Lover Reborn (13 page)

To be safe.

Period.

“Give her some time,” Tohr murmured, “and we’ll go after her, okay? You and I will go together.”

“Good plan,” Wrath said, “because neither of you is going out in the field tonight.” The king held up his palms to cut off the arguing. “Really?”

That shut them both up.

“So are you okay?” the king asked Tohr.

The Brother’s smile wasn’t warm in the slightest. “I’m already in hell—shit’s not going to get any hotter just because he’s using me as an example of where he doesn’t want to be.”

“You sure about that.”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Easier said than done.” Wrath motioned his hand, like he didn’t want to go any further on all that. “We done?”

As Tohr nodded and turned for the door, John gave the First Family a bow and then went after the male.

He didn’t have to rush. Tohr was waiting for him out in the corridor. “Listen to me—it’s cool. I’m serious-”

I’m just… so sorry
, John signed.
About everything. And
…
shit, I miss Wellsie
—
I really miss her
.

Tohr blinked for a moment. Then in a quiet voice, he said, “I know, son. I know you lost her, too.”

Do you think she would have liked Xhex?

“Yeah.” A shadow of a smile hit that harsh face. “She only met her once, and it was a while ago, but they were cool, and if there had been time… they’d have gotten along great. And man, on a night like tonight, we could have used the female backup.”

Too right
, John signed, as he tried to imagine approaching Xhex.

At least he could guess where she would go: back to her own place on the Hudson River. That was her refuge, her private space. And when he showed up on her doorstep, he could only pray she didn’t throw him out on his ass.

But they had to resolve this somehow.

I think I’d better go alone
, John signed.
This is probably going to get ugly
.

Make that ugli
er
, he thought.

“Fair enough. Just know that I’m here if you need me.”

Wasn’t that always the way, John thought as they parted. Almost as if it had been centuries of their knowing each other, instead of merely a matter of years. Then again he guessed that was what happened when you crossed paths with someone you were really compatible with.

Felt like you’d been with them forever.

“I
shall do it.”

As No’One spoke up, the group of
doggen
she had sneaked in behind turned like a flock of birds, all at once. In their modest staff room, there were males and females both among the assembled, each dressed properly for his or her role whether it was cook or cleaner, baker or butler. She had found them when she had gone for an idle stroll, and who was she not to take advantage of an opportunity.

The one who was in charge, Fritz Perlmutter, looked like he was about to faint. Then again, he had been her father’s
doggen
all those years ago, and had had particular struggles with her defining herself in a servile role. “My fine lady—”

“No’One. My name is No’One now. Please address me as that and that alone. And as I said, I shall take care of the washing down in the training center.”

Wherever that was.

Indeed, last night with that dress had been a benediction of sorts, the task busying her hands and giving her a focus that passed the hours with alacrity. It had once been the same on the Other Side, her manual
labor the only thing that calmed her and imparted structure to her existence.

How she had missed having a purpose.

For truth, she had come here to serve Payne, but the female wanted none of that. She had come here to try to connect with her daughter, but the female was newly mated, with vital distractions. And she had come here in search of some kind of peace, only to be driven mad with inactivity since her arrival.

And that was prior to her near run-in with Tohrment early this morning.

At least he had taken the dress, though. It was gone from where she had hung it when he had answered her knock with such gruff—

Abruptly, she noted that the butler was looking at her expectantly, as if he had just said something that required a response.

“Please take me down there,” she said, “and show me the duties.”

Given the way his old, wrinkled face fell even further, she gathered that was not the reply he had been hoping for.

“Mistress—”

“No’One. And you, or one of your staff, can show me now.”

The assembled masses all looked worried, as if mayhap rumors of the sky falling had suddenly become reality.

“Thank you,” she said to the butler. “For your facilitation.”

Clearly recognizing that he was not going to win, the head
doggen
bowed low. “But of course I shall, mist— Ah, No— Er…”

When he couldn’t get out her proper name, as if the appropriate title of “mistress” was required to blaze the trail up his windpipe, she took pity on him.

“You are most helpful,” she murmured. “Now, lead on.”

After dismissing the others, he took her out of the staff room, through the kitchen, and into the foyer by virtue of yet another door that was new to her. As they proceeded, she recalled her previous, younger self, the haughty daughter of a bloodline of means who had refused to cut up her own meat, or brush her own hair, or dress herself. What a waste. At least now that she was no one and had nothing, she was clear on how to pass the hours meaningfully: work. Work was the key.

“We go through herein,” the butler pronounced as he held wide a hidden door beneath the grand staircase. “Allow me to provide you the codes.”

“Thank you,” she replied, memorizing them.

As she followed the
doggen
into the long, thin tube of an underground
tunnel, she thought, yes, if she was going to stay on this side, she needed to busy herself with chores, even if it offended the
doggen
, the Brotherhood, the
shellans.…
Better that than the prison of her own thoughts.

They exited the tunnel by stepping through the back of a closet and passing into a squat room that had a desk and metal cabinets and a glass door.

The
doggen
cleared his throat. “This is the training center and medical facility. We have classrooms, a gym, locker room, weight room, physical therapy area, and a pool, as well as many other amenities. There are staff who take care of the deep cleaning of each section”—this was said sternly, as if he did not care that she was the guest of the king; she was not mucking about with his schedule—“but the
doggen
who took care of the laundry has gone upon bed rest, as she is
mitte doggen
and it is no longer safe for her to be on her feet. Please, we are this way.”

As he held open the glass portal, they went out into the corridor and headed to a double-doored room that was kitted up identically to the laundry she had used the night before in the main house. Over the next twenty minutes, she received a refresher on how to operate the machines, and then the butler reviewed with her a map of the facilities so she knew where to collect the bins and where to return what she had tended to.

