. For me, that wasn't good enough. Life might be all we got, as far as I knew, no matter what George sensed or thought. Lighting incense and staring at my navel while Robin got this life's lesson rammed down his throat via an axe through his neck or a sword into his gut, that just wasn't going to happen. Unlike those of George, my pictures were small, colored with finger paints, and in the here and now.
"Caliban?" she said from the door.
My eyes still on the street, I didn't look, but she knew she had my attention. She was a psychic after all.
"I won't wait forever." Then the door shut on me, just as I'd once shut it on her. It wasn't a good feeling … no matter what side you were on.
It was two hours later, six a.m., and my turn to open the bar. Sleep—who needed it? The Ninth Circle kept irregular hours. Some patrons like the night, some the early morning, some all damn day long. Ishiah switched it around enough that everyone could find what they needed on one day or another. It made for weird hours, a weirder schedule, and no damn dental either. Figured.
Delilah showed up barely twenty minutes after I unlocked the door. She looked the same as when she'd healed me…goddamn amazing. Wild and exotic, polished and lethal as a sword. She sat on one of the stools, picking up a feather from the bar. No matter how often you cleaned the place, there were always feathers. This one was Cambriel's—Cam's, cream and copper. He had the same copper hair in a long plait and a scowl that could clear the bar in a second. He also molted like an ostrich with mange. Considering the peri temper, I didn't mention it … much.
"Pretty boy." Funny that I minded Sawney calling me a boy, but with her I didn't mind so much. She twirled the feather and smiled at me. Delilah's smile wasn't your usual smile. It was more that of the cat that ate the canary or the fox that ate the henhouse— then had the farmer for dessert. It was satisfied and more than a little wicked.
"Delilah." I was surprised. I hadn't been sure I'd see her after the subway fight. Not that I hadn't seen a lot of her then. A whole lot. "Come to give me my jacket back?"
"No. I like the jacket. I keep it," she announced.
I'd liked it too, but what are you going to do? She liked it, I'd seen her naked … it was a fair trade.