I was right, wasn’t I, mate.
Phury refocused on the eerie white expanse of the Other Side. It was so perfect, everything in order, nothing out of bounds. The white tulips with their white stems stayed within their beds around the buildings. The trees didn’t breach the forest’s edge. There wasn’t a weed to be seen.
He wondered who mowed their lawn, and had a feeling the grass, like all the rest of it, just grew that way.
Must be nice.
Chapter Fourteen
Back at the brotherhood’s mansion, Cormia checked the clock on her bureau again. John Matthew had been due to come for her an hour ago to watch a thew had been due to come for her an hour ago to watch a movie, and she hoped nothing had gone wrong.
Pacing around a little more, she found that her room seemed way too small tonight, way too crowded, even though it had no new furniture and she was all alone.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, she had too much energy.
It was the Primale’s blood.
That and a crushing, unsatisfied urgency.
She stopped by the window, put her fingertips to her lips, and remembered the taste of him, the feel of him. What a mad rush, what a glorious ecstasy. But why had he stopped? That question had been swirling in her head. Why had he gone no further? Yes, the medallion had summoned him, but as Primale everything was on his terms. He was the strength of the race, the ruler of the Chosen, free to ignore any and all at his will.
The only answer she had made her sick to her stomach. Had it been his feelings for Bella? Had he believed that he was betraying the one he loved?
It was hard to know what was worse: him being with her and all her sisters, or him being with none of them because his heart was held by another.
Looking out at the night, she was sure she was going to go crazy if she stayed in her room, and the pool with its undulating surface caught her eye. The gentle waving motion reminded her of the deep baths on the other side, promising a peaceful respite from all that was on her mind.
Cormia was at her door and out in the hall before she knew she’d left her bedroom. Moving quickly and silently in her bare feet, she took the grand staircase down to the foyer and crossed the mosaic floor. In the billiards room, she used the door John had let them out of the night before and stepped free of the house.
Standing on the cool stones of the terrace, she let her senses reach into the darkness and ran her eyes down what she could see of the massive wall at the edge of the property. There seemed to be no danger. Nothing moved among the flowers and trees of the garden except the thick night air.
She glanced back up at the massive house. Lights glowed in leaded windows, and she could see doggen moving around. There were plenty of folks close by should she need help.
She closed the door most of the way, picked up the skirting of her robes, and jogged across the terrace to the water.
The pool was rectangular and ringed with the same flat black stones that covered the terrace. Long chairs made up of woven strips and tables with glass tops. Off to one side, there was a black contraption with a white tank. Flowers in pots added color.
Kneeling down, she measured the water, its surface appearing oily in the moonlight, probably because the pool’s belly was lined in more of the black stone. The way it was set up was not like the baths at home; there was no gradual wading in, and she suspected the depths were substantial. You would not get trapped, however. At regular intervals on the sides, there were curving handles that you could use to help yourself free of the water.
Her toe went in first and then her whole foot, the pool’s surface rippling out from the penetration, as if the water were clapping in encouragement.
There were stairs over to the left, shallow steps that were clearly the way you went in. She went to them, took off her robe, and walked naked into the pool.
Her heart was pounding, but oh, the luxury of the water’s soft buffer. She kept going forward until she was clothed in a gentle, moving embrace from breast to heel.
How lovely it was.
Instinct told her to push off with her feet, and she did, her body slipping forward in a weightless slice. Sending her arms up and out and then drawing them back in, she discovered she could make her way around, going wherever she chose-first to the right, then to the left, then down, down, down to the end, where a thin board overhung the water.
Finished with exploring, Cormia rolled onto her back and floated along and looked at the sky. The twinkling lights above made her think of her place in the Chosen and of her duty to be one among many, a molecule that was part of a whole. She and her sisters were indistinguishable within the grand tradition they served: just like this water, seamless and fluid, with no boundaries; just like the stars above, all the same.
Looking up at earth’s heaven, she had another one of those random, heretical thoughts, only this one wasn’t about house design or what someone wore or whether she liked a bit of food or didn’t.
This one went straight to the core of her and marked her as a sinner and a heretic:
She did not want to be one of many.
Not with the Primale. Not to him.
And not to herself.
Across town, Qhuinn sat on his bed and stared down at the cell phone in his palm. He’d typed out a text that was addressed to both Blay and John, and was just waiting to send the fucker.
He’d been sitting here for what seemed like hours, but had probably just been one at the most. After he’d taken a shower to wash Lash’s blood off, he’d planted his ass down and braced himself for what was coming.
For some reason, he kept thinking about the one nice thing he could remember his parents ever doing for him. It had been back about three years ago. He’d been bugging them to be allowed to go to his cousin Sax’s in Connecticut for, like, months. Saxton had already gone through his transition and was a little wild, so naturally he was Qhuinn’s hero. And naturally, the ’rents didn’t approve of Sax or his parents-who were not all that interested in the glymera’s self-imposed social wedgies.
Qhuinn had begged and pleaded and whined and gotten a whole lot of nothing for his efforts. And then out of the blue his father had informed him that he was getting his way and going south for the weekend.
Joy. Total fucking joy. He’d packed up three days early, and when he’d gotten in the back of the car after dark and been driven over the border into Connecticut, he’d felt like he was king of the world.
Yeah, it had been nice of his parents.
Course, then he’d learned why they’d done it.
The adventure at Sax’s hadn’t worked out all that well. He’d ended up drinking up a storm with his cuz during Saturday ’s daylight hours and had gotten so sick off a lethal combo of Jägermeister and vodka Jell-O shots that Sax’s parents had insisted he head home to recover.
Being driven back by one of their doggen had been such the ride of shame, and what was worse, he kept having to ask the chauffeur to stop so he could throw up some more. The only saving grace was that Sax’s folks had agreed not to tell his parents-on the condition that he make a full confession when he was dropped at his front door. Clearly, they didn’t want to deal with his mother and father, either.
As the doggen had pulled up in front of the house, Qhuinn had figured he was just going to say he felt ill, which was true, and that he’d asked to come back home, which was not true and never would be true.
Except things didn’t go down like that.
Every light in the place had been on, and music had been streaming in the air, coming from a tent set up out back. Candles were lit in every window; people were moving around in every room.