Page 64 of Curses & Keys
Rolling my shoulders, I grab a second blanket and take the other half of the L-shaped couch. Exhaustion weighs heavily on me. I can barely hold my head up. One hour. That’s all I need. Then I’ll figure things out. My lids close and darkness descends.
When I wake, three hours have gone by.Shit. I sit up and groan as the muscles in my body protest. I glance at Hawthorne, still in the same position, his chest rising and falling, which is a good sign. I glance at my phone. No messages. What the hell is going on? Should I be worried? Fear clogs my throat, but I swallow it down deep and shake my head. Can’t think like that.
The backpack leaning against the couch catches my eye. Stretching forward, I snag it with my finger and pull it onto my lap, then peer inside. Blue and gold gleam against the dark canvas. I remove the panel and study it. Four inches top to bottom, and twelve inches across. Tongue and groove notches on all four sides to connect it to the other panels. The ornate lock is in the same gold patina as the key that’s hidden in my vault in North Carolina. Unlike the key, the panel doesn’t give me any visions. Around the lock is a circle in a bright white. Besides the delicate gold filigree, there are no other scenes or decorations on the surface.
I stand and walk over to the bookcase on the far wall. Pulling on a book about ancient tombs slides the shelves to the right, revealing a hidden vault. It takes a second to stash the panel and close everything.
Now that it’s safe, it’s time to help Hawthorne get more comfortable. I break down the bed in the spare bedroom down the hall and reassemble it piece by piece in the living room. Then I pull Hawthorne from the couch and carry him into the bathroom to clean some of the sweat off him from the heat of the fire.
I prop him against the wall and unbutton his shirt. When I slide my hands up his chest to tug off his shirt, his muscles contract. Startled, I glance up, but his face is expressionless. Eyes closed.Mmm.I do it again, and the same thing happens.Interesting.She did say touch. I tug off his shirt and reach for his pants.
Unbuttoning them, I let them fall to his ankles and swallow hard. Boxer briefs are one of man’s best inventions. Every line is delineated. He’s a work of art. Pure perfection. I reach for the washcloth on the sink and turn on the water.
“Just wash him off,” I mutter to myself.
Once the water is hot, I squeeze out the excess and carefully glide it across his powerful body. Sometimes I wish I had powers. It would be nice to give him a proper shower, but I can’t do it alone.
After cleaning most of his exposed skin, I drape the washcloth over my shoulder, bend down and ease one foot, then the other, out of his shoes, socks, and pants, leaving his boxers on. I wipe the sweat from my brow and carefully finish washing the rest of him. Then I stand and wrap my arm around him.
We slowly leave the bathroom and walk across the living room to the bed where I lay him down, then draw the light cotton sheet up to his waist. I stare down at him.
He didn’t hesitate. When the forge called for more, he gave it everything he had…for me. The expression in his eyes told me everything. It was all there. An acknowledgement of the path he was choosing. His determination to stand with me. No walls between us. I’ve never experienced such selflessness. It’s ironic, really. That moment forged something between us that will never be broken.
I lean forward and wrap my hands around his jaw. Lightly rubbing my thumbs across his cheeks, I kiss him. “If you wake up, we can finish what we started in the temple.” That would tempt me to open my eyes.
He doesn’t answer. Defeated, I tell him I’m going to take a shower. On the way, I text Gatlin. Maybe there’s something wrong with Jamison’s phone. Or perhaps he’s chasing something down.
Phaedra: Looking for a bright red double-decker.
That’s vague enough, right?
The app shows no indication that the message was delivered or read. I bite my lip, considering the potential ramifications. Have our phones been hacked again? Are they in danger? I’m tempted to reach out to one of my contacts, but I don’t want to give away their position or ours.
Arrgh.I toss the phone onto the bed and head to the shower.
Water cascades over my sore muscles as my skin drinks up every bit of moisture the flames sucked out of me. I stare down at the symbol on my palm. Seared into the skin like a brand, I can’t help but wonder why it’s still there. Shouldn’t it have disappeared when I finished my task?
Two panels. One key. If it’s a box, there will be six panels. I think about the sketch Doran did and shake my head. Six gods. Of course it matches. The gods love their fucking quests. What does it hold though? I’m sure it’s not something innocuous. Not with the elaborate measures they put in place.
Maybe only the first piece was meant to be found by humans. Certainly not the last one. My stomach clenches. Does that mean four more tasks like the one we just completed? Should I do these tasks alone? Hawthorne’s locked in a comatose-like state, but what if something worse happens? What if it takes one of their lives? I could never forgive myself.
And I carry enough guilt as it is. All those years ago, I defied the gods and lost my sister because of it. Seeing Hawthorne lying so still is killing me.
Resigned, I reach out and turn off the water. A minute later, I’m padding out of the bedroom in worn sweats and an equally soft long-sleeve shirt.
“I’m back,” I call out to Hawthorne. “And I’m starving. If you wake up, I’ll make you the best lasagna you’ve had in your life.” Silence is my answer. “Guess not.”
Good thing he didn’t answer. The fridge is bare. I’ll have to get groceries delivered tomorrow. In the meantime, I reach for a box of crackers, peanut butter, and a bag of microwave popcorn. Girl dinner it is. Not wanting to eat in front of Hawthorne, I prop myself against the kitchen counter and snack while I think about how to get him to respond to me.
Touch seems to incite some reaction. I’m not sure if he hears me, but I’ll keep talking to him. Even if it’s inane conversation. I wish I knew for sure. Frustrated, I pick up my phone and send a text to Mathias.
Phaedra: Could use a little help and your expertise.
Again, the app shows nothing.
The cracker in my mouth turns to dust. There’s nothing I can do for them except hope they’re okay. I need to focus on Hawthorne. When he comes out of this state, he can help me figure out what to do next. I grab the tonic and head back to him.
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