The Pagan Stone

Eleven

SHE DIDN’T DREAM, AND THAT SURPRISED HER. Cybil had fully expected to be dogged by nightmares, portents, imagery, but instead had slept straight through the night.

Something accomplished, she supposed, as she’d gotten nowhere on the evening research. Hopefully, she’d do better today, rested and focused. Rising, she walked over to take a good, hard look at herself in the mirror.

She looked the same, she thought. She was the same. What had happened to her wasn’t a turning point in her life. It didn’t make her less, and it hadn’t broken her down. If anything, the attack had given her more incentive, made her more involved and more determined to win.

It may feed on humans, she realized. But it didn’t understand them. And that, she supposed, could be another weapon in their arsenal.

Now, she wanted a session at the gym to kick her energy level up. Sweating out the toxins, she thought, would be a kind of ritual cleansing. With any luck Qui

She strode into the kitchen, pulling up short when she saw Gage at the table with a mug of coffee and a deck of cards.

“You’re out early.”

“Never left.” As she’d done herself, he gave her a long, hard look. “Bunked on the couch.”

“Oh.” It gave her a quiver in the belly. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Do what?” His eyes never left her face, adding another quiver. “Stay, or bunk on the couch?”

She opened the refrigerator, got out the water. “Either. But thanks. I’m going over to the gym. I want some cardio. I assume that’s where Qui

“Noises were made. Why don’t you stick with the Gumby routine?”

“It’s not what I’m after. Yoga relaxes me. I need to pump.”

“Crap.”

“What?” she demanded as he rose.

“ Cal ’s got half his gear here. I’ll find something. Wait,” he ordered and strode out.

If she was going to wait, she wanted coffee, so she picked up Gage’s mug and finished his off. He came back wearing a pair of gray sweats that had seen much better days, and a Baltimore Orioles T-shirt. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

“Am I correct in assuming you’re going to the gym with me?”

“Yeah, get it moving.”

She opened the fridge, took out a second bottle of water and shoved it in her tote. She doubted he could have done or said anything at that particular moment that would have meant more to her. “I’m not going to argue or tell you I can get to the gym fine by myself. First, because it would be stupid after yesterday. And second, I want to see what you’ve got.”

“You’ve already seen what I’ve got.”

She laughed, and felt better than she’d have believed possible. “Good point.”

She got a solid hour in, and had the bonus of watching Gage work up a nice sweat lifting weights. It was more than the very appealing view, she realized. Watching him gave her just a little more insight into him. He didn’t want to be there, particularly, but since he was, he put his time to use. Focused, thorough, patient, she thought. It might have been more the cat-at-the-mouse-hole kind of patience than the altruistic sort, but the results were the same. He waited.

Looser and energized, she walked back with him. “Where will you go when this is over?” she asked, then moved her shoulders at his quiet look. “That’s optimism, which is positive energy. Any particular destination in mind?”

“I’ve kicked around a couple. Probably Europe, unless there’s something happening in the States. I’ll come back for the wedding-Jesus, weddings now. You?”

“I’ll go back to New York, I think, at least briefly. I miss it, and that’s God’s truth, so I’ll give myself an infusion of crowds and noise and pace. Plus, I’ll need to get back to work that pays. But I expect I’ll put in considerable time here. The girl part of the weddings will be more demanding than your boy part of them. If I can swing it after Qui

“That’s a plan.”

“A flexible one, which is my favorite kind.” As they turned at the Square, she gestured to the Bowl-a-Rama. “I admire people like that. Cal and his family, who dig in and build and make a genuine mark on a place. I’m grateful they exist, and glad of the fact that by existing and digging in and building, they allow me to make flexible plans and visit lots of those genuine marks someone else has made.”

“No burning desire to make a mark?”

“I like to think I do make them, in my own fashion. I find things out. You need information to write a book, make a movie, rehab a house, build a shopping center, and I can get that for you. And I can get you information you didn’t realize you needed or wanted. Maybe all of those projects would have gotten done without me, but I can promise you they’re better with me. That’s enough of a mark for me. How about you?”

“I just like to win. I can settle for having played if the game’s solid, but wi

“Isn’t it just,” she agreed.

“But if I leave a mark, it gives the other players too much information, too much they might use if we faced each other over a pile of chips again. Better to have a blank slate, as much as possible. They don’t know you, it’s harder for them to read you.”

“Yes.” She spoke quietly. “Yes, that’s exactly right. And to bring this into our situation, I had a similar thought this morning. It doesn’t understand us. It can’t really know us. It can anticipate some. What it did to me, what it did to Fox years ago by killing Carly right in front of him. It knows how to hurt, how to use specific weapons to harm and to undermine. But it still doesn’t get it. It doesn’t seem to comprehend that the opposite side of fear is courage. Every time it uses our fears, it only pushes us to find more courage. It can’t read us, not accurately.”

“Wouldn’t flip to a bluff.”

“A bluff? What bluff?”

“I don’t know yet, but it’s worth thinking about because you’ve got a point. I want a shower and my own clothes,” he added the minute they stepped into the house, and headed straight upstairs.

Cybil considered. She heard the voices from the kitchen. Qui

Since the shower was already ru

“Mind?”

His gaze skimmed over her, then stayed steady on hers. “There’s probably enough water for both of us.”

“That’s what I thought.” Casually, she picked up her tube of gel, squirted a generous amount into her hand. “And twofers are more efficient. Plus.” Watching him, she soaped her breasts in slow circles. “I could pay you back for the night spent on the couch, and the stint at the gym.”

“I don’t see any money on you.”

“Barter system.” Slick and soapy, she pressed against him. “Unless you’d rather take an IOU.”

He plunged his hand into her hair, got a good grip to jerk her face up to his. “Pay up,” he demanded, then closed his mouth over hers.

There it was, she thought, outrageously grateful. There was the instant thrill, the response, the need. It had taken nothing from her. His body moved wet and hard against hers, his mouth took from hers, and there was nothing, nothing but pleasure.

“Touch me.” She demanded it, using her teeth, her nails. Nothing fragile here, nothing damaged or in need of tending. Touch me, she thought, take me. Make me feel utterly, utterly human.