The Girl in the Wind, page 20
part #2 of Iron on Iron Series
The man slowed his advance on Jem, repositioned himself to keep Theo in his field of view. If the possibility of two opponents bothered him, he gave no sign of it. His stance was loose, almost relaxed. The sickle looked like it was hanging from one hand, and although the knuckle dusters meant his grip on the trench knife was tight, his whole body looked liquid.
“We’re going to fuck your shit,” Jem said. He was grinning, his eyes bright with a wildness Theo hadn’t seen before. “I sell real estate, and do you know how fucking cutthroat the Salt Lake market is? And him? He teaches teenagers.”
Theo inched closer, hoping to use Jem’s patter as cover, but faster than Theo could believe their attacker spun toward him and swung the sickle. Theo barely got the lid up in time.
He might as well have been holding a sheet of paper. The blade of the sickle tore through the steel before catching. Theo yanked, trying to pull the sickle from the man’s grip, but the man twisted his body, and instead, Theo lost the lid. The attacker dropped the weapon to his side, trying to shake the sickle free of the lid, and lunged at Theo with the knife.
Jem darted in, the antenna whipping so fast that it blurred. It caught the man on the side of the head, and he expelled a furious breath. Jem pressed the attack, slashing over and over again with the antenna, and the man reacted instinctively, trying to pull out of Jem’s reach.
Theo saw the opening and took it. Their attacker’s lunge had left his arm partially extended, and now, while his attention was turned to Jem, Theo dropped his own knife to grab the man’s wrist and forearm. He forced the man’s arm down and brought his knee up, driving it into the man’s arm. Theo didn’t care if he broke the man’s arm or if he simply forced him to drop the knife—he’d take whatever he could get.
For a moment, it seemed to be working. With the sickle trapped in the pot lid, Jem raining down blows, and Theo breaking his grip on the knife, Theo had the barest flash of a thought: we’re winning.
Then it all went wrong.
The attacker stomped on Jem’s foot, and Jem fell back, howling. Theo tried to take advantage of the man’s momentary imbalance, and he managed to drive him back a few steps. But without Jem to distract him, their attacker brought the sickle up, still trapped in the stockpot lid, and swung it in an arc at Theo’s head.
Theo twisted, trying to get away from that black metal. The stockpot lid saved him.
Caught in the lid, the blade of the sickle couldn’t reach him. But the lid struck Theo instead, and the force of the blow rocked his head sideways. Theo’s grip on the man’s arm weakened, and he fought to keep hold.
Jem, meanwhile, had somehow stayed upright, and his face was wrought with fury. Their attacker’s attention was still focused on Theo, having dismissed Jem—too early, as it turned out. Theo watched now as Jem took advantage of the opening. He staggered forward, one hand knifing out, something small and black visible between his fingers. Whatever it was, it sank into the man’s side, and Jem repeated the movement, stabbing in a frenzy over and over again.
The man screamed. The noise was half startlement, half pain. Theo was still holding the man’s arm, still trying to wrest the knife free. Now, the man moved with the pressure Theo was applying. The sudden lack of resistance meant Theo stumbled, and his bad knee failed him again. As he lost his balance, their attacker spun into the movement, so that he passed Theo. He kicked backward as he moved, the sole of his boot connected with Theo’s back, and Theo grunted as breath exploded out of him. Then he crashed into Jem, and they both went down.
Jem fought to separate them, trying to get free, and Theo flopped onto his back. He still couldn’t catch his breath. He tried to help Jem, to disentangle himself from the other man, to get to his feet. But the signals from his brain to his body had been short-circuited somewhere, and all he could do was lie there, arching his back, struggling to get air.
Above them, the man appeared again, sickle and knife finally free for their bloody work.
Then he staggered and let out a muffled shriek.
Theo got onto his side, and he stared in disbelief as Tean brought Theo’s cane back for another blow. The vet’s hair was wild, his eyes huge, and fear painted his face in broad strokes, but he swung the cane again, and the thud of wood against flesh seemed to reverberate inside Theo’s head.
