Page 26 of Lair

I’m feverish. Merely saw something that wasn’t there. Yes?

No. How could such a thing—the enormity of such a thing—happen only in my head? How was it not real?

Emmie Gallagher, dead. Emmie Gallagher, with her throat torn open.

Perhaps this is how it happens. This is the moment they talk about. The deep, dark slide into a place you can never get out of.

This is how you go insane.

“No. No,” I say as the stewardesses back warily away, eyeing me like an escaped animal. The humiliation is welling up, followed by a stubborn, childish defiance. I shake my hands, eyes blurring. “She was there. And Voper...”

And there he is, striding toward me. Impeccably dressed, brow furrowed in concern. I back away. “No...” And then the world is spinning, I’m falling and there are strong arms holding me, lifting me up. Another hallucination, then. For Voper wouldn’t care about little ole me. He would never do that. He would never carry me through that staring crowd, as he is now, barking at everyone to get out of his way. He would never look down at me as if I am the most important thing in his world. He would never...

FOURTEEN

I watch the clean, strong line of Voper’s jaw as the world floats by. I am suspended, lulled into a disbelieving surrender. I am in a dream. My eyelids are heavy; blackness comes for me, recedes, comes again. Voper speaks, he is speaking to Mrs. Colding. “Get a doctor,” he growls. “Now. I don’t care how, fly one in.” The anger pulses out of him, I can feel it in his chest like the fire beneath a mountain. I lay my cheek against it and try to think. To think of what has happened. Things are going back to being themselves again, outrageous fancies reverting to facts in my head. I see Emmie Gallagher, the blood ungeysering back into her throat, stalking out of the snow room and on to the dock, hailing a cab. Alive.

Thanks for the food poisoning, Emmie.

And still, a fantasy remains: I am being carried by Adrian Voper through the interior of a yacht in the Mediterranean. How can that be real?

“You’re real,” I say, poking Voper’s chest, and stub my finger on the unyielding solidity of his pectoral. “Ow.”

He looks down at me, confused. “Yes.”

“So where’re we going? You gonna dump me overboard so you can finally be rid of me?”

His brow creases. “What?”

I leave my hand on his chest. I’m stroking him. “Why are you in these suits all the time, anyway? They’re like a uniform.”

He seems to think this over, genuinely stumped. “I’ve never thought about it.”

“You look better out of them, anyway,” I comment, and put a hand over my eyes. Apparently, I vomited out my filter along with the oyster. “Did I just say that?”

He nods, mouth quirking. “Afraid so.”

I look around. We’re on the main deck now, going through the lounge. Avid eyes are watching us. A passing deckie stops and gapes.

I hide my face against Adrian’s chest. “Oh my God, get me out of here.”

He considers me a moment, eyebrows pinching together. “Okay.” He glides to a wall and nudges a cornice with his elbow. Before I know it, a panel has slid back and we’re in a dark, narrow corridor. A secret passageway. I blink. “Seriously? Don’t tell me you use this to spy on your lady friends...”

He grimaces, jaw tight. “No.”

Another bump of the elbow, and another panel pops out. We’re in one of the VIP suites. “I knew it!” I exclaim, fist pumping, and my stomach heaves. I clutch it. “Bathroom,” I squeak, and he lets me down so I can dash to the toilet just in time to void an endless stream of vomit. “Oh God,” I groan, waving. “Don’t come in here.”

But his hand is on my back, rubbing in tiny, hesitant circles.

I flush, vomit, flush again, splash water on my face in the sink and regard myself in the mirror. I’m a ghastly, bluish gray, fevered eyes insane with smudged mascara. Behind me Voper, infuriatingly, looks perfect. “You look awful, Aurora,” he says, face tight.

“Gee, thanks.” I cup a hand under the faucet and ladle water on my neck, regard my reflection once more. “I’m like the undead,” I huff, and Voper’s face pinches.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed.”

But I shake my head—Uh-uh—and dive to the toilet again. I’m halfway crying by the time I’m done. I curl up on the floor around the toilet. This is where I belong. I’m going to stay here forever. God, I must be the most unattractive thing on two legs he’s ever seen. “I don’t think I can go anywhere,” I groan.

“Aurora—”

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