Chapter Thirty Two
Rosalie
Daniel is funny when he's not being threatened by Mortae. The coffee he makes is decent even though he adds milk and sugar without asking. We're sitting at his kitchen table and maneuvering through small talk. Despite his nerves, he does his best to make me comfortable in his home, and his smiles come easier as the minutes tick past.
"Theodore isn't half as scary as he seems," I tell him.
"Respectfully," he says with a laugh, "half of 'piss my pants terrifying' is still terrifying."
The house is about the same size as the apartment I shared with Henry, meaning it's not very big at all. From what I can see of the layout, there's only one bedroom. A flat pillow is shoved into the crease of the couch, wedged between the cushion and the arm, and a blanket is piled below it. Since Daniel was so quick to answer the door, he's probably resigned himself to the less-than-ideal sleeping arrangement while Liam gets the real bed.
When Theodore returns, we've moved from the kitchen to the couch, chatting and joking like we're not on an estate owned by a servant of Death. Twice, I almost ask Daniel how he ended up here in the first place, but that would be rude, and he seems like a nice enough guy.
Theodore doesn't knock. He stands in the doorway, looking between us with a frown. "Am I interrupting?"
Daniel jumps to his feet and stammers a reply, but I roll my eyes. Theo isn't actually jealous. I know what his jealousy looks like, and it's not a frown and a raised brow. Besides, if he wanted to, he could read both of our minds and soothe his own temper. He's playing at intimidation, trying to scrape back some power because I hurt his feelings.
He flicks his gaze to me, dismissing Daniel's excuses. "Liam's settled. Are you ready to go, petal?"
Instead of teleporting us like I expect him to, he leads me to the front where a a sleek, two-door car is waiting. It looks fast. When I ask him why we're bothering to drive when he can have us there in an instant, he looks at me like I've asked why we don't eat poison or drink salt water.
"It made you sick last time," he says. "This will be more comfortable."
"I was sick for like, a minute."
"A minute too long." He opens the passenger door and gestures for me to slide in. "After you."
I duck inside to hide the heat in my cheeks. My shoulder brushes his arm. His care doesn't surprise me. He's capable of being tender, even when he's upset, and he's so rarely not gentle with me. He was gentle last night, though I asked him not to be.
The blush spreads down my neck. He climbs into the driver's seat and starts the car, pulling out of the driveway with practiced ease. I've avoided thinking about last night, but in this confined space with him, it's difficult not to remember how his hands felt on my skin, the reverence and lust lidding his eyes, his breathy whispers.
I expected him to talk. I didn't expect him to say such filthy things.
My wrist, salved and wrapped by Marcella, throbs as if to remind me what else he's capable of.
He doesn't react to my thoughts, though he's definitely listening. I clear my throat. "When did you learn to drive?"
It's a test. He knows it's a test. Still, his immediate reaction is to deflect. "I'm not sure. When were cars invented, again?"
I cross my arms and slouch in my seat. He glances and me sidelong and amends, "When I house a soul, I have access to their memories. That includes muscle memory. It's how I could write while I was technically illiterate. Hayes consumed the soul of a mortal who knew how to drive, so when I," he scowls, "acquired it, I gained the skill."
It's more information than I expected him to give. I push, "What sort of skills did Andrew give you?"
He's silent for a moment. Maybe me using his name threw him. Maybe he's trying to find an answer that won't wound me. "He was a boy scout. I can tie a hell of a bowline knot."
My quick, loud laugh surprises us both. It was a short-lived stint before I knew him, encouraged by his father who hated that he preferred painting his nails instead of getting dirt under them. He mentioned it maybe once or twice. "I forgot about that. It's not a very practical skill for someone of your aptitude."
The hint of a smile teases at Theo's lips. "Perhaps not. But he also led me to you, and I've found that to be very rewarding. Satisfactory, even."
"Don't try to charm me," I say without bite. "I am still mad at you."
"Oh, you're mad at me? I haven't noticed."
We don't talk for a while after that. We're speeding down a one lane highway. I've only traveled this road at night before. It's less foreboding during the day, but there's little traffic. Only trees and gravel accompany us. I don't know if Theo's reflexes are better than a living person's, but he drives much faster than I would.
We're a few miles from our exit into the city when I find my nerve to speak up again. "Tell me about the night Andrew died."
He goes still. "You want to do this now?"
"If you try to run, you'll wrap us around a tree or send us into a ditch, so yes. I want to do this now."
