“What’s going on out here?” He looked at me and then frowned—with disgust or concern, I couldn’t be sure. “What happened to you? It’s barely been fifteen minutes and you look like you’ve gone from bad to worse.”
I looked down mournfully at my shirtfront, now heavily flecked with bits of chocolate cookie—and dog pee.
“It’s pinwheel,” I said sadly. “And, apparently, dog pee.”
I dragged my feet over to Will and threw my arms around him. “I suck, Will. I’m a sucky friend and a sucky Underworld protector, and I’m out of pinwheels.”
Will initially arched away from me—likely in an effort to keep himself dog pee free—then held me close to him, patting my back tenderly.
“Tell me about it, love,” he said, his lips nestled just above my ear.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Will took me by the hand and I stumbled behind him into his living room. “Still moving in, huh?”
Though it had been at least a year, Will still had nothing more than the two lawn chairs in the living room, a Wii console and now, an entertainment wall unit so sleek and modern, I was certain NASA was probably missing it. He shrugged, offering me that carefree, lopsided grin.
“I think the pillow there”—he pointed to a needlepoint Arsenal pillow nestled on one of the chairs—“really makes the place look homey. You want to go across and change your shirt? I’ll make you a cuppa.”
I looked down miserably at my pee-and chocolate-soaked shirt. “I don’t want to go home. I’m afraid I’ll blow it up, or something will come barreling in there and kill me. Can I hang out here?”
“Sure. If anything is coming after you, it’ll never find you here, right across the hall.”
I felt my lower lip jut out childishly. “But you’re my Guardian.”
“I was just kidding, love. It’s my job to protect you. But if you blow up my apartment, you’re on your own.” He gestured to his living space as though it were palatial or furnished. “I quite like it here now.”
I nodded, looking around. “I kind of do, too.”
He jerked his head toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you go grab yourself a less scenty shirt, though? I’ve got a clean stack on the bureau. Yes”—he nodded his head modestly while patting his flat-as-a-washboard stomach—“I do laundry.”
I nodded and padded into Will’s room. It was smaller than mine and dim, with a tasteful bedroom set that belied the lawn furniture out front. I looked around and breathed in Will’s scent—part laundry detergent, part some sort of spicy, fresh cologne. The stack of clean clothes was on the bureau, and next to that a framed photograph of an older woman, with a sweet, serene smile. Her head was slightly cocked, and her eyes were the same gold-flecked hazel as Will’s. She had the same warm, playful look that I had seen so many times when I looked at Will. I knew his mother was back in England, that he talked to her often; and the thought—Will’s family, his roots—struck something in my heart. No one I knew—myself included—had roots.
I turned around and grinned at Will’s rumpled bed; at his nightstand, which held a half glass of water, a stack of Harlan Coben books, and a pair of eyeglasses. Nothing mysterious or mythological. Nothing magical. Nothing that said he was just passing through, only here long enough to change the fate of the world. Roots.
I slipped out of my shirt and reached for one of Will’s. It smelled like laundry detergent and cleanliness. I couldn’t bear to slip into it in my dirty state. Instead, I shimmied out of all my clothes, and turned the shower on extra hot in the attached bathroom.
When enough steam filled the room, I stepped into the shower and held myself under the pounding spout. The hot water poured over my shoulders and I felt my whole body melt. I clamped my eyes shut and suddenly I couldn’t tell the shower water from the tears flooding over my cheeks. I was tired. So, so tired. I didn’t want to think of the Underworld or fallen angels or a father who didn’t want to see me. I didn’t want to piece any puzzles together or let anyone down.
I didn’t want to be the Vessel of Souls.
I didn’t want to protect the Underworld.
I stepped out of the shower and dried off with one of Will’s ultra fluffy towels, enjoying the soothing normalcy of a bathroom stocked with all the usual stuff; and a bedroom that contained a slept-in bed and a giant picture window that could be thrown open to allow the sunlight to stream through.
I was tired.
Will’s bed was welcoming with its disheveled sheets, which smelled like Will. Comforting. Clean. Simply human. I dropped my towel and snuggled under the covers for just a second, just to feel normal—like a girl who had a boyfriend. Not an angel.
Not a vampire roommate.
I was so, so tired.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t sure where I was. The light was dim and I was comfortable; I felt alive and well rested. And then I heard the breathing next to me. It was a rhythmic rise and fall, a normal human cadence. When I rolled over, I sat up with a start.
It was Will.
And I was naked.
My heart started to thud and I rubbed my head. I had taken a shower. I had crawled into bed.