As the attacker rounded on Tean, the vet fell back, giving ground and holding up the cane in a fending off gesture. But the man didn’t go for Tean. He let out a furious noise, and then he turned and kicked something resting next to the kitchen island. In the melee, Theo hadn’t noticed it, and now he saw that it looked like an old metal gas can. Liquid sloshed as the can tumbled toward the front of the house. Some of it arced out and sprayed the walls. When it hit the floor, more of the liquid flowed out across the floor. It wasn’t water—Theo could tell from the way the light hit it—and then he smelled gasoline.
In another smooth, almost contemptuous movement, the man slapped the candle still burning on the island. It flew across the room and landed in the spreading puddle of gasoline, and flames burst into life.
The wave of brightness and heat made Theo flinch back, and by the time he recovered, the man was gone.
Jem was already getting to his feet, shouting something over the noise of the flames as he stumbled toward Tean. Tean was saying something back. Fueled by the gasoline, the fire caught easily, spreading along plaster and wood, lapping at the carpet. The heat made Theo’s skin itch, already hot enough that he felt like he had a sunburn.
And then his brain connected the rest of the dots.
The hallway.
The stairs.
Auggie and Lana.
He took a step toward the inferno, and the heat made him feel like his skin was peeling back. He held up a hand. His brain searched for alternatives, anything but the fire. A fire extinguisher. He knew they kept a fire extinguisher—
Something dark moved on the other side of the flames, and then a shape hurtled through the blaze. It was like something dark and primal—something beyond the rational fears of the front brain. And then it staggered and hit the ground, flames licking at it as it rolled.
Tean moved first, dropping onto his knees and grabbing a pillow to beat out the flames, and Theo lumbered into motion then, his body too slow. Jem helped too.
A blanket. A burning blanket, Theo thought.
And then Auggie was staring up at him, Lana still clutched in his arms, her face buried in his chest as she cried uncontrollably.
Theo felt something break inside him, a dam that had been holding back a flood, and he started to weep as he wrapped them in his arms.
18
Later, in Emery and John-Henry’s basement—which had been turned over to Theo and Auggie and Lana, without so much as a word of complaint from Colt—Auggie lay quietly and waited for Theo to stop shaking.
It had been hours. The police had come. The fire department. The ambulance. Statements made while the fire engines pumped water and men and women fought the flames. Theo and Jem and Auggie and Lana in the ambulance.
Now, in the darkness of the basement, with Lana asleep on the couch while Theo and Auggie took the floor, Theo gripped the blanket and trembled, and Auggie tried to figure out what to do.
A man had come into their home, and Theo hadn’t been able to stop him. Auggie knew what that meant for him. Even with Jem, who had fought like a dervish, Theo hadn’t been able to do anything but slow him down. Auggie closed his eyes. What he had seen of the fight had been brief, but he remembered the matte black of the sickle rising like a crescent moon.
Theo was still shaking.
Auggie rolled onto his side. His hand found Theo’s arm, and he ran his fingers up and down slowly.
After a while, Theo whispered, “You need to sleep.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Theo didn’t answer.
“It’s ok,” Auggie said. “We’re here. We’re safe. Let go of it for a little while, Theo. Let go of it until tomorrow.”
“Ok,” Theo said.
Auggie made a shushing noise.
“Ok, you’re right,” Theo said. “I’m fine. You need to sleep.”
Lana made a restless noise and tossed on the couch.
Auggie found his hand. He worked Theo’s fingers loose from the blanket, and then he slotted his between them. Theo had nice hands—strong hands, callused, hard. His fingers tightened around Auggie’s until it hurt.
“Stop,” Auggie said, and his voice was a little more serious this time.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
“You heard Frannie,” Auggie said. “It’s a little bit of skin on the back of my calves, and it’s not any worse than a sunburn.”
“How’s the pain? Has the lidocaine worn off?”
Lana made that noise again, her little body twisting under the blanket.
“Come on,” Auggie said, squeezing Theo’s hand. “We’re going to wake her.”
