A Whisker's Breadth, page 6
Corvin perused the ‘wine and spirits’ folder on the table seriously for a few minutes before waving to their waiter and placing their drink orders. The waiter, a chirpy guy that made Reg think of Jiminy Cricket took the order and disappeared into the kitchen.
“So what’s the specialty?” Reg asked, looking up from the pictures on her menu. “Is it the ribs? Or should I get chicken or jumbo shrimp.”
“Definitely the ribs. It would be sacrilege to order anything else. Of course, you’re welcome to order whatever you like, but we could go for a variety platter and share it…”
She’d objected to him ordering for her before, and she was glad to see that he remembered the lesson.
“Sure, that sounds good. It’s not too spicy, is it? I like some spice, but not the kind that makes you cry.”
Corvin chuckled. “No. It won’t make you cry. Unless they’re tears of joy.”
More eye-rolling. Reg closed her menu and set it to the side on the table. Corvin looked through his for another minute or two, even though she had agreed with his suggestion. Then he set his menu on top of hers. “This is nice.”
Reg looked around. “It is. I like the ambiance. It’s friendly.”
“I meant it’s nice to be here, alone with you.”
He was right about it being full. It was a good thing he had called ahead to reserve a table. There were a lot of people milling about the front entrance and outside, having a drink or two while they waited for a table to open up. But Corvin and Reg had been ushered directly in.
She turned back to Corvin and found him watching her intently. She felt herself flush under his gaze. Corvin smiled and looked away when Jiminy Cricket returned with their drinks. The beers were tall and frothy. Corvin picked his up and had a taste. He nodded to the waiter and placed their order for the variety platter.
“How have you been lately?” he asked Reg when the waiter was gone once more. “Any interesting cases? And you are, I assume, fully recovered from your last one?”
Reg had only been in hospital for a couple of days, but it was an experience that she hoped never to have to repeat.
“Yes, I’m good. Everything is working. I’m supposed to do some follow-up appointments to monitor my kidneys, but… I don’t know if I’ll bother. I feel fine.”
“Not something you want to neglect.”
“But I’m fine, really. They just want more money for follow-up appointments. They keep you on the string for as long as they can.”
“You only have one life. Or at least, only one life here as a mortal human being. I can’t speak to reincarnation or the afterlife.”
Or immortality. Reg wondered what traits she had inherited from her mother, a part siren, and what she might have inherited from Weston. Francesca referred to Weston and his kind as immortals, but were they really? Or were they just long-lived? Did their children inherit long life?
And for that matter, how long did sirens live? When they weren’t killing each other off, of course. Reg had never thought much about the short lifespan of a human being before, but repeated barbs from the fairies and pixies about the shortness of the human lifespan and her recent stay at the hospital had gotten her thinking about it.
That and Vivian’s close encounter with death.
“You’ve lived a long time,” she said to Corvin.
He gave a slight smile and nodded. She wasn’t sure how old he really was. He didn’t look over forty, but she had been assured that he was much older than that, kept young by his practice of the magic arts.
“How long do you think you’ll live?”
“That’s hard to say. It won’t compare to the lifespan of a species like the fairies. But… I do intend to stay around for a while, yet.”
“Even though you miss people who have already died? Your wife? Grace?”
He looked down. “You remembered. Yes. It’s hard to deal with the knowledge that your loved ones will age and die and not be with you for long, comparatively speaking. The transience of human relationships…”
Reg took a swallow of her beer, nodding. She could relate on some levels. She had made and broken a lot of relationships, but she had never stayed in one place long enough for what she could call a long-term relationship. But those people were still alive, out there somewhere on dates with other people, going to their jobs, and living a life without Reg. She hadn’t lost them, exactly. Not like Corvin had.
“And do you have children?”
“No, no children.” He paused a moment, hesitating. “I would not want to pass my curse on to a child.”
Corvin rarely spoke of his nature. She had heard him refer to it as a condition or a hunger, but never a curse.
She had felt his hunger. It had been painful and all-consuming. But when she thought of him, it was usually in terms of how attractive or how predatory he was, not about how he felt about himself and his power. He seemed full and contented when he had fed, so she had always thought of it as being satisfying and fulfilling for him to consume others’ powers. She hadn’t thought he ever saw it in a negative light.
“Does it always get passed down?”
“No. It’s very rare. We know that it is inherited, but not the mathematical chances. I was the only one of my siblings who inherited it.”
“So if you did have a child, they wouldn’t necessarily have it.”
“No. But there’s no way for me to predict it or prevent it. And while my kind were hunted down by the pitchfork crowd in ages past, it is no longer considered morally right to kill a child when they first begin to manifest signs of… this hunger.”
Reg blinked at him, wide-eyed. “But you wouldn’t do that. Kill your own child?”
“Breeders cull offspring that don’t manifest true. It’s the only way to eliminate negative traits. Whether I could or not… I don’t know. It would be a mercy to prevent a child from going through what I have. But I don’t know if I could.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Would you want to raise a child like me? As a mother, would you want to live in fear of the day that your child would consume your powers? Can you imagine trying to push him away, to keep yourself from bonding with him, from looking him in the eyes or smelling his sweet baby scent?”
Reg shook her head. “No.”
“You would have to in order to protect yourself.”
“But you wouldn’t. Because you would be able to take your powers back again.”
“Would you starve your child to feed yourself? Like my father did? Could you listen to him cry for hunger? Or take food from his hands?”
Reg stared down at the table. Other practitioners spoke of Corvin like he was a monster, like he chose to be what he was. But he hadn’t chosen that path any more than Reg had chosen to be who she was or to inherit the gifts that she had.
“So, I choose not to have children,” Corvin said lightly. “It’s best for me and the rest of the world if my kind dies out. And they nearly have.”
But he also chose to live a long life. That was something he had control over, as he had said that he intended to continue to extend his life. He could, Reg assumed, end it whenever he chose. Letticia had said that Sarah had lived a long and full life and could give up her life-extending emerald when she chose, and ought to do so. But Sarah was full of life and vigor and wasn’t ready to leave the mortal world yet.
And Corvin chose to live and continue to prey on others like Reg.
Reg couldn’t think of anything else to say. She watched the other restaurant patrons, and occasionally the TV’s over the bar and in the corners of the room. Jiminy Cricket brought their platter, and Reg looked over the bounty with wide eyes. There was enough there for half a dozen people. Ribs with all kinds of sauces and rubs and dipping bowls. She unfolded her bib and tied it behind her neck, feeling self-conscious. But pretty much everyone else in the place was wearing the bibs; she would have looked more out of place if she had chosen not to put one on. Everybody would be watching her covertly, just waiting for her to drip barbecue sauce on her new dress.
Corvin also tied on his own bib without comment, his eyes sparkling.
Chapter Eleven
Kansas City had nothing on Uncle Mike’s.
Reg had to admit that it was, as Corvin had promised, the best barbecue she had ever eaten. Her stomach was uncomfortably full, and she still wanted to eat more. She had already sneaked into the ladies’ room once to loosen the ties on her bodice to give herself room to breathe after the incredible meal.
Corvin had Jiminy Cricket clear the leftovers away so that they wouldn’t continue to pick at them and make themselves sick. They relaxed over coffee, waiting for the food to settle, talking more easily than they had at the beginning of the meal.
Even if she could say nothing else positive about Corvin, the man did know how to treat his dates. She had felt the same about the dinner at the Eagle Arms. Reg couldn’t imagine a better, more satisfying meal. Maybe his company helped to make it taste better, sharpening her senses or giving off feel-good chemicals like the rose-scented pheromones, something she could taste rather than smell.
She remembered something she had heard about fairies years ago, when she thought they were mythical. “When you eat with the fairies, everything tastes like the best thing you’ve ever tasted, even if you’re really just eating sticks and leaves.”
Corvin smiled, and Reg realized she had said it out loud. “Are you asking me if I’m a fairy?”
Reg laughed. “No… just remembering. And… yes, it was absolute perfection.”
“I told you so. Ambrosia.”
“Right. Ambrosia.”
Corvin’s expression changed. He was looking at something past her, and Reg turned to see what it was. Someone they knew? A mermaid or siren on the hunt? She couldn’t see what had captured his attention.
“What is it?”
“Oh—on the TV. Somebody’s not having such a good day.”
Reg stopped craning her neck and looked at one of the TVs that was in her line of sight. A “live on scene” banner, with a red crawler along the bottom of the screen, camera lights in people’s faces, microphones thrust close to mouths for sound bites. A pulled-back shot of a house where something bad had happened, then zooming in to the tree that had apparently blown over, breaking through the kitchen window and patio doors, causing a gaping hole. There were firefighters and policemen standing around, gesturing at the tree as they discussed how to remove it, cover up the window, or whatever else needed to be done.
Tree.
House.
Kitchen.
Chapter Twelve
“Oh, my.”
Corvin looked at Reg. He looked concerned. “Reg? You’re white as a ghost.”
“No ghosts,” Reg joked weakly. “Please.”
“What is it? You’re not sick, are you? You have to be careful not to eat too many too fast…”
“It’s Vivian.” Reg stared at the TV. Vivian wasn’t on the screen. There was nothing in the crawler that addressed whether there had been any injuries in the accident. Or deaths. “I don’t understand…”
“You don’t understand what? And who is Vivian?”
Reg grasped her beer and brought it up to her mouth with numb fingers, probably holding the glass a little too tightly. She took a couple of large swallows of the beer, even though her stomach was too full already and the alcohol didn’t really have anywhere to go except to float on top, triggering heartburn. Reg rubbed her chest, as if that might make it go down.
“Vivian… a new client. She’s the one who nearly got hit by that runaway truck.”
Corvin raised his brows. “Well, she’s having a run of bad luck, isn’t she? Nearly run over by a truck and then a tree comes for a visit? I wouldn’t stand too close to her, if I were you. They say these things come in threes.”
“This was the third. Her house in Colorado was crushed by a boulder.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “The woman does have a serious case of bad luck.”
