Torn. Part 28

I helped Colin to his kitchen table, easing him down to the chair. "We should get you to a doctor," I said. "You're going to need st.i.tches."

He shook his head, ashen-faced. "Where's Luc?"

"Gone. Don't worry about him now." Colin had refused to go to the hospital, so Luc had returned us to the truck, then disappeared.

"You're a terrible driver," he said through clenched teeth. "No wonder you don't have a license."

"Got us home, didn't I? You can teach me sometime." I tried to sound nonchalant, but when I pulled my wadded-up sweater away from his arm, the room spun on its axis. "Oh, G.o.d. I'm not good with blood."

He grunted and pressed the sweater back down. "Under the sink. First-aid kit."

I nearly knocked over the chair in my hurry to get it. "A Band-Aid isn't going to do the trick."

He pointed to a cabinet. "Bring me the Jameson's," he said, his voice rusty and almost unrecognizable. I pulled out the bottle and a short, heavy tumbler, poured him a generous three fingers, and pa.s.sed it over.

He closed his eyes and downed it in one long swallow, dropping it back to the table with a sharp thunk.

"Again."

I poured again, he drank again.

"There's superglue in there," he said, opening his eyes and gesturing to the s...o...b..x full of supplies. "Peroxide, too. Clean it out, smear a bunch of glue on, hold it shut till it dries. Good enough, for now."

As I dabbed the glue onto his arm, careful not to permanently stick my fingers to his bicep, he stared at the bottle on the table. His breathing was slower now, and his color better, though he still looked haggard.

"How did you find me tonight?" I asked. It wasn't the question I'd meant to ask.

"GPS on your phone."

"And Kowalski?"

"Had been tailing me since we left the police station."

"Oh." It seemed impossible that had been only this afternoon. I felt I'd aged a century. My entire body was stiff and battered, my throat raw from screaming. My hands were cramped and trembling, even now. I blew gently on the glue to speed the drying and then wrapped a layer of gauze around his arm. Taping the bandage in place, I looked up at him. "Please say something."

"Pour."

"Something other than that." I poured anyway. "Do I get some?"

"No."

I'd figured.

He rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't even know where to start. Jesus, Mo. You're all right?"

"I think so."

"Good. That's good." He shifted in the chair and set his gun on the table between us, looking weary. "Is any of it going to make sense to me? I mean, you are clearly involved in a bunch of really weird s.h.i.t that doesn't have a thing to do with Billy and the Outfit, but will it make sense to me at all?"

I gave a small shrug and chewed on my lip.

"Time to start talking, kid."

So I did. I told him everything, from the beginning, from the first night in the alley to Evangeline's betrayal. I told him about the prophecy, and Luc, although I skimped on the details there. I spilled it all out in front of him, feeling the impact of how completely I'd failed all over again. When I was done, my eyes were gritty from crying and my abused throat could barely manage a whisper.

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Mostly." I hugged myself. My sweater was ruined, and now, clad just in a tank top, I couldn't get warm.

"I don't know how to protect you from this," he said. "Can we move you? Start you over somewhere else? Billy has a lot of contacts in Boston. Portland, maybe? Portland's good."

"I'm not moving to Portland," I said. "Besides, I'm out of it now."

"You could have died tonight, Mo. I came in that room and saw you looking like a G.o.dd.a.m.n Roman candle, you were so lit up. I could see your bones. And all those lights, bouncing around, and those things. . . ."

"Darklings."

"Right. They were headed straight for you, and all I could think was that they were going to cut you down before I could get there."

"I'm sorry," I whispered, and began to tremble, teeth chattering.

He stood and grabbed a thick, cream-colored blanket from the back of the couch. "Here."

I wrapped it around my shoulders, grateful for the warmth, and propped my chin in my hands. He sat down again, scrutinizing me, but I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Kowalski's dead," I said, unable to keep the wobble from my voice.

"Yeah."

Water. A gla.s.s of water would soothe my throat and keep me from having to see the expression on Colin's face. I walked over to the sink and ran the tap, still clutching the blanket around me. "He has a daughter my age. Did you know that?"

"I did not."

I tried to remember what Kowalski had told me about her. "Jenny," I said eventually. "Her name is Jenny."

He didn't say anything for a minute. "It counts for something, Mo, that he was trying to protect you. There's honor in that."

Cold comfort for Jenny. I boosted myself up on the granite counter and rested my head on the cabinet behind me. "Maybe. Mostly, when people say they're trying to protect me, they're really trying to find a way to feel better about lying. Like my family. Or Luc. Verity, even. Have you noticed that?"

He spoke carefully. "It's possible your family has more to lie about than most."

"Bad things happen when people try to protect me. Verity tried, and it got her killed. Kowalski tried, and it got him killed. The Darklings almost got you, too." I thought of Luc, yanking me back from the raw magic before it could consume me. "Bad things," I repeated, shifting my gaze from the ceiling to his face. "And it's your job. You're fired."

He smiled for the first time that night, standing and crossing the room to me. "We've been over this. You can't fire me."

"I just did."

"Billy-"

"Billy doesn't get to decide for me anymore. There was never a hit on me. I'm no longer any use to Evangeline, so there's no threat from her."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said, frowning.

