“Point.” His head dipped in another nod. His hair, getting damp from the steam, fell in his eyes.
He tossed it out with a shaking, sudden motion.
I let out a sigh. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. It came out in a whisper. “I saw Christophe. During the day.” It was more like three or four days ago, but I didn’t want to tell him that.
Graves stiffened. A full thirty seconds ticked by, him staring at the mirrored wall through veils of steam. “Jesus, Dru.”
Like it was my fault. “I couldn’t get you alone to tell you.”
“So you tried this?” But he was joking. He shifted uneasily, moving as if his arm was cramping, but he left it where it was, his fingers no longer burning my other shoulder. “Where did you see him?”
“He came in through my window. You can’t tell anyone.”
He rolled his eyes. I couldn’t see it, but I could feel the movement. And the rolling of teenage eyes has a noiseless noise all its own. “Duh. But what was he doing coming through your window?”
Hell if I know, kid. “Giving me some things. Stuff like my mother owned. And telling me some things.”
“How the hell did he have things that belonged to your mother?”
Trust Graves to boil everything down to its essentials. “They aren’t; they’re just like hers. And, well, I guess he knew her.” I hadn’t thought about it just that way before. He’d certainly sounded like he knew her. And now that I thought about it, he’d said specifically that the wooden swords weren’t hers. I opened my mouth to go on with explanations.
But he asked the other sixty-four-thousand-dollar question before I could. “Just how old is he, anyway? And who is he?”
“I dunno.” I slid down a little further into the not-water’s embrace, and another cloud of dirt from my wet hair went through the bubbling jelly. Jeez. How much guck did I get rolled in? “I’m more worried about Ash not killing me. He had the chance. He got rid of those other suckers, and—”
“You saw that?”
“I saw one. Stands to reason he did the other two.” A tremor went through the center of my bones.
“Jesus.” I could have died. There’s no way out of that classroom, and three suckers…” He was right nose to nose with me, Graves. Nose to nose.” My brain kept making a funny hitching stop when it got to the memory, replaying it, throwing up its hands in horror, and stalling like an engine. “And the fog…”
But I didn’t want to think about the fog ever again. Thank God it hadn’t touched me. If it had… I didn’t know quite what would have happened, but it would have been bad. I knew that much, all the way down to my quivering, aching bones.
It’s hard to argue with certainty like that.
Graves was more worried about essentials. “A wulf working alone did that? And he just… what, ran away?”
“Guess he heard the rest of you coming.” The shaking intensified. It wasn’t shivering. It was my body rebelling against everything. I wanted a cheeseburger, and I wanted to curl up and sleep, and I wanted things I couldn’t even name. Most of all, I wanted to just shut my eyes and make all this madness go away.
My head was still on his shoulder. He was still holding me. He was still fully clothed and hadn’t said a word about it. A long silence passed between us, full of steam and the funny burpchuckle bubbling of the not-water. It hissed a little bit as I slid down some more, more of the dirt in my hair getting whisked free.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whispered finally. It scared me more than I wanted to admit. I was used to knowing what the procedure was in every situation; I was used to Dad knowing what I didn’t and giving me orders when I was out of my depth.
I mean, Dad never let me flounder. Not like some parents, who will just sit there and watch you flail around. I’ve seen that a lot, and it always looks to me like the adults want the kid to fail. Maybe it makes them feel better when we do, or something.
Graves sighed. “Okay.” His shoulders came up, the one I’d propped my head on, digging into my cheekbone. “We should get you cleaned up. And Dylan’s going to have a cow.”
“Why wasn’t he there?” As soon as I said it out loud, I regretted it. “Someone always came to get me when the bell rang before. This time, nobody.”
“Yeah.” Not-water splashed as he moved. “I was thinking that too. Let’s get you cleaned up.” He untangled himself from me, and I had to lift my head. The burning had settled into a more soothing heat, soaking in. My back hurt, but not as much as it could have.
“Graves?”
“Huh?” He swung back, and for the second time that night I was face-to-face with a shapechanger.
But this one had bright green eyes, and his dyed-black hair hung in damp strings, and he was the same half-ugly kid who had been the only person I could depend on since a zombie smashed its way through my kitchen door.
Less than a month, and my entire life was in the kind of mess only the Real World could make. I had no idea how to start fixing it, but he was here, and he hadn’t let me down yet.
We stared at each other for a long moment. My throat was dry. I was pretty sure dirt was smeared all over my face and my hair was sticking up like Medusa’s. But I leaned forward just a little, and if he hadn’t turned his head a little bit, my lips wouldn’t have landed on his cheek.
His skin was softer than I’d have thought under the stubble showing up, and I had to sniff because my nose was full. But I pressed my lips against his cheek and felt like an idiot. What had I been about to do?