“Or she’s very lucky,” Reg countered. “Any of those things could have killed her and, as far as I know, she’s walked away without a scratch every time. They’re not saying she was killed or injured by the tree.”
Corvin’s eyes went back to the TV. “They’re not saying her name and they haven’t shown her picture, so how do you know it is this Vivian?”
“Because I read her tea leaves. Three images. Tree, house, kitchen.”
“Well, that does seem to fit,” he agreed. “But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions until we know for sure.”
Reg pulled her phone out of her handbag. She had been careful not to look at it until that moment. It was too easy to get distracted by a message or pop-up. She didn’t want to let the date pass by with her eyes pasted to the phone screen instead of enjoying the time with Corvin. Or to give him the chance to charm her while she was distracted by her screen.
“I hope you don’t mind…” She scrolled through her call log, looking for the unfamiliar number. She tried to pinpoint exactly when Vivian had called her for an appointment. “This one…”
She tapped the number and waited for an answer. The phone went right through to voicemail. Probably turned off. That was what Reg figured she would do if she were in the middle of a disaster being reported on TV and didn’t want to be bothered by a deluge of callers.
“She’s not answering.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
“No,” Reg agreed. She sighed and put her phone back away. “I guess I’ll try again in the morning.”
The date had been nice, and Corvin hadn’t attempted to charm her throughout the evening. Reg knew that he hadn’t reformed. He was just waiting for the right time. And now they were getting to it. She was tense as they drove over the lonely roads that led away from Uncle Mike’s. She watched him for any sign of a threat, already building a protective psychic barrier around herself. He could pull over anywhere, on any of the little gravel roads, into a thick stand of vegetation that would hide the car from view. No one would be able to see or stop him.
Corvin’s hand moved away from the steering wheel, and Reg flinched away. He turned the radio on. “Calm down, Reg. Just relax.”
“I am relaxed.” It was, of course, a bald-faced lie, and Corvin knew it.
He glanced at her a couple of times as he drove, mouth set in a grimly amused smirk. “We’ve had a very pleasant evening. Why ruin it now?”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m just being careful.”
“You don’t need to worry.”
But she knew she did. Of course he would tell her that. He would tell her whatever he thought he needed to, promise whatever she wanted him to, and then take his opportunity.
“I’m driving. What do you think I’m going to do while I’m driving?”
He was already doing it. Despite his denial, the interior of the car was uncomfortably warm and beginning to smell of roses. Reg breathed shallowly through her mouth and focused on blocking him.
When he had gotten into a fight with Damon in the coffee shop, Reg had even been able to freeze him in his tracks. She was that strong.
She could protect herself.
Chapter Thirteen
Reg was relieved as they got back into town. Despite telling herself that she was strong enough to withstand him, she was afraid of those lonely country roads. She didn’t want to have to face him there, in the middle of nowhere, with no one around to help or know that something was wrong. She didn’t want to be left wandering in some isolated area, the voices inside her head gone, trying to get back to civilization before she went mad or passed out in a ditch.
At least in town, she could call for help. If he abandoned her, she could call someone; walk into a store or restaurant or bang on someone’s door and be able to talk to another human being. Even if they couldn’t understand what had happened to her, they would at least understand that her date had assaulted her.
She unclenched her hands. She hadn’t even realized how tightly she’d been trying to hold on to nothing. Reg took a couple of deep breaths, but the floral scent inside the car was heady and made her dizzy. Another breath, and she would be falling for him again. Reg pressed the button for her window. It was locked.
“Unlock the window. I need some air.”
“Just adjust the A/C,” Corvin advised, gesturing to the vents. “It’s cold outside.”
“It’s not cold. And I want fresh air, not recirculated. Let me open my window or I’m getting out of here.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused, and studied her. Reg put her hand on the door handle. She looked down to see where the door lock was so that she could unlock it and open it in one smooth movement. Then she’d have to be ready to jump, even if she was in a skirt. They were still moving at a pretty quick clip.
Corvin looked away and clicked a switch on his armrest. “There. Unlocked.”
“Thank you.” Reg rolled her window down. She breathed fresh air. Her head cleared a little.
Corvin did not take the exit for Reg’s house. Reg gripped her armrest. “Hey. You missed it.”
He shook his head. “We’re not going home yet. The night is still young. And I happen to know you don’t go to bed early, so don’t try that one on me.”
“And you can’t keep me out until I get too tired to defend myself. So take me home.”
“Not yet,” he said calmly.
“Corvin!”
“We’re out for a nice date. Where we go and what we do is my choice tonight. And I say we’re not done yet. When you chose the place, you got to choose when we were done.”
And Reg had been sick and overcome by a vision. She’d wanted to go home, and she’d sent Corvin away early. He didn’t want to go home early this time.
Reg watched out her window, wondering where they were going. She tried to read Corvin’s intentions, infringing ever-so-slightly on his mind to find out.
But his walls were up too. He was blocking her just as she was blocking him. What was he afraid of? What was she going to do?
