Page 40 of Gunpowder

“Because it didn’t have anything to do with you.”

Luckily, Blair had gotten used to Wren’s overly blunt way of speaking—enough to know the seemingly harsh words were just a statement of fact, and as such Blair wasn’t deterred from complaining. “Of course it did, you’ve been studying your ass off! I would have wished you luck, at least. Keep me in the loop about shit like that.”

“Okay.” Under his flat tone, Wren sounded almost confused.

Blair dragged his voice back down to a respectable level. “I’m sure you passed.”

“I did.”

The dreaded silence came after that. They spent a lot of time in traffic given the time of day, and while Wren’s gloves made no sound on his slacks—Blair would prefer it if they did—the drumming of his fingers in the corner of Blair’s eye was getting to him. It was weird. Wren wasn’t hyper or overactive (surprising, with him being such a damn caffeine junkie) but that was what it seemed like when he was driving. Blair heaved out a sigh when he started seeing signs for the Ed Koch bridge. If the hotel was in Manhattan then they were about halfway there.

He finally snapped and grabbed Wren’s hand. They were on the bridge and finally moving steadily enough that he probably wouldn’t need to shift gears for awhile. He felt more than saw Wren jerk in surprise at the contact and he just knew Wren was looking at him, but Blair kept staring ahead. He had grabbed Wren completely on impulse and now he could feel the heat creeping up his neck into his face.

Too late to back out now, he thought, and laced their fingers together on Wren’s leg. It was a one-sided effort, as Wren allowed his fingers to be manipulated but he wasn’t helping in the least. Blair dared a quick look at the driver’s side. Wren was glancing between the road and their hands like Blair had just dropped an alien species in his lap. He didn’t look like he minded, but it was the most perplexed Blair had ever seen him.

Blair broke the silence with another question. “Why do you tap your fingers like that when you drive?”

“My father taught me to drive and I tended to leave one hand on the gearshift. He told me that’s bad for it because you can put pressure on it unintentionally.” A look of displeasure flitted across Wren’s voice as he talked about his father, his hand twitching around Blair’s. “I stopped leaving my hand on it, but I guess I did it for so long that I still look for something to do with my hand when I’m not shifting.”

“Do this,” Blair blurted out.

Wren blinked. “What?”

“I mean, if I’m with you, or whatever. You can do this instead… if you want,” Blair said, lifting their joined hands by way of explanation, knowing his face was redder than the sunset over the river.

“Oh.”

A long silence followed that made Blair think he was going to die right then and there of mortification until Wren spoke again, softly, in such a way that Blair almost didn’t hear it over the engine.

“Okay.”

11

GRANDEUR

For the first time since he met Incindious, Blair was plunged into a world of the unfamiliar. The lobby of the hotel was beautiful but it was nothing compared to what awaited them on the thirty-fifth floor. He didn’t realize he had stopped in his tracks to stare until Wren urged him forward with a hand on his lower back. Taking in his surroundings still came second to walking, so he let his feet carry him on autopilot as he followed Wren to the hostess.

“Reservation for Garrett,” Wren said.

Blair was jarred out of his culture shock for a minute. “Doc’s coming, too?”

“No,” Wren said as the hostess led them to a table. “I hate phone calls so he called and made the reservations but he forgot to put it under my name.”

“Oh.”

The restaurant was made up of glass, fuchsia, and frosted metal. The palette had a modern sort of elegance to it. His breath caught in his throat as they were led to a table against a wall of windows. The pinks of sunset were softening to a violet dusk over the city. He could see the city. He was distantly aware of Wren making drink orders for both of them because he was dumbstruck by the thousands of lights twinkling outside the window.

“This place is amazing,” Blair said.

Wren didn’t seem to share his wonder, but he still pointed and said, “Look up.”

Blair did, and his mouth fell open. Metal branches spanned the ceiling, twisting and curving in such a way that he could believe they led back to a great tree, barren of leaves for the winter. He finally dropped his gaze back down to Wren, only to find himself held just as captive by that view as the one outside the glass. His hair was so black it almost looked blue in the restaurant’s lighting.

Blair’s world existed on the edge of a blade, in the gleam of gunmetal and fresh blood. Wren’s was blinding, all shining light and tailor-made suits, too clean for Blair’s stained hands to touch and yet sitting so tortuously within his reach. He knew he didn’t belong there but it was easy to forget, with the sunset reflected on Wren’s glasses.

“What’s that look for?”

Blair jolted. “Huh? What look?”

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