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They lapsed into silence. In thirty seconds, she snored lightly. A minute later she rolled over against him. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back with each breath.
Forget it. You barely even know her. Just go to sleep, idiot.
And somehow he did. Deep fatigue seeped into his bones, sapped him, pulled him into downy slumber.
“Allen. Alllleeeeee
Oh, hell.
He wore the ruffled shirt again, found himself jogging through a green, misty forest. The voice kept calling his name. The fog swirled in so thick that it swallowed the trees around him. He glided through it, his boots touching down on cobblestone. The fog parted to reveal an iron gate and a stone wall, a graveyard beyond, large monuments as looming and eerie as a scene from a Hammer film.
Allen knew it was a dream. Or was it more? Some kind of visitation.
Cassandra stood at the gate, and Allen felt chilled to look upon her. She wore a bloodred dress, the half moons of her white breasts erupting from her bodice. This seemed less Brontë to Allen and more Harlequin. The entire scene seemed a bit off, in fact, fading in and out of focus as the fog ebbed and flowed.
“I can barely reach you, My Allen.” Cassandra’s voice sounded as if it came from the far end of a long tu
“Why?” Allen’s own voice sounded too loud. “What’s in there?”
“My life.”
Cassandra slowly melted into transparency, blew away like smoke on the wind, melting into the fog.
“Wait!” shouted Allen. “What’s in there?”
The fog closed in, and everything went gray.
Allen opened his eyes.
How long had it been? More than five minutes certainly. Amy still curled next to him, her warm breath on his neck. He checked himself and was never so happy to find himself flaccid. Now maybe he could get dressed with a minimum of embarrassment. He propped himself up on one elbow, prepared to nudge Amy awake.
A light knock at the door. “Allen? Are you in there?” It was a familiar voice.
The door opened slowly. A young woman stuck her head inside the dorm room. “Allen?”
Pe
Allen pictured himself hovering over Amy, both of them in towels, and realized how it must have looked.
“Is that you, Allen?” Pe
Amy’s eyes flickered open, and she saw Pe
Pe
TWENTY-SIX
A my slipped into a pair of Allen’s gym shorts, then pulled them tight with the drawstring. She knotted the too-large, red T-shirt (which read CCCP in yellow letters) at the waist and somehow made the outfit work. Meanwhile, Allen turned his back to the girls and put on boxers, jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and socks and ru
“I’m sorry,” Amy said to Pe
“Yes, I saw how urgently you both occupied the bottom bunk without any clothing,” Pe
“Damn it, Pe
Pe
“This is serious. I don’t think Father Paul is the person you think he is.”
Allen tried to explain the late-night firefight, the special-forces priests bursting in, the flight to the secret witches’ lair beneath Zizkov, the story of the philosopher’s stone. He tried to imagine how the story sounded.
It sounded like bullshit.
“I’ve known Father Paul a long time,” Pe
“Maybe you didn’t hear the part about the machine guns,” Allen said. “He tried to kidnap me.”
“Actually, it sounds like your girlfriend and her pals kidnapped you and Father Paul was trying to rescue you,” Pe
Allen opened his mouth, paused, closed it again, and turned to Amy. “She has a point.”
“The Society is only trying to help,” Amy insisted. “We’re the good guys here.”
Pe
Allen shook his head. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Whatever you think, we can’t stay here,” Amy said. “Now let’s move. Please.”
“I have a place,” Pe
Amy and Allen looked at each other.
“Well, they won’t think you’re with me, will they? We can go to my place and figure things out,” Pe
Amy chewed her thumbnail. “I don’t know. You might not want to get involved with this.”
“Listen to me, new girl.” Pe
Allen blinked at her. “When did you get so assertive?”
Pe
They caught a tram a block from the university.
“You have metro passes, right?”
Amy and Allen both shook their heads.
Pe
“Pe
“Oh, just… shut up.”
The tram took them over the Charles River and back past Letna Park. They entered a much less touristy part of the city, and Allen recognized the working-class suburb as Holešovice from The Rogue’s Guide.
“The next stop is ours,” Pe
The tram squealed to a stop, and they piled out with a dozen others, mostly Czechs scattering back to their homes. Pe
“Three of us went in on an apartment,” Pe
They trudged up the stairs along the side of the house, and Pe
Amy went ahead of them, peeking into every room. “Are we alone?”
Allen and Pe
“Who’s Ian?” Allen asked.
“Nobody that has anything to do with you,” Pe
The apartment consisted of three bedrooms, a sitting area in the middle, and a kitchen with a small table.
“I call the furniture Commie Surplus,” Pe
Allen dropped himself into a padded chair of faded orange. Some kind of fake leather. Amy helped herself to the narrow couch.
“There’s nothing in the refrigerator, I’m afraid,” Pe
“Can I use your phone?” Amy asked. “I think I’d better get in contact with my people.”
“There’s no phone.”
Amy nibbled her bottom lip, concern crossing her face. “They’re going to be wondering about us.” She looked at Allen. “About you. I’ve got to let them know we’re okay and get instructions for what to do next.”
“There’s a pay phone near the tram stop,” Pe
“Wait a minute,” Allen said. “I’m not interested in your calling your Society pals just so they can stuff me in a trunk again.”