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And at last, finally, Wendy meets my eyes. Nods. “Okay.”
It’s not until we’re back on the bikes, Wendy’s arms tight around my waist, that I realize what I said.
Home.
Out of habit, I glance up at the stars.
CHAPTER 3
FOX
Boy, it’s weird the next morning.
My head’s fucking killing me, obviously, but that’s the least of my worries. I’m just glad I woke up alive and not, I don’t know, hemorrhaged to death in my sleep. It’s been a while since I’ve been in a real fight, and I guess I’m getting rusty, or just getting old, because my swollen eye feels like it wants to pop right out of the socket. If that’s a thing that can happen.
But, again, not the main concern here.
Light’s coming through the blinds, so it’s definitely morning. I should be getting up. Except it feels weird to even think about going out into the rest of the apartment, even though I live here just as much as everyone else. But things are different. Obviously, they’re different. Tink’s a girl now. I mean, she’s always been a girl. I just didn’t know. So me knowing is different, and…
I rub my hand over my temples again. God, my head hurts.
As usual, though, the need for food eventually outweighs my laziness about getting out of bed. I slide to the floor and see that Kit’s already up, or at least his bed is empty. And when I come out onto the loft landing, sure enough, he’s there.
Leaning against the counter, with one of his tiny cups of coffee. “Make it a round?” I say, my voice coming out all froggy.
Kit frowns. “You hate the taste of espresso.”
“Well, maybe my tastes are changing,” I say. “Please?”
I give him my best puppy dog look, which only makes him wince. “Hell of a shiner you’ve got,” he mutters, and turns to the coffee maker. “Fine. But only because you took one for the team.”
Gingerly, I touch my fingertips to the ridge of my eye socket and draw them back with a quick intake of breath. Yeah, not the best. I glance at Kit as he messes with the coffee stuff and see that his busted lip is scabbed over at least.
“You held up pretty good yourself.”
He shrugs, not looking away from the coffee. “You do what you gotta, brothers in arms.”
“Yeah.”
I stuff my hands in my pajama pockets and scan around the room. No signs of life.
No Blue, although that’s nothing unusual, and no Pan. Which, damn! In all the chaos of yesterday, I hadn’t even thought about him.
He wasn’t around when we got back last night, or I’m sure he was, but he was making himself scarce. I feel like maybe I heard some footsteps and a door slam when we came upstairs, but I was too exhausted to really care, and only wanted to think about passing out on my bed. And then, of course, there’s—
“Here.” The coffee machine hisses out one last note, and Kit turns around to hand me my own tiny cup. I pinch the handle delicately and take a sip. It tastes like—it tastes like licking the lead of a pencil. I swallow and stick out my tongue.
“Ugh.”
Kit lifts an eyebrow. “What happened to tastes changing?”
“I said it’s changing, not changed, okay?” I brace myself and chug the rest of it in a single swallow. “I think I’ll just go back to old reliable for now.”
I stoop to the mini fridge and rummage around for a can of whatever is caffeinated.
I crack it open, wash the taste of pencil-lead coffee out of my mouth with corn-syrupy goodness, and give a little ah of satisfaction for good measure. Kit just sips his coffee.
We stand there like that for a couple moments. “So,” I say at last.
