She tucked her wet hair behind her ears and inclined her head.I’m ready.
“Quick and quiet,” he reminded her in a thread of sound.
They left their hiding spot. No one greeted their emergence from the store with shouting or gunshots, and she couldn’t pinpoint any movement in response to theirs. They passed the Godiva storefront first, and she forced herself to concentrate on their stealth and safety rather than peer through the cracked glass in search of chocolate that might have been miraculously overlooked.
Then—sure enough. Pottery Barn.
The after-hours security fencing had been lowered to waistlevel at some point. She had to drop to her hands and knees and crawl inside the store after Max. Who, irritatingly, had merely bent back and passed safely and gracefully beneath the barrier like he was participating in the world’s least festive limbo contest.
“Sucha sh-show-off,” she breathed near-silently as she clambered back to a kneeling position and wiped her dirty palms on her wet coveralls.
He grinned down at her and offered her a hand.
Grumbling soundlessly, she took it and tried not to notice how broad it was, how secure she felt in its grasp, and how much strength he must have to lever her upright so easily.
He didn’t let go as they plastered themselves against an interior wall behind a sagging shelving unit and surveyed their surroundings.
Like the other stores they’d glimpsed, this one had been ransacked over the course of many years. In the front, the only products left were a few knickknacks that hadn’t even appealed to looters or transients, which was one hell of an indictment. Shadows clustered farther back in the store, obscuring what or who might be lurking there, but no doubt vampires hadsuperior sensory capabilitieswhen it came to sight as well. She’d have to trust Max to warn her if there was anything worrisome she couldn’t yet see or hear.
When he pushed off the wall, she did the same. Swiftly, they moved into the rear of the store, where they would hopefully blend into those yawning shadows if anyone happened to look their way. In this area, more of the shelving remained intact, and…
Oh. She drifted to a stop, momentarily overcome.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured, and she didn’t respond. Couldn’t. “Human?”
There it was. A sofa—thesofa—sturdy and unfussy in design, with rolled arms and three seats. Not the pristine gray velvet of her memory, but a stained, greasy tan color. The seat cushions were more squashed than fluffy, and the back cushions had disappeared somewhere, so the couch wouldn’t be terribly comfortable for sitting anymore. When it came to sleeping on that particular model of sofa, though, she’d often removed the back cushions herself to allow more room for her shoulders and arms.
It was a good napping spot. Apparently squatters had recognized that too.
Nestling into down cushions just like these, she’d dozed off after school to the clanks and thumps and sizzles of her parents fixing dinner together, to the comfort of their low conversation and occasional laughter, to the knowledge that she wasn’t and would never be alone in the world.
That certainty was a bubble, she now understood, like all security. Too fragile to last.
She missed not knowing that. She missed her family.
Max squeezed her fingers. “Edie?”
“Sorry.” Blinking, she surfaced from her memories and met his searching blue gaze. “Got d-distracted for a m-moment.”
Jaw working, he looked from her to the sofa, then back again.
His hand released hers. Then he picked up the entire freaking couch like it was a mere feather’s weight, turned it at a wonky angle, and maneuvered it through the doorway to the store’s staff-only area. As he set the furniture down, she silently shut the door behind them. Darkness enveloped the room, eased only by some light filtering down a hallway at the back of the space and to the right.
“Wait here,” he said abruptly, and disