Page 35 of King Among the Dead

A quick check of the first floor proved that Kay wasn’t anywhere to be found, so she went upstairs.

Halfway down the hall, she heard the low murmur of voices coming from beyond Beck’s cracked-open door. She started to hurry – but paused. Considered. Eavesdropping was a rotten thing to do. But…

She tiptoed the rest of the way down the carpet runner, not making a sound, and stopped a foot shy of the door, straining to listen.

“…seeing things,” Kay was saying, her voice heavy in a way that Rose had never heard it. Full of palpable dread. “There’s no way…there can’t be…”

“I know what I saw, Kay,” Beck said. Voice still rough and hoarse from lack of use, but his tone firm. Lucid.

“You said you were fighting seven guys. How can you be sure of anything? You probably got whacked on the head. And you’ve been in and out of fever dreams for days.”

“You’re saying I dreamed this?” Something about the question sent chills skating up Rose’s back.

“No,” Kay said, after a moment. She sounded almost meek. Frightened. “But I don’t want it to be true.”

“Neither do I.” He sounded resigned. “But there was no mistaking it. It was a young man. Not a good bond; acting erratic, slurring its speech.”

“Is that normal?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been witness to a wide enough sample.”

Kay blew out a hard breath. “What’re are we gonna do?”

“Weare going to keep on as we have been.I’llhandle the conduit.”

“Oh, like you did tonight?”

“Nothing like tonight will happen again. I’ll be ready next time.”

Kay snorted.

“This isn’t up for discussion.”

“Fine.” The bed springs squeaked – she’d been sitting on the edge and got up, now – and then her slippers moved across the floor. “Do you still want a bath?” she snapped.

“Yes.” His voice was softer, now. Gentle. “Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Trouble,” Kay said with a harrumph. A moment later, Rose heard the sound of the taps cutting on in the bathroom.

The smart thing, she reasoned, would be to retreat back down the hall and pretend she’d never heard the exchange. But, she found, though she could handle pretending, she didn’t want to retreat. She wanted to see Beck. So she counted to thirty, and then walked up and knocked on the partially-open door.

“Is that Rose? Come in.”

He was sitting upright in bed, shoulders sagging with fatigue, face drawn and pale, still, but clear-eyed, the most alert she’d seen him. His grave expression smoothed to something tightly pleasant as she walked toward the bed.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Her pulse skipped. “You look better.”

“That’s kind, but I’m sure I look like hell.” He pushed his hair back with one hand, smile tight and self-conscious. His hair was greasy, and he had three days of stubble shadowing his jaw, and he’d lost weight, and his skin was dull, but he looked wonderful to Rose. Alive was the most beautiful thing of all.

“No,” she assured. “Just tired.”

He snorted, softly. “The worst part is, I think you mean that.” He glanced up through his lashes, oddly bashful, terribly endearing.

She wanted to – do things she shouldn’t. She knotted her fingers together in front of her, and contented herself with the sight of him, instead.

The taps shut off in the bathroom, and Kay came out, sparing only a quick eyebrow shrug of surprise at seeing Rose standing by the bed. “I only filled the tub a few inches. You can’t get your stiches wet.”

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