Page 42 of The Otherworld

I shake my head, still lost.

“Any kind of painkiller?” Adam’s voice is bordering on desperation now, and I can see that he is suffering.

“I have some belladonna.”

“Isn’t that poisonous?”

“Not in small doses. It will make you tired, though.”

Adam shuts his eyes. “I can’t imagine being more tired than I already am.”

I dash into the kitchen to fetch the belladonna, then scoop out the dose I usually take for migraines. I probably should consider that Adam is twice my size, but I would rather relieve less of his pain than poison him. Imagine my explanation to Jack: I found your brother but accidentally killed him with belladonna.

I pour more water and return to the living room, finding Adam half asleep already.

“I’m sorry, would you be more comfortable on the couch? I can help you up.”

“No, that’s okay,” Adam replies quickly. “I’m fine where I am.”

“All right. I’ll stop bothering you now and let you get some rest. I’m going to leave you some of Papa’s clothes. He won’t mind you borrowing them.”

Adam nods but doesn’t seem to care what I’m saying. He takes the belladonna and lays his head back down, a wrinkle of pain still etched between his brows.

I hurry off again to Papa’s room. When I open his dresser drawer, the familiar scent of him wafts out. It makes my heart ache all over again, but I remind myself of how proud he’ll be of me when he comes back.

Adam has more muscle than Papa, but his clothes should fit well enough. I pull out a pair of worn jeans, a T-shirt, clean underwear, and socks, fold everything into a neat pile, and return to the living room.

Adam is asleep. I leave the set of clothes on the arm of the couch and turn down the lights, keeping the softest lamp lit. Finally, I kneel down and carefully lean over Adam, lowering my ear to his mouth—listening.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, breath against my ear.

I bolt upright. “Sorry—I was just making sure I didn’t kill you with the belladonna.”

He hums a laugh, opening his tired eyes to look up at me.

My face flushes warm. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He does, within moments. I fetch another blanket from my bed and decide to sleep on the couch for the remainder of the night in case he needs anything. Lucius curls up on the floor between us, and I snuggle under the blanket, watching Adam Stevenson sleep until my eyes grow too weary to stay open a moment longer.

* * *

I awaken to the patter of rain and find the house not much brighter than it was when I dozed off. Dawn has come; I can tell by the soft gray glow seeping through the cracks of the shutters.

It’s still raining?

I draw in a deep breath, rolling over and stretching. At first, I’m surprised to find myself on the couch—but then the memories of last night flood back to me.

Adam.

I look to my left, where he had been sleeping on the floor. He’s gone now, leaving no evidence that he was ever there to begin with—save the neatly folded blanket and quilt, which proves it wasn’t all a strange dream conjured up by my overactive imagination. I had left a fresh set of Papa’s clothes on the arm of the couch, but those have vanished, too. Lucius sits beside the coffee table, thumping his tail on the floor and watching me expectantly.

Pushing back the blanket, I stand and wrap my shawl closer around me.

That’s when I hear Adam’s voice mutter, “Damn it,” from the kitchen. He’s standing by the window, his back to me, the phone to his ear.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, stepping into the room.

Adam turns around at the sound of my voice, his frustrated gaze softening when he sees me. It’s so strange to have an unfamiliar man in my house—and stranger still to see him wearing Papa’s clothes. The T-shirt fits snugly enough that I can see the outlines of his muscles and the bandage around his ribs.

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