chapter THIRTY-NINE
After all that, the Maharaj were pretty much anticlimactic. It was in the huge, glass-roofed room I’d been in once before, when Christophe was on Trial and Anna had emptied an assault rifle at me. This time I sat in the high-backed, red-hung chair on the dais, and the shadows around the edges of the room were full of the staticky sense of something watching that told me there were not just one or two djamphir doing the little “don’t look here” trick they’re so fond of.
The sleek seal-headed Maharaj boy who had poisoned me actually got down on his knees; the other two—dark-eyed, proud-nosed, both with the same gold earring and the same scent of spice and dry burning sand—swept me bows that were right off an old pirate movie.
Leander—and yes, I remembered his name; he’d poisoned me, you don’t forget that—begged my forgiveness in between a long string of foreign words. He even called me “Rajkumari Faulk,” and I twitched like I’d been stuck with a pin.
Because “Faulk” was Gran’s maiden name.
Bruce had warned me, so I let Leander get all the way to the end before accepting with a nod that was supposed to be queenly but was probably just scared stiff instead. At that point Hiro moved forward, and they eyed him the way cobras might eye a mongoose. There was some diplomatic blather, a schedule set up for further talks, and the “provisional agreement” was that the djinni-children and the Order were allies against the nosferat and other things.
I just had to sit there, gripping the chair arms, braced for anything that might occur. Anything other than what actually happened.
The Maharaj bowed twice more at me, backed away about ten feet, and bowed again. Then a djamphir teacher I recognized materialized out of thin air with the familiar sound of nasty chattering laughter and escorted them out of the room.
I managed to cover up the violent start that gave me. But only just.
And then it was done. Piece of cake.
I was at Christophe’s bedside when he woke up that evening, as dusk filled the windows and the Schola began to wake up as well. Benjamin, his dark hair still emo-swooped across his forehead, was right outside the door, standing guard. It was like I’d never left.
Except everything was different.
“Relax,” I said as soon as Christophe’s eyes opened, pale cold starving blue. “Everything’s copacetic. The Council debriefed me and there’s another diplomatic thingie scheduled for tomorrow.”
He blinked, staring up at me. It was a private infirmary room, windowless and bare except for the bed. Wulfen and djamphir both heal pretty quickly. If you’re hurt enough to need the infirmary, it’s really bad. But also, Christophe didn’t have a room of his own. He moved around a lot, kept things hidden.
I could see why.
His eyes were very blue. He blinked, once, and it was like a light switch flicking. I could see the thoughts sliding together inside his skull. “The Maharaj.”
I nodded. Leaned the chair I’d snagged out in the infirmary proper back on two of its legs, balancing. “We had the first meet this afternoon. Something about me being able to throw hexes; I tangled with a couple of them in Dallas. It’s a big deal if they kill a girl who can throw a hex, I guess. They think Gran’s family might’ve been a bastard branch, or something.” I swallowed, hard. “Anyway, Bruce and Hiro will do all the talking tomorrow. I just have to sit there and not get kidnapped or murdered. Should be fun.”
The covers slid as he pushed himself up on his elbows. At least when he passed out, nobody undressed him. He was still dirty, but he looked tons better.
I leaned back in the chair. It squeaked a little. Don’t do that, Gran would’ve said. Fall right on your ass, Dru-girl. You mind me, now.
“Are you well?” He finished sitting up, gingerly, testing his body’s responses.
I shrugged. Who knew what would happen or who would try to kill me next if someone decided I was even more of a freak than I already was? Besides, Gran couldn’t be Maharaj. She was a backwoods hexer, and she’d been human all the way.
But would you have known if she wasn’t? And how can you do some of the things you can do? Leander sounded pretty sure, and he even knew Gran’s maiden name.
I told that little internal nagging voice to shut up and go away, shrugged. “I’ll deal.” I gave it a beat, decided to add more. “Graves is gone.”
Christophe blinked again. That was all the response I got.
Well, great. “He’s got some things to work out.” It sounded lame. “So do I. So . . .”
“Dru.” He slid his feet out of the bed. Still barefoot, his jeans flayed at the knees and stiff with crusted stuff I didn’t even want to think about. “You don’t have to. You’re tired, and—”
I shook my head. My braid bumped my back. I could probably fight another clutch of suckers with my hair done this tight. “I gotta do this while I got the courage, Chris. So just listen, okay?”
He went still, perched on the edge of the bed. He just watched me, his face closed. Shuttered.
Guarded, like he was afraid of what I might say.
I lost my nerve. “You probably want to get cleaned up or something, right?” Or pee. Because all I want to do when I wake up after almost-dying is find a commode.
He shook his head a little, a brief economical movement. “It can wait.”
Well, dammit, there went that escape. The chair’s front legs thudded down. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees.
“Okay,” I began. “You’re too old for me. You’re scary. It’s creepy that you were so all over my mom and now you’re all over me. And you . . .” You watched my father go down that hall, I wanted to say. But all of a sudden, it didn’t seem right. Dad had shot him, if the vision was a true-seein and not just a really vivid nightmare. Visions were like that, they twisted together dream and reality, and Gran always warned me not to trust what couldn’t be verified.
But still.
I couldn’t punk out now. So I licked my lips nervously and plunged ahead. “You were there when my father died. Weren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
Christophe actually flinched. “If I could have saved him—”
“You probably would have.” I nodded, and he shut up. “Because you owed it to my mom. Right?”
A single nod.
“I couldn’t figure out if you wanted me so bad because you thought I could kill Sergej, or if it was me. Something really about me.”
That got to him. He flinched again, and I held up a hand. Wonder of wonders, he stayed quiet. But his jaw was clenched so tight he was fixing to shatter his teeth.
My imagination just works too damn well.
I had to continue now. I couldn’t just leave it like that. “But every time I’ve been really in trouble, you’ve been there. You probably tried to break me out of that Sooper-Sekrit Vampire Hideout all by your lonesome, didn’t you? That’s how he caught you.”
Another nod. He watched me like I was a snake getting ready to bite, and I was suddenly so tired.
Grown-up shit is hard.
“You told Dibs to hook up the transfusion. You didn’t care if it killed you. I needed blood, you were going to save me, it was that simple. Right?”
“Tak,” he breathed, then shook himself. “Yes. That simple. Dru.” Soft, like he was pleading.
“Christophe.” All the air ran out of me, I had to gasp it back in. “I get that you’re interested, okay? But I’m not . . . ready. For anything. With anyone. Okay? I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow when I wake up.” Besides be grateful if nobody tries to take my head off or shoot me or drain my blood, that is. “I’ve got no damn clue at all. So, you can either be okay with that, or I can transfer to another Schola. I’ve talked to Bruce about it. He’ll have kittens, and Hiro will have penguins, and August will completely throw a fit, but I’ve made up my mind. It’s up to you.”
He absorbed this. Time ticked away, and the Schola woke up completely. A faint faraway murmur of voices as djamphir got ready—the younger ones for classes, the older students for patrol, the teachers and other older ones for citywide patrol, mission support, or class time.
It was comforting, hearing that murmur. Knowing what it was.
Kind of like I belonged. For once. Like I’d found a place to fit into, a key in a lock.
“Dru.” He leaned forward a little, toward me. “Is there . . . a chance? Any chance?”
I thought it over. He deserved an answer.
So did I. I just had to find one I could live with.
“I don’t know.” I pushed the chair back and stood up. “When I said I wasn’t ready, I meant it. Okay? Can you live with that?”
I almost said can you trust me, but that . . . it wouldn’t have been right. It just wouldn’t.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I can wait. Until you know, kochana. One way.” A slight shrug, his shoulder lifting elegantly, even though he was filthy. “Or the other.”
“Really?” That’s . . . um, well. I hadn’t expected that. I’d expected a no. Or some waffling. A little prevarication.
This time he smiled. It was the smile he kept just for me, a soft, private expression. “Really. I know the value of patience, skowroneczko moja. It must be my age.”
Must be. “Well.” I rubbed my palms on my jeans. “Okay. I’ll let you get cleaned up, then. I . . . yeah.” Now I was floundering. I backed up a bit, bumping the chair, and he just sat there and looked at me, still smiling. I managed to turn around and head for the door.
Just before I got there, though, he spoke up again.
“Dru.” Very soft. “Thank you.”
Jesus. I just basically rejected you, right? “For what?”
“For . . . believing. In me.”
You know what that will do to a guy? I shook Graves’s voice away. “No problem,” I said over my shoulder. Found the doorknob with a shaking hand. “No problem at all, Chris. First one’s free.”