I brushed his words away. "You shouldn't be around me."

He placed his hands on the countertop, boxing me in. "I like being around you, so knock it off. I'm not going anywhere."

The quiet settled over us. My head felt floaty and disconnected. Colin didn't complain when I leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder, just put one warm, strong arm around me. He smelled like soap and cedar and wool blanket. It would have been peaceful, if the images of the night hadn't kept crowding into my head.

"So, when this Luc guy talks about the end of the world, does he mean the actual end of the world?"

"As in, is this our last night on earth?"

"Something like that."

I straightened. "That is . . . unclear. The prophecy says that if the Torrent isn't stopped, anyone unprepared will be swept away like dust."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds pretty end-of-days."

"I know. For people like us . . . it depends on how close we are to the lines, I guess. For Luc's people . . . it'll be bad, no matter where they are." My stomach clenched at the thought.

"And you're supposed to stop this?"

"No. Verity was. I was just the subst.i.tute."

His voice sharpened. "You're not a subst.i.tute."

"I didn't mean it like that."

He stepped toward me, anger making his eyes go darker. "Sure you did. You told Luc you were willing to die tonight. I heard you say it."

"I meant-"

"I know exactly what you meant. And I know how close you came." He grabbed my arms and gave me one sharp shake. "Don't you ever do that again, or I will kill you myself. You think Verity wanted you to die for her?"

Mo, run! "No." My voice sounded pitifully small.

"You think Luc wanted you to? He saved your a.s.s, Mo. I don't trust him, and I will not be destroyed if this Torrent you keep talking about fries him like a piece of KFC, but when he had the choice to save you or go after Evangeline and the ring, he chose you."

"He doesn't even see me," I said softly. "Not really."

Colin pursed his lips, very deliberately let go. "Maybe. Maybe not. If so, it's his loss. I know what I see when I look at you."

"What?"

"Someone extraordinary."

I shook my head, and he laughed a little. "I understand wanting a quiet life. I've been looking for it since I was eleven, and this-" He gestured to the rest of the house. "Right here, this is the closest I've gotten. So I understand, more than you know. But sometimes, Mo . . . sometimes you just shine, and it doesn't have anything to do with magic or prophecies. It's just you. I wish you could see it."

I pressed my fingers to my eyes, and his voice turned incredulous. "Are you crying?"

"No." I pressed harder. No use.

"Come on, kid. After everything that's happened, now you cry?"

"I'm not crying," I said, but he tugged my hands away from my face. "And stop calling me kid. I hate when you do that."

"Yeah," he said softly. "I should really stop."

Gently, he swept a thumb under my lashes, catching the tears before they fell, rubbing slowly along my jaw.

I put my hand, palm out, square against his chest. The warmth of his skin through his cotton T-shirt was shocking, and I could feel his heart beating, the seconds stretching out unbearably. The blanket slithered to the floor, and he closed his eyes for a long moment.

"Mo?" His hand dropped, closing on my shoulder, one finger sliding under the strap of my tank. "This is not a good idea."

The world might have been ending, but Colin was solid and safe and alive mere inches away from me, and I was alive, and suddenly it seemed like the very best idea ever.

"Does it hurt?" I whispered, touching the gauze on his arm.

"No." His other hand closed around my hip, anchoring me on the counter.

"That's good." I leaned toward him, the tiniest bit, and he inhaled sharply, wrapping his fingers in the strap of my tank, pulling it tighter, bringing me closer.

"Mo," he repeated, warningly.

"Then tell me to stop."

He shook his head, one short negative movement, and it was the easiest thing in the world to kiss him, pressing my lips lightly against his. He stayed very still. I drew back slightly to see his eyes, dark and glinting like the lake at night, scanning my face for something unknown.

"Tell me to stop," I said again, and this time when I leaned in, he did, too, his hand sliding around to my back.

It was different from kissing Luc. Steadier, somehow, and easier. Colin tasted clean and sharp, and I could feel myself slipping into the want washing over me. He stepped between my legs and hauled me closer against the solid expanse of his chest, the heat of his skin nearly scorching me through our shirts. I tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and he stopped kissing me long enough to shuck it off and throw it toward the coffee table. He paused, looking down at me, and slipped the strap of my camisole off, baring one shoulder completely, brushing his fingertips down my neck in a slow sweep. I leaned in to kiss him again, hardly breathing for all the hunger building in my blood.

His hair was softer than it looked-he wore it so short I expected it would feel coa.r.s.e and bristly, but it was down soft and I raked my fingers through it, then down the broad planes of his back, startled to encounter scars there.

His teeth sc.r.a.ped against my collarbone, and I whimpered, pulling his mouth back to mine, drinking in the taste of him like the end of summer, all light and heat and slow burn. My fingertips curled around his belt loops, and he pushed up suddenly, his hands caging me in, his breath fast and heavy.

"What?"

He leaned his forehead against mine, closed his eyes. "We need to stop."

"What? Why? Because I didn't mean it, before."

"I know. But we need to." He tugged the straps of my camisole up, smoothed my hair.

"Why?" I wished for the blanket back, wanting to hide from whatever he was about to say.

"Look, falling into bed would be nice, but it won't make everything go away."