Page 79 of The Shadow of the Count
He glanced at their compartment door, torn, but Clark just tugged at him.
“Yvgeny is on watch. I think he’ll keep Peter safe.”
“Hmm.” He had to admit, Yvgeny had proven himself, and seemed to be far more…attached to Richard than to Peter these days. “Very well.”
They made their way to the lounge car where Clark bought him a ginger ale.
“So, what is it, Clark?” Donnie studied his friend, who bore dark circles under his eyes, his usual wicked smirk dimmed.
“I just want to touch base with you about some things I learned on the trip to Romania. Peter knows, but I imagine you haven’t talked.”
“Not as such, no.” They would. They had a serious discussion or two to conduct.
“Well, Grant intends to cover all of Douglas’s medical expenses. And he’s hired a doctor that Richard suggested to help. He’s had great success with regaining limb use in spine injuries.”
He mulled that over for a moment. “I’m grateful. I know this was not a mission our mentor sent us on. Not like Egypt. He could have kept his hands clean.”
Clark nodded easily. “He has a great fondness for you and Douglas.”
“I wish he’d let me meet him.”
Sadness flashed in Clark’s eyes. “I do too. He worries. He’s—Well. Maybe someday.”
Donnie studied Clark. “How do you know him so well?”
“Pure luck.” That got him a flash of Clark’s normal bravado.
“Mmm.” He shook his head wryly. “You’re awful.”
“You have no idea. I’m absolutely wretched.”
Now that he didn’t doubt. Clark was cut from the same cloth as the cowboy, with less bluster. Where Jeb was a sledgehammer, Clark was a rapier.
A little man brought them a plate of croissant and pastry, toast and butter and jam. Oh, that looked good, actually. “Merci.” Donnie tore a flaky piece of croissant from the bun and popped it in his mouth. “I get the feeling there’s more.”
“There’s always more. More evil to be fought, more danger.” Clark gave him a thoughtful look. “I suppose there always will be. I just wanted you to know about Douglas. And to make sure you were…on the mend.”
“I don’t hear him.”
“No?” Clark’s nod let him know that had been the bit of information the man had been digging for.
“No, and I’m grateful. It’s a strange but welcome emptiness.”
Clark nodded before making a quick motion. The silver cross rested on the back of his bare hand, damp with what Donnie assumed was holy water. Besides shocking the hell out of him, absolutely nothing happened—no sizzling.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Yes.” Clark sighed, leaning back to tuck away the cross, then grab a piece of toast. He slathered it with butter, then marmalade. “I had to, Don.”
“I understand.” He did. It had been the same with Douglas’s lover Charles after their adventure in Egypt. The man had been possessed by the spirit of the mummy’s paramour. They’d had to know that spirit had left him. “Will you stay with us for a time?”
“I will. Then you will all come stay with me outside Boston. I mean it. That will be easier for Douglas than going back to Hollywood while he heals.”
“Do you think he’ll ever be… Douglas again?” His older brother was his hero, and he was the hero of the silver screen. Or he had been.
“Mmm. Yes. I believe he will. But I imagine he will retire from our adventures and not risk injuring himself in this manner again.”
The thought gave him a pang even as he shook his head. “I think I will too.”
