Page 12 of From the Noblest Motives
"Of course." Dr. Parma sounded puzzled. "I'm still at the office."
"No. I mean… not, ah, not there." He felt twelve again, having to ask, but managed to blurt out, "Can I take Blaze to the house? Instead of the Guild?"
"Damien…" Her fond exasperation came through quite clearly. "You know what my answer is."
He nodded, even though he had the call on audio only. "That it's… it's still my home, too." He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut. "I didn't want to…without telling you."
"And you've told me. Thank you. I'll be there after my last meeting."
As soon as she disconnected, Blaze strolled up with his luggage and Damien's in hand. "Everything okay?"
"Yes." Damien took a breath and pocketed his palm phone. "We're going to Dr. Parma's house."
Instead of arguing or questioning, Blaze nodded. "Good. Guild's not the best place for this."
Thiscovering both their findings and the Shudder issue. When Damien turned to face Blaze fully, a fond warmth rushed over him. An overabundance of packs and suitcases had made Blaze into a luggage porcupine.
"Can I, ah…?" Damien gestured at the luggage, and Blaze allowed him to take exactly two pieces as they started toward vehicle parking.
Anxiety over things he couldn't immediately solve and a turbulent flight had given him a raging headache and made him ill on the plane, so there were reasons for Blaze's protective instincts kicking up. Probably best to leave him to it, since his own worries must be drowning him.
Blaze flicked a quick glance at him. "Doing all right?"
"Fine."Too sharp. Too dismissive. "Better." Then belatedly, "Thank you."
"Hmm."
They reached Blaze's battered truck, an older solar model that had seen too many miles and a few bullet holes, and threw the bags in the back.
Once Blaze settled in the driver's seat, he sat there drumming the steering wheel. "Damien."
"Yes?"
"You gotta tell me where I'm going."
"Oh. Yes." His thoughts had completely blanked on the fact that Blaze had never been to the house. "North on the zipway. Exit Six."
The city slipped by as they flew along, Blaze scrolling through his messages while the zipway did the driving. "He didn't even try to call me. Why didn't he call me?"
"He only had one phone call?" There was only one person Blaze could mean. "I hope he'd call a legal advocate."
"Yeah but… Yeah, okay." Blaze pocketed the phone, his jaw tight as he took back control of the car when clunks beneath the chassis heralded the disconnect from the zipway.
Hurt lurked inside the worry, probably because Blaze wondered if Shudder didn't trust him enough to call him first or didn't think of him first as the person who would offer the most assistance.I wish we could stop hurting him. Beyond wishing, though, Damien had no idea what to do about that.
Damien directed Blaze through the streets of Raleigh to the historic Oakwood section where Dr. Parma had lived for decades. Many of the old houses had been destroyed in the food riots, so the current residences were reconstructions, but Dr. Parma's was an original Arts-and-Crafts-style house that had withstood the centuries. Its smaller stature and less-extravagant façade had most likely protected it when the mobs came to loot and burn the more ostentatious houses for their appearance of wealth.
Blaze parked in front, and Damien got out to stand on the sidewalk, his stomach dropping with a sudden and disorienting memory stab. He'd stood here the first time as a child with a grocery bag of his few possessions clutched to his chest, staring up at the squat house with its heavy front pillars. It stood on its own with a little yard and flowerbeds. No filthy alley. No neighbors attached on either side with their noises and smells leaking through the thin walls. A house for him to live in.
He'd almost run then, unable to believe it was real. But Dr. Parma had let him take it in, hadn't pushed him to go in or demand to know what was wrong. She'd simply told him that this was her home, and now it was his too. Always.
"Aren't we waiting for her? Seems kinda rude to break in." Blaze's growling voice popped the soap bubble of a memory.
"No, I…" Damien fished in his jeans pockets. "Still have the key."
The door opened into a short entryway with an arch of carved wood that was part decorative and part support beam. Directly in front of him, the polished wood stairs led to the second floor, and off to the right was the living room, furnished in warm burgundies and browns.
The waist-high statue of a xolo dog still sat by the entrance, and Damien gave her a distracted pat out of habit as he walked by. Habit also took him straight to the kitchen. Dr. Parma had always made certain that there were snacks available, all sorts, and never chided him for grazing between meals. Living with his uncle had left him perpetually starved, eternally hungry, and Dr. Parma only asked that he clean up after himself as he became less feral.
