Page 97 of Terror at the Gates

We fell into an uneasy silence. I thought it was more because I was embarrassed than anything else, but soon Felix arrived. Zahariev offered his hand when I went to rise, but I didn’t take it. For now, I was done touching him. Felix exited the vehicle and held my door open. His face was drawn, his frown deep.

“I’m sorry, Miss Leviathan,” he said.

I didn’t know what to say. I was sorry too.

I climbed into the back of the vehicle. Felix slipped into the driver’s seat and then rolled down my window. Zahariev stood outside it.

“You aren’t coming?”

I hated the way my heart dropped, but he usually saw me home.

“There’s a lot to be done,” he said.

“I know you aren’t going to be on your hands and knees scrubbing blood off the floor. So what else is there?”

He gave me a sad, half-hearted smile.

“Get some sleep, Lilith,” he said, stepping away from the vehicle.

“Wait!” I said, shoving off Zahariev’s jacket. I bunched it up and threw it out the window at him. He caught it, eyes blazing.

“I know you don’t care,” I said, “but if you do this without me, I’ll never forgive you.”

He didn’t move a muscle, which made me think he knew how serious I was.

Good.

I meant every word.

I turned away, and Felix rolled up the window, sealing us in from the outside world. The cabin was warm, and classical music played quietly in the background. I let my head rest against the seat and closed my eyes.

***

Someone touched me.

I startled awake, jerking hard, sending a sharp pain straight through my already pounding head.

God, I felt awful.

It took me a moment, but I realized we’d arrived at my apartment complex. Felix stood with the door open, waiting for me to exit.

“Apologies, Miss Leviathan,” he said. “You’re home.”

“Thanks, Felix,” I said. I was so tired, and my mouth was so dry, I could barely bring my voice above a whisper. I slid out of the back seat, blinking. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. Maybe I was.

“Will you be all right?” Felix asked. I’d never heard true concern in his voice before, and honestly, it felt too late to ask.

“Coco’s home,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

I didn’t look back as I headed up the concrete stairs to my apartment.

Inside, it was quiet and dark except for the television, which was projecting light on the opposite wall and couch. A rumpled blanket lay to one side. It looked like Coco had just gotten up to go somewhere. She wasn’t in the kitchen, so maybe the bathroom.

I pulled my boots off at the door and then headed down the hall toward my room when I noticed there was no light on in the bathroom and the door was ajar.

Something about that set me on edge.

I approached and pushed it open, relieved and also anxious when I found it was empty. Swallowing around a knot in my throat, I turned toward Coco’s room, discovering the same.

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