And then, after a stiff silence, and stiffer adieu, she was blissfully alone.

Standing in the middle of the utility room, surrounded by washing machines and dryers and tables to fold upon, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Oh, the lovely solitude, and the fortunate weight of duty settling upon her shoulders. For the next six hours, she had nothing to think of but white towels and sheets: finding them, putting them in machines, folding them, returning them to their proper places.

There was no room for the past or her regrets here. Just the work.

Gripping a rolling bin, she wheeled the blue fabric receptacle out into the corridor and began making her rounds, beginning with the clinic and returning to the laundry when there was no more space left in her transport. After she got the first load into a deep-bellied washer, she went out again, passing into the locker room and finding a mountain of white. It took her two trips to get all those towels, and she made a pile of them in the center of the washer room, beside the drain in the gray concrete floor.

Her final stop took her to the very far left, all the way down the corridor to the pool. As she went along, the wheels on her cart made a little whistling noise, and her feet shuffled unevenly, her grip on the bin’s lip giving her some added stability and helping her to go faster.

When she heard music coming from the swimming area, she slowed. Then stopped.

The strains of notes and voices made no sense as all members of the Brotherhood and their
shellans
were gone for the night. Unless someone had left the music on after they had finished their time in the water?

Pushing her way into a squat anteroom tiled with mosaics of athletic males, she got hit with a wall of warmth and humidity so heavy, it was as if she had stepped up against a velvet drape. And all around, there was a strange, chemical smell in the air, one that made her wonder what they treated the water with—on the Other Side, everything had stayed permanently fresh and clean, but she knew that was not the case on earth.

Leaving the bin to wait in the lobby, she walked forward toward a vast, cavelike space. Reaching out, she touched the warm tiles on the wall, running her fingers over the blue skies and rolling green fields, but skipping any of the loinclothed males, with their archery bows, and their fencing staffs, and their running poses.

She loved the water. The floating buoyancy, the easing of the aches in her bad leg, the sense of brief freedom—

“Oh… my…” she gasped as she turned the corner.

The pool was four times the size of the largest bath on the Other Side, and its water was a shimmering pale blue—likely because of the tiles that skinned its deep belly. Black lines ran lengthwise, denoting lanes, and there were numbers going down the stone lip, clearly marking depth. Up above, the ceiling was domed and covered in more mosaics, and there were benches against the walls, providing places to sit. Echoing around, the music was louder, but not overly so, and the mournful tune possessed a pleasing resonance.

Given that she was alone, she couldn’t resist going over and testing the temperature with her bare foot.

Tempting. So very tempting.

But instead of giving in, she refocused on her duties, going back to her bin, rolling it over to a large wicker basket, and then transferring her body weight in damp terry cloth.

When she turned to go, she paused and stared at the water again.

There was no way the first round of sheeting had finished its washing cycle. It had at least forty-five minutes left according to what the machine had reported.

She checked the clock that was mounted on the wall.

Perhaps just a few minutes in the pool, she decided. She could use the
relief from the aching in her lower body, and there was nothing she could do relative to her job for the next little bit.

Grabbing one of the fresh, folded towels, she double-checked the anteroom. Went farther down and looked out into the corridor.

Nobody was about. And now was the time to do this—the staff would be concentrating on cleaning the second floor of the mansion, as they had to get that work done between First and Last Meals. And there was no one getting treated at the clinic, at least for the moment.

She had to make this fast.

Limping back to the shallow end, she unfastened her robe and drew off the hood, stripping down to her undersheath. After a brief hesitation, she removed the sheer liner as well—she would have to remember to bring a second with her if she wanted to do this again. Better to remain modest.

As she folded her things, she deliberately stared at her twisted calf, tracing the roping scars that formed an ugly relief map of mountains and valleys in her flesh. Once, the lower leg had worked perfectly and been as lovely as many an artist could have drawn. Now it was a symbol of who and what she was, a reminder of a fall from grace that had made her a lesser person… and, over time, a better one.

Fortunately, there was a chrome handrail by the steps, and she gripped it for balance as she slowly entered the warm water. Upon the descent, she recalled her braid and wound the heavy length around and around the top of her head, tucking in the loose end so that the beehive held in place.

And then… she glided.

Closing her eyes in bliss, she gave herself over to weightlessness, the water a temperate breeze wafting across her flesh, her body held kindly in the pool’s peaceable palms. As she stroked out into the center, she threw away her resolve not to get her hair wet, and rolled over onto her back, sweeping her hands in circles to keep herself afloat.

For a brief time, she allowed herself to feel something, opening the door to her senses.

And it was… good.

Left behind at the mansion for the night, Tohr was off-roster, stuck inside and hungover: a bad-mood trifecta if he’d ever seen one.

The good news was that with most people gone or going about their business, he didn’t have to inflict the toxicity on anybody else.

On that note, he headed for the training center, dressed in nothing but
his swimming trunks. Having heard that most hangovers were caused by dehydration, he’d decided not only to go to the pool and submerge himself… but to bring some liquid refreshment with him. And how was that for healthy.

What had he grabbed? Oh, good, vodka—he liked that straight up, and hey, it looked like water.

Pausing in the tunnel, he took a swig of V’s Goose, and swallowed—

Fuck. The sound of John’s shitkicker hitting the floor, like some godforsaken bell tolling, was something he was never going to forget. Just like the kid’s finger pointing at him.

Time for another swallow… and hey, how about one more.

As he resumed his trek toward what was probably going to be a drowning party, he recognized that he was a walking cliché: He’d seen his brothers in this shape from time to time, weaving around with a sour, fuzzy head, a bad attitude, and a bottle of knockout juice grafted to their palms. Back before Wellsie had been taken from him, he’d never really understood the whys.