Vander: “What Duster wouldn’t?”
Enough. Ingrid had to know what they were talking about. She opened the door without knocking and entered the small room, which somehow appeared even more cramped than it had the first time she’d seen it. Her brother sat in a chair at Vander’s desk, his arm propped on the top and his sleeve rolled above his elbow. Vander stood beside him, piercing his skin with a needle.
“What are you doing?” She slammed the door behind her, her eyes on the needle. “And what is that?”
They both straightened at the sight of her, Grayson swearing loudly as Vander fumbled with the needle and syringe. Grayson swore again, regaining Vander’s attention. He pushed the plunger and the contents of the glass barrel disappeared into Grayson’s vein. He extracted the needle and set it aside on the desk roughly before turning toward Ingrid, hands up in surrender.
“Let me explain.”
“What did you just inject into my brother?”
Grayson stood up. “Mersian blood. Ingrid, it’s okay. You don’t have to look like that.”
She frowned. “Like what?”
“Like you want to electrocute the good reverend,” her brother answered.
“She wouldn’t electrocute me.” Vander peered at Ingrid. “I hope.”
“Why would you inject Grayson with your blood?” she asked, not in the mood for humor. “And, Grayson, how do you know where Vander lives?”
The two men looked at one another and, with a few raised eyebrows and hand gestures, silently discussed who would be the one to explain things. Grayson bowed to the pressure first.
He stepped toward Ingrid. “I’ve been coming to Vander for a little while. Don’t be angry, Ingrid. I asked him to keep it a secret,” he said quickly, as if knowing how she would react. “He’s been taking some of my dust, making things easier for me. And this experiment, mixing his blood with mine, is actually working.”
“My mersian blood seems to have cancelled out his hellhound symptoms,” Vander explained.
She remembered what Grayson had said behind the closed door. That he hadn’t itched to shift in days.
“I didn’t want to be around you or Mama until I could trust myself,” Grayson added. He stood in front of Ingrid, slightly taller than she was. He cocked his head to meet her eyes.
“I can do it now. With Vander’s help,” Grayson said, and then, running both hands through his hair, went on, “I think his blood is our answer, Ingrid. Not just us, but all Dusters.”
She peered over Grayson’s shoulder to where Vander stood at his desk, taking apart the needle and syringe, one ear on their conversation but clearly trying to stay out of it. He’d been helping her brother this whole time? Ingrid had been desperate to know where Grayson was, and Vander had known. He’d known and kept quiet.
Her brother pinched her arm, jerking her attention back to him. She swatted his shoulder.
“Would you give me a minute?” she asked. “I’m trying to catch up.”
Grayson laughed and took his jacket from where he’d tossed it on Vander’s bed.
“All right, I’ll give you more than a minute, okay? I have to go. But, Ingrid, get the injection. See for yourself.”
He started for the door but doubled back, as if he’d forgotten something. He took her by the shoulders. “We can be us again. We can be a normal family doing normal things. Normal, boring, mundane things.”
He lifted her off the floor and twirled her once before she kicked and demanded he put her down. He did, but by then she was laughing.
“I should say that sounds awful,” she said.
“But it doesn’t, does it?” Grayson asked. He nodded his thanks to Vander and left.
Ingrid’s head still spun, her laughter fading. Vander closed the needle kit and stood at his desk. After a long pause, he leaped in with an explanation.
“I know how worried you were about him, and I wanted to tell you, Ingrid, I did. But if I had and you had come here, forcing him to see you when he wasn’t ready, he might not have come back.”
She stood in the center of his room, her hands feeling warm. No current now. She wasn’t upset. And yet tears were pricking at her eyes.
“I thought if I could help him, even a little, that it would be at least something.”
It was more than just something. It was good and selfless and earnest. So very Vander.
“Did he find you?” she asked.
Vander hesitated. “I found him.”
“How?”
“I tracked him.”
He’d found her brother. He’d helped him. Given him hope. And because of that, Grayson had just picked her up and spun her around the way he’d always done before, whenever he’d been too happy to hold still. Her brother hadn’t been happy like that in ages.
Ingrid crossed the room to the desk where Vander still stood and, without a word, threw her arms around his shoulders and clung to him. He stiffened briefly before his arms encircled her in return.