Page 100 of Love, Nemesis
Cal nodded.
Lethe turned to the door, took one last breath of the fresh air, and walked through it.
In the next moment, he was standing in a room with a stone floor and a single door behind him. It was dark, but not dark enough to hide the naked body lying splayed out in front of them.
Lethe didn’t hesitate. He removed his coat, laying it over the woman before turning her over and mechanically pulling her into his arms. She shifted as he drew her into his lap, his long jacket like a short dress around her body, wrapped tight with his belt. A large bruise was spread over one of her eyes. He grazedit with his fingertips before pushing a strand of tangled blonde hair from her face.
For a moment, he said nothing, holding her in his arms as Cal watched them both. The room was dark aside from a single slit of light filtering in from a skylight. The stone floor was covered with mud, spots of blood, footprints, and strands of her hair.
“Emma,” Lethe whispered after a few minutes. He ran his thumb across her cheek. “Emma,” he repeated. “They won’t be back for a while.”
Emma Shepherd’s eyes opened slowly, her lips forming the subtlest smile when she saw Lethe’s face.
Her hand lifted up to his face, grazing his jaw. “Am I dead?” she whispered and then seemed to search the room, her eyes settling on Cal. “That boy. You see that boy?”
“Yes.”
She started to hoist herself up, wincing as she fell back against Lethe and pulled one of her hands to her chest. Lethe examined the hand. Two of her fingers were broken.
He removed his handkerchief. Emma lifted up the thick sleeve of Lethe’s jacket before biting down on a folded piece of the fabric. She held onto Lethe with her other hand as he took her fingers, cracking them back into place. She shouted, pushing her body into his as he wrapped them together in the handkerchief.
“I need you,” Lethe said, voice firm, expression vacant. “I need to get into the Bleeding Grin.”
She released the fabric from her mouth, starting to stand before Lethe hoisted her up. She balanced against him, eyes closed. She exhaled. “This is a memory?”
“Yes,” he said.
Her eyes opened, peering over at Cal. “Who’s that little guy?” she said and turned her chin up toward Lethe. “Is he ours?”
“No, Emma,” Lethe replied. “How are you feeling?”
She pushed off of him slightly, testing her balance. “I’m sorry I got caught,” she said. “I was hoping they’d kill me fast so you wouldn’t have to hear it all.” She looked over at him. “But they don’t, do they?” she asked, examining his reaction.
“Focus. You can walk okay?” he asked, ignoring her question as she put one foot in front of the other and moved toward Cal. She stopped in front of him, reaching a hand out to touch his shirt as if the fabric seemed foreign to her.
She looked back at Lethe, biting her lip as tears started to form in her eyes.
“Hey, hey, hold on,” Lethe said, drawing close to her. “Everything turns out all right. We beat them. The Strike. I just need your help to finish off the last one.”
She wiped her face. “I’ll get you in,” she said, extending her right hand, exposing the series of names on her right arm. “Your knife.”
Lethe handed the cherry knife to her, and she collected her hair behind her head and cut it. She wiped her face and handed theknife back to him. “They pulled my hair,” she said. “They pulled it a lot.”
“Keep the knife,” Lethe said. “You might need it.”
Emma didn’t need his knife. She was a memory, but at least for now he had to indulge himself, put some of his own feelings to rest.
She slipped the knife through the belt on his jacket and then looked at him. It was a look he knew, one that asked questions silently and with great patience. He knew that some part of her had already put the pieces together, pieces gathered from his cold discomfort.
She had death in her future, after hours of torture and a painful transformation. To some extent, she had to know that, but she kept watching him with those quiet, questioning eyes, asking him to share the burden of his answers. He knew she wasn’t ready for them.
She’d never be ready.
He started walking toward the door as Emma looped her arm through Cal’s, moving some hair from his face. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Cal,” he replied timidly.
“Nice to meet you, Cal,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “You take good care of Lethe. All right? He likes you, I can tell.”
