Page 116 of Darkness

“I’ll get us out,” Sykes said. “I’ve even got us a safe house.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sykes’s shrug didn’t appear nearly as casual as he probably intended. Now simply wasn’t the time for casual. “You were too close to Leary. Now, c’mon.”

Farren felt a trickle of hope for the first time today. “Hang on, Morse. I’m coming.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Morrisey sat at a table in a café on the edge of town, wearing ill-fitting clothes he’d taken from Asher’s mansion, aka Asshole Central. Given the swanky address, gilt this and marble that, he’d have expected better than could be found at the average discount store. At least the cheap cotton and denim covered his nakedness. God, he was hungry. Hopefully, Farren wouldn’t mind paying for the meal.

Clothes Morrisey had. Money? Not so much.

Few folks were here at three p.m. gathered around chipped Formica tables tempered by ages of grease-laden air. Wall posters displayed the menu, with the day’s specials listed on a chalkboard.

Pork chops, mashed potatoes, gravy, corn, and a roll. Heart attack waiting to happen. Morrisey got the special, his human body starved after days in a basement without food. He opened his mind to any strong emotions present. The man at the next table seethed with hatred for someone. Though intense energy flowed through the hate, Morrisey always heard, “You are what you eat.”

Maybe he should wait for actual food.

No one paid him much attention. Would that change if they found out his true nature? Hell, even Morrisey hadn’t yet fully processed being non-human. Would others hate him? Fear him? How different was he now, and what were these new powers? Implanted memories from the Domus elder provided some possibilities.

Not that Morrisey gave a rat’s ass what ninety percent of the world’s population thought of him. Correction: ninety-eight percent.

He stared at a water ring on the table. It shouldn’t be there. The busboy should’ve done a better job of cleaning. The ring vanished. What the hell?

The salt shaker contained only a few grains. Could Morrisey produce salt out of thin air? Replicate the existing salt? A woman passed by his table, smelling of floral perfume. For a moment, Morrisey turned, thinking to find Jessa. No, not her. He turned back to find a full salt shaker.

Who cared how he filled it? Wow! Neat trick! What else could he do? He opened his mind to the surrounding people. A young couple sat a few tables away, so deeply in love their affection permeated the atmosphere and provided a metaphysical snack without the need to feed on the humans themselves. The energy wafted through the air, with nothing to stop him from taking. Love. What would love be like with his new awareness?

Morrisey took. Like Jessa did?

Jessa. Damn it! He’d trusted her! But… that wink.

A worry for another time.

He focused his newly obtained energy on his scratchy, worn clothing. Nothing so drastic as to be noticed, but he made the jeans longer, eased stress from the shoulder seams, and repaired a rip in the sleeve. Could he arrange a shave this way? No way did he want to face Farren looking like something even the cat refused to drag in.

He kept a nervous eye on the door. In the other realm, while they might have been friends, he and Farren couldn’t be more, according to the elder.

Tenebris. Evil. But was Morrisey truly evil if he refused to harm others?

Nothing remained of the other realm. Farren’s home was gone. The home Morrisey couldn't remember.

Morrisey’s heart gave a mule kick at Farren’s approach, regardless of the bad news. While he wasn’t yet visible, Morrisey felt the arrival of the strange car. Wait. Hadn’t the elders said there was a light to balance his darkness?

And the light was Farren.

Farren kept his head on a swivel while exiting the car and entering the café. The car pulled away. He smiled at spotting Morrisey through the café’s window. Tension flowed out of his rigid posture, and he marched to the front door.

How awful to be the one who’d have to wipe the smile off Farren’s face.

“Morse!” Farren tugged Morrisey out of the booth with surprising strength, wrapping him in a heartfelt—and strangling—hug. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“So did I,” Morrisey replied, once able to breathe again.

They both took seats at the table. “We’re old friends, having a late lunch,” Farren said. “We’re probably being watched.”

Oh, so the hug was for show. Nope, too much emotion there. If Morrisey had been a lesser man—traveler, whatever—he’d have feasted. Now, he simply said a quiet, “Duly noted. Did you send someone to the house? With ambulances?”

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