He taps his index finger against the wheel. "As you're aware, my mother is not a patient being. She has made a habit of threatening the people closest to me, punishing them for my defiance. One aspect of that defiance is my refusal to consume souls. On that night, I was given an ultimatum: acquire a soul, or she'd kill Elias."
I force myself to look at him. "You killed my friend to save yours."
"I killed a person I didn't know to save a person I cared deeply about." His hands tighten around the steering wheel. "I didn't seek Andrew out. It wasn't a targeted attack. He was already dying when I arrived; I wouldn't have approached otherwise. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong Mortae at his door. Could he have lived if I didn't intervene? Maybe. But I didn't slit his wrists, Rosalie. I just hastened the process."
"Do you think that absolves you?"
"I'm not looking for absolution. Hell, I'm not even looking for your forgiveness or understanding. You asked for the truth, and I'm giving it to you." His tone is level, almost mechanical. "And since you want honesty, I'll tell you this: I regret that it hurt you, but if my mother presented me with the same ultimatum today, I'd do it again."
I don't want him to make sense. I don't want to know that he was given two impossible options and chose the more reasonable one. It's easier if he's a monster who stole my best friend from me and then hid in his half-grin. But I asked for the truth, the actual truth, the one I can't pretend away. "So, where's Elias now?"
His silence is answer enough. This time, I don't push.
Cora's house is exactly as we left it save for the stink of staleness of a house left uninhabited for more than a few days and open moving boxes pressed against the back of the couch. It's my stuff from Henry's apartment, books and clothes packed and transported here by Marcella. Maybe she put her rebels to work, too. I assumed she'd be here and find myself disappointed that she isn't. Not because I dread being alone with Theo, but because I don't, and I should.
Theo sets the keys on the kitchen table with a clatter. "You're welcome to use the car," he says. "I'll use my own means of transportation when I need to travel."
"You'll be traveling?" I ask, and don't add, without me?
He cracks a smile. "Peace, remember? I do have obligations beyond my mother."
Since there's no longer an active threat to my safety, he doesn't hover. When he does leave, he doesn't tell me where he's going. I don't ask.
Alone in a house that isn't mine, I pat my pockets and realize too late that my phone is tucked inside the backpack still sitting on the floor in Marcella's room. Emily is going to be livid if she tries to call, which she will because she's Emily. I could just go to them, but—
But I'm a coward, and I don't want to face their questions and disapproval when I tell them where I'm living now. Maybe it's best that I'm unreachable. It'd be easiest if they forgot about me completely, if my disappearance became a mystery they talked about over dinners in twenty, thirty, forty years. They got over Andrew's death quick enough. They can move on from me.
I yank a book from one of the boxes and stretch out on the couch. It's one I've read before. I'm glad. I like knowing the ending.
Weeks pass like an afterimage of the first time I was holed up in this house. I wake and find Theo hasn't slept. He makes coffee and breakfast or warms up leftovers from the night before. We eat, sometimes in silence, sometimes with pleasant, inoffensive small talk.
When Theo leaves, often with excuses about checking in on Liam or meeting with Az, I'm left alone. I read or watch movies or sit in the yard and stare at the quiet street, counting the seconds between cars passing.
I head into the city sometimes, just to get away from the house, but I stay away from the places my friends would frequent. I pop into shops and pick up a shiny trinket or a sandwich and leave with a fleeting satisfaction.
Most nights, I invite Theodore to my bed. Most nights, he accepts.
One morning, a piercing headache wakes me. I squint and press my palm against my forehead. Marcella must be here. I'm not even in the room. Why can't they just speak like normal people?
I shove out of bed to tell them off, sweeping into the living room wearing my pajama shorts and slippers. They're not inside. A shadow moves under the gap of the front door. Fear splits my stride. I skid to a stop and consider slinking back to my room— Theo's room— Cora's room.
They're back to kill me. Uriel or Morrigan or Azmaveth or any of their minions. How could I think I was safe? That I made a deal with Death and got off scot free? I'm not smart enough to manage that, and I'm an idiot for ever thinking I could be.
The front door opens. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself. If this is how I meet my end, so be it. I only wish Theodore were here so I could tell him not to seek revenge. To forgive, as I've forgiven him.
"Morning, Petunia. Did you eat something sour?"
