The Pagan Stone

Fourteen

WHEN GAGE WOKE HE DIDN’T JUST WANT COFFEE, he wanted it desperately. He sat up first, testing, and when the room stayed steady, stood. No weakness, no nausea, no dizziness. All good news. And no odd euphoria, he realized as his mind tracked back.

What the hell had she put in that tea?

As much as he craved coffee, he wanted a shower more, so walked into the bathroom and stripped. In the mirror, he studied his shoulder, poked at the puckered crescent marring the skin. It was odd having a scar after all these years, a tangible reminder of those keen, feral teeth tearing into him. He’d broken bones, been stabbed, shot, burned, and not a mark to show for it. But Twisse, in the form of that little bastard, manages to get a quick bite, and it appeared he’d be carrying the scar from it for the rest of his life.

However long that might be.

He showered, dressed, and headed out in search of coffee. He stopped at Cal ’s home office where both Layla and Qui

“How are you feeling?” Layla asked him.

“I want coffee.”

“Back to normal then.” Qui

“Where’s everybody else?”

“They ran into town. Various errands.” Qui

“I want coffee,” he repeated, and walked away.

She didn’t seem especially burrowed, Gage thought when he saw Cybil at Cal’s kitchen counter. She had her laptop, her notebook, a bottle of water, but she sat right out in the open. And whatever she was doing, she stopped when he came in.

“You look better.”

“Feel better. Couldn’t have felt much worse.” He poured the last cup of coffee, wished someone else would make a fresh pot. And so thinking, turned to study her. “How about making fresh coffee since I almost died?”

“Doing ordinary, routine things, such as making fresh coffee, would probably make you appreciate life more.”

So much for sweet talk, he decided. Since there was a bag of Fritos on the counter, he dug in. “What was in the tea?”

She only smiled. “About four hours’ sleep, apparently. Someone dropped by to see you while you were out.”

“Who?”

“A

He considered, sipped coffee. “Is that so? Sorry I missed her.”

“We had a nice chat while you sawed a few off.”

“Cute. What about?”

“Life, love, the pursuit of happiness.” She picked up her bottle of water. “Death, demons. You know, the usual.”

“More cute. You’re on a roll.” And on edge, he mused. However well she masked it, he sensed nerves.

“I’m working on something that popped into my head when we talked. We’ll go over it when I nail it down a bit more. She loves you.”

“Sorry?”

“She loves you. I could see it in the way she looked at you while you were sleeping. And by the expression on your face now, I see that kind of talk is uncomfortable for a big he-man like you. But that’s what I saw on her face, heard in her voice. For what it’s worth. Now, go find something else to do and somewhere else to do it. I’m working.”

Instead, he crossed over, grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back so he could crush his mouth to hers. The moment flashed, then spun, then held. He felt another hint of dizziness, another taste of euphoria before he released her.

Her eyes opened, slow and sleepy. “What was that about?”

“Just another ordinary, routine thing to help me appreciate life.”

She laughed. “You’re cute, too. Oh the hell with it,” she said and pulled him against her to hold on, to lay her head on his shoulder where the demon’s mark rode. “Scared me. Really, really scared me.”

“Me, too. I was going. It didn’t seem so bad, all in all.” He tipped her head back again. This face, he thought, these eyes. They’d filled his vision, his head. They’d brought him back. “Then I heard you bitching at me. You slugged me, too.”

“Slapped, that time. I slugged you before, during our brilliant performance on the deck.”

“Yeah. And about that. I don’t remember us talking about punching.”

“What can I say. I’m a genius at improv. Plus, it seriously and genuinely pissed you off and we needed plenty of anger to sucker the Big Evil Bastard in. Your plan, remember? And you said we’d all have to get rough and real to make it work.”

“Yeah.” He picked up her hand, studied it. “You’ve got a decent right jab.”

“That may be, but I believe it hurt my hand more than it hurt your face.”

He closed her hand into a loose fist, then brought it to his lips. Over her knuckles he saw those gorgeous eyes go wide with shock. “What? I’m not allowed to make a romantic gesture?”

“No. Yes. Yes,” she said again. “It was just unexpected.”

“I’ve got a few more, but we made a deal early on.” Intrigued by her reaction, he rubbed his thumb over the knuckles he’d just kissed. “No seduction. Maybe you want to close that deal off, consider it old, finished business.”

“Ah… maybe.”

“Well then, why don’t we…” He trailed off at the sound of the front door opening, slamming. “Continue this later?”

“Why don’t we.”

Fox strode in first, carting a couple of bags. “Look who’s back from the dead. Got food, got stuff, got beer. Couple of twelve-packs in the car. You ought to go out, give Cal a hand bringing the rest in.”

“Got coffee?” Gage demanded.

“Two pounds of beans.”

“Grind and brew,” Gage ordered and walked out to help Cal.

Cybil looked at Fox, who was already pulling a Coke out of the fridge. “I don’t suppose you’d take that and go away, and take the rest of your kind with you for an hour.”

“Can’t. Perishables.” He pulled milk out of one of the grocery bags. “Plus, starving.”

“Oh well.” Cybil pushed away from the laptop. “I’ll help you put those away. Then I guess we’ll eat, and talk.”

SHE WASN’T REQUIRED TO COOK, WHICH CYBIL felt she was often cornered into doing. Apparently Cal and Fox had decided it was time for their own backyard barbecue. There were worse ways to spend a June afternoon than watching three good-looking men standing over a smoking grill.

And just look at them, she thought as she and the other women set bowls of deli potato salad, coleslaw, pickles, and condiments on the picnic table. As united over patties as they were over war. Just look at all of us. She paused a moment to do just that. They were about to have a backyard picnic, and in the same backyard hours before, one of them had bled, had suffered. Had nearly died. Now there was music pumping out of Cal’s outdoor speakers, burgers sizzling on the grill, and beer frosty in the cooler.

Twisse thought he could beat them, beat this? No. Not in a century of Sevens. It would never beat what it could never understand, and constantly underestimated.

“You okay?” Qui

“Yes.” A weight of stress and doubts dropped away. She might have to pick them up again, but for now, it was a beautiful day in June. “Yes, I am.”

“Quite a view,” Qui

“Camera worthy.”

“Excellent idea. Be right back.”

“Where’s she going?” Layla asked.

“I have no idea. Just as I have no idea why it apparently takes three grown men to cook some hamburgers.”

“One to cook, one to kibitz, and one to insult the other two.”

“Ah. Another mystery solved.” Cybil lifted her brow when Qui