Theo nodded, barely more than an impression of movement in the dark. The blanket rustled as Auggie sat up, and then he tugged on Theo’s hand, and they made their way upstairs.
They crept to the top of the stairs, and in the kitchen, Auggie eased the door to the basement shut. The main floor of the house was dark and quiet; the sound of uneven breathing from the living room announced North and Shaw’s presence. Everyone gathered under one roof, Auggie thought. In case someone came again.
Auggie let them out into the garage. The air was cool in the small hours, and the smell of grass clippings and motor oil was strangely pleasant. Normal smells, Auggie thought. Everyday smells.
Auggie turned on the light. The space was cramped with the Mustang and the Odyssey pulled into their spots, but he found a cooler, and he sat Theo on it. Then he sat on Theo’s lap and wrapped Theo’s arms around him. He was aware of Theo’s heartbeat, of it beating faster than he could count. He was aware of Theo, too. The warm solidity of him. The smell of his hair. The familiar feeling of being safe in his embrace.
“If I catch that other Theo tonight,” Auggie murmured, “the one who likes to beat up on you, I’m going to kick his ass.”
Theo laughed quietly and kissed the side of his neck.
“Thank you, by the way, for never making me drive a minivan.” Auggie heard the possible implications and rushed to add, “I didn’t mean it that way.”
Theo nodded against him.
“It’s just that they’re so…gross.”
“Uh huh.”
“You, on the other hand.”
“I’d be perfect in a minivan?”
“I was going to say, if you want a Mustang, we’re getting you a Mustang.”
“I think Mustangs are wasted if you try to drive under thirty miles an hour.”
“But you’d be so hot, Theo. I mean, you are so hot, objectively. But I can just see you sitting in one, window down, one big brawny arm hanging out, your hair flowing in the breeze. Oh God, you’d probably get a farmer’s tan, and then you’d get fired because I’d keep you in bed all the time for sex.”
“I already have a farmer’s tan, if you’ll recall. You like to point out the exact spot where my t-shirt and shorts cover me. I believe your usual line is ‘I can’t believe how white you are.’”
Auggie made a noise that was low and filthy, and he said, “You’re right. I hope we can survive on one income.”
“We might have to downgrade. I’m not sure our homeowners’ insurance covers homicidal maniacs.”
“It covers arson, Theo. I already checked. And the house wasn’t destroyed. There’s some fire damage, and we’ll have to clean it up, maybe have some of it rebuilt. But we’re going to be fine. Our home is going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”
Theo tightened his arms around Auggie, and Auggie grabbed him back, his hands wrapping around Theo’s arms, pulling him even closer.
After a while, Theo said, “I’m ok, I promise. I’m better now. Thank you.”
“You still haven’t given me an answer about the Mustang.”
Theo kissed the side of his head.
“Maybe we can borrow John-Henry’s,” Auggie said as he stood. “For a night.”
“For a night?”
“We’ll clean it super good.”
“Auggie.”
“He never has to know.”
Theo let Auggie help him up. He kissed him. And then he said, “I’m sorry for—for how weird I was acting yesterday.”
Auggie was quiet until it was almost too long. But then he said, “It was a weird day, Theo.”
He followed Auggie back inside, and the murmur of voices stopped them in the kitchen.
“—because, dumbass,” North was saying, “Auggie looks like a squealer. We would have heard them.”
“You’re drawing conclusions way too early,” Shaw said. “In the first place, he might have gagged Auggie. In the second place, maybe Theo’s the squealer.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Either way, we would have heard something.” In a grudging voice, he added, “Unless they’re still waiting for Old Man River’s Viagra to kick in.”
Shaw’s head appeared suddenly above the sofa, and even in the dark, Theo could tell he was looking at them. “Are you still waiting for your Viagra to kick in?”
“Mother of fuck,” North said, and he sat up too, another silhouette in the darkness. “How long have you two been creeping on us?”
“I think it’s a little creepier,” Theo said, “to be lying in the dark discussing our sex life.”
“Also, not that it’s anybody’s business,” Auggie said, “but Theo doesn’t need Viagra.”
“Ok, Auggie.”
“Like, he really doesn’t need it.”
Theo gave him a look that Auggie pretended not to see in the darkness.
“Like sometimes I wonder which one of us is twenty-five and which one of us is thirty-five, just based on—”
“Ok,” Theo said. “That’s enough right there.”
North made a disgusted noise.
Shaw said, “That’s so sweet.”
“Are you guys awake?” That voice was Jem’s and as best Auggie could tell, it came from the top of the stairs. “Thank God. Tean, they’re awake.” He moved down the steps. “I was going crazy up there. Tean said I had to stay upstairs, and it only took me ten minutes to memorize all of Shaw’s credit card numbers. Oh, Shaw, by the way—I found your wallet.”
Something tumbled through the darkness, and Shaw caught it. In a voice of wonder, he said, “North, he found my wallet! I didn’t even know I’d lost it.”
Lights sprang on, and North, shielding his eyes, said, “That’s because he stole it, because he’s a fucking shitheel. For fuck’s sake, could you warn somebody? My fucking eyes.”
Tean appeared a moment later. The vet wore a pajama set—shorts and a matching short-sleeved top—printed with tropical plants and monkeys, and nobody had to tell Auggie that Jem had picked it out for him. Jem looked comfortable in a pair of mesh shorts and a white tee, which was almost identical to North’s sleepwear. Shaw, of course, wore a sleep mask pushed up on his forehead, a cropped mesh tank, and crocheted rainbow booty shorts. The fact that they were crocheted meant that every time Shaw moved, he was sixty percent naked. What was really remarkable, though, was that Auggie could have sworn he hadn’t seen the man with any luggage.
“We couldn’t sleep,” Tean said.
“He’s saying that to be polite,” Jem said. “I couldn’t sleep. Whatever they gave me is wearing off, and that cut itches like a bastard.”
“Watch your fucking language in front of the kid,” North said, nodding at Auggie.
“You need to—” Theo began.
But Auggie made a shushing noise and shook his head.
“Are you going to creep over there all night, Shortstack?” North asked. “Is Daddy about to put you to bed?”
Taking Theo’s hand, Auggie tugged him toward the living room.
Jem had moved the coffee table against the wall, and he sat there now, playing with a deck of cards, sending them flying one from hand to the other, and then sending them back again, the movements so practiced that he didn’t even seem to be paying attention. Tean sat on the floor next to him, arms around his knees. North had taken the armchair, and he smiled at Theo and shot him the bird. Shaw was sprawled out on the sofa, but he sat up and moved over, making room for them. Theo and Auggie sat, and then, with a smirk for North, Auggie shifted over to Theo’s lap.
North groaned. “You’re killing me, half-pint.”
Auggie brought one of Theo’s arms around him, gave North a smile like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and rolled one shoulder in a shrug.
“Because, John, I think knowing whether these troglodytes are robbing us blind is preferable to ignorance, although I’m sure—” Emery stopped at the top of the stairs. He wore pajama pants and a Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt that looked like it might pop off him if he breathed too hard.
“No,” North said. “Whatever it is, fuck off.”
“What are you doing?” Emery asked. “Why are you all awake?”
“We’re planning an epic heist,” Jem said. “It’s going to take all six of us, but we’ve got an elaborate plan to break into your house and steal every one of these priceless DVD documentaries.”
Tean swatted his leg.
“You’re already in my house,” Emery said.
“Phase one accomplished.”
“In the first place, those DVDs are far from priceless, with the exception of Whiskers and Whispers: Kompromat, Perestroika, and a Soviet History of Cats, which is surprisingly rare—”
“Very surprisingly,” Shaw said.
Emery threw him a dirty look and opened his mouth again, but a hand rested on the back of his neck, and a moment later, John-Henry appeared. He wore a tank top, sweatshorts, and white tube socks, and Auggie was surprised again, the way he always was, by the dark lines of ink that covered John-Henry’s chest and arms.