When I open my eyes, Marcella cocks her head at me. The adrenaline building in my body dumps, leaving me with a shiver. She scans me from toe to head, and then from head to toe. Theodore appears in the doorway behind her, peering at me over her shoulder. His irises are dark enough to consume the pupil.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other and fold my arms around myself. The blisters on my wrist have healed into pale scars, but the skin is still red and aches when it brushes the fabric of my shirt. "What's going on?"
"You're safe here," Marcella says, not gently. "You do know that, right?"
Theodore's face is impassive, but his shoulders are tense. Wisps of light circle his forearms. Something upset him, and I'm guessing that something has a blonde bob and a flippant demeanor. To him, I ask, "Am I?"
"Don't pick a fight right now," Marcella says. It's not until she leans slightly that I notice the wilted stems where there were once flowers close to blooming. She nods to the moving boxes, rifled through but not unpacked. "Are you staying?"
During the first week back in this house, on a night when I lost the fight to hold my tongue and temper, Theodore offered to pay for an apartment in the city if I no longer wanted to live with him. The offer was too close to Henry's, so I refused. I told him that he wasn't getting rid of me that easily, and he grinned.
"For now," I say.
"I'm going to the city to pick up some items Liam requested," Theodore says quietly, meeting my eye. It's not quite an invitation, but I nod. "Marcella was just leaving. She wanted to check on you."
"No harm in making sure she's still alive." Marcella shrugs with one shoulder, and it's then that I catch the flicker of fear in her frown. They're keeping secrets again. I'd say I'm surprised, but that would make me as much of a liar as Theo is. Over her shoulder, Marcella asks, "Are you coming to dinner?"
The glare she gets in return is equal parts answer and dismissal. Marcella clenches her fists once, then releases them. "Take care, Rose. Don't do anything I wouldn't do— though I suppose you already have."
I tighten my arms around myself as if I can keep the blush from my cheeks.
True to my assumption, Theodore wasn't expecting me to tag along on his trip to the city, but he can't deny me without admitting that he wasn't actually planning on picking up stuff for Liam. He knows I've caught him, but he dives into the lie. He leads me into an art supply store and a grocery co-op, leaving with bags of fresh fruit and a sketchpad that the kid definitely didn't ask for but will be delighted to receive.
It's spring now. Since the weather is nice, we take a detour to walk through a park near downtown. Sunlight dances on the pond in the center, and when the water stills, it's clear enough to see straight through to the bottom. It's man-made, but the ducks don't care. We follow the path that lines the water, scooting to the side to allow joggers and bikers to pass.
Theo has calmed down a bit since we left Cora's house, but he's nowhere near calm. He keeps a steady pace with me and dismisses my attempts at small talk about the weather or the changing season. There's no lightning around him, which is a promising sign, but his irises are still dark.
I nudge his hand with mine, rustling the bags. "Have you ever been skinny dipping?"
He blinks like I startled him. "What?"
"You know, stripping down, diving in. Usually in public, usually with other people."
A man walks past us heading in the opposite direction, speaking quietly into the cellphone pressed against his ear. Theodore tracks him without moving his head, waiting until he's out of earshot to continue. "I don't do that."
"Public indecency?"
"Swimming."
I do try not to laugh. "You're telling me you can't swim?"
This almost draws a smile from him. His lips twitch and clamp together, it's right there. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"The grim reaper can't swim."
"I can. I just avoid it whenever possible, which is fairly easy, actually. It's rare to be in a situation where I'm forced to swim." He looks at me sidelong and then away. He's caught on to me dragging him out of his brooding by poking at him, but he doesn't seem to mind. "As a grim reaper especially, but even mortals are so rarely faced with—" He cuts himself off, stopping mid-step.
I squint to see what stole his attention. My stomach plummets. I grab at his arm and try to tug him away, to turn him, but he's stone and I'm a trickle of rain. "That taqueria isn't far from here. Let's get lunch, yeah?"
Because Mike and Henry are standing under the shade of a tree a few yards away, glaring in our direction. I've never seen Henry look so disheveled in public before. He's in stained sweatpants and a white t-shirt that doesn't fit him properly. I think I've seen him wear it as pajamas.
Henry leans in and says something to Mike, but they're too far away for me to hear. Mike starts storming over with Henry on his heels.
"I've told you before," Theo says. "I don't pick fights."
"Walk away. Don't do this."
Theo looks down at my hand wrapped around his bicep, still tugging at him. "Please let go of me."
I hesitate but draw my hand back. A single strand of lightning, almost invisible in the sun, chases my palm. My instinct is to throw myself in front of Theo, not because I'm afraid of him being hurt but because his self-control is wavering, and I've been on the receiving end of his temper before. Instead, I take a half-step back. I have to trust that he's the person I want him to be.
Mike barrels over and, without a word, puts both his palms on Theo's chest and shoves. There's no cry of pain or shock from either of them, and Mike's skin isn't burnt, so Theo must be keeping his shit together. He stumbles back, which I clock as a feint— Mike is strong, but he's not that strong— and doesn't return the blow.
Henry catches my eye, a safe distance from Mike and Theo. "You alright?" he mouths.
"She's fine," Theo says coolly.
Mike snaps, "He wasn't fucking talking to you."
"He wasn't speaking at all, mousy as he is. It's impolite to collude in company." He looks away from Mike to address Henry directly which would be irresponsible for anyone else, since Mike is about two seconds away from decking him. "Hi again, Henry. You're looking well."
Henry puffs out his chest and glances at my scarred and reddened wrist. "We're taking her with us."
"You're not taking her anywhere. She's capable of making her own decisions." To Mike, "We were such pals. Why…" He cocks his head. "Oh. You think you're doing a noble thing, rescuing your friend from the likes of me. Petal, do you need to be rescued?"
I whisper, "Stop."
"Because as I recall, I rescued her from the misery that was a life with that one." He jerks his chin towards Henry. "She's had ample opportunities to return, and she chose not to. That must sting, if I'm the person you think I am—"
Mike lunges forward. His fist connects with Theo's cheek. I've seen Mike fight once before, after a basketball game that got heated. He was a kid then. He's a man now, and the force of the blow would've knocked anyone else's teeth out.
But Theodore isn't anyone. He's not even human. He makes a show of rubbing his cheek. When he starts to laugh, it's a low, humorless sound. "Was that satisfying? Would you like to try again?"
Through his teeth, Mike hisses, "What the fuck is wrong with you."
"Would you like the abbreviated list?"
Henry shakes off the stun of the brewing fight and starts towards me. "Come with us, Rose. Come home."
"I…" Can't? I could. I could take his hand and walk away right now. Theo wouldn't stop me. He'd just keep laughing. But I know him too well— I know Andrew too well— and beneath that anger is fear, and I won't let him be afraid by himself. "I don't want to."
"Rose, please." Henry lays a hand on my shoulder, and I know what's going to happen next. I turn to see the shadows gathering around Theo's feet.
Before I can shout a warning, Henry is ripped away from me. With a hand around his throat, Theo pulls him in close. "Don't touch her."
As the wind picks up around us, Mike surges to try to knock Theo off his feet. Theo swats him away. His arm never makes contact, but Mike flies back impossibly far like the wind itself is carrying him back. Henry makes a strangled noise, clawing at the hand tightening around his windpipe.
"Theodore!" I cry over the wind, shoving at Theo's side, trying to pull him from the rage summoning shadows around us. "That's enough! You're going to hurt him!"
Theo doesn't look at me. The facade of a normal man on a normal walk has dropped entirely. Henry's eyes are wide as he reconciles with the change, the monster I've chosen over him.
"Maybe I will," Theo says.
Mike stands and rushes towards us again, but a few feet away, he collides with an invisible wall. We're trapped, the three of us. The only person who can let us out is the devil who put us in here.
I give myself ten seconds to panic, to look at Theo and see the truest version of him. This is what I chose, but I did choose it. Then, I force myself to calm. To say, "You don't want to. You'd regret it."
My composure makes him waver. "Would I?"
"Yes." I sound more certain than I feel. "Let him go."
He does, but slowly.
Henry stumbles back with his hand over his throat. I don't need to see the skin to know there's a blistering handprint there. He trips over his own feet and hits the ground hard, panting. His pupils are blown with adrenaline. From the ground, he rasps, "What are you?"
Theo cocks his head and looks to me instead of answering. Again, that intoxicating burst of power floods me, mixing with the adrenaline to provide a sharp burst of clarity. I could tell him to do anything. He would do anything. There isn't a line he wouldn't cross if I asked him to. It's more effort to keep him from acting than it would be to let him dive into his impulses. To let him be as he is, the most natural version of himself.
It doesn't scare me, knowing I have that power over him. Knowing what he's capable of. Knowing there will be a moment when I can't talk him down, and that moment is approaching like a train coming to station, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.
But I stopped it today. Today, I stood palms out before the unrelenting fury of Death and said no.
I offer Theo my hand. "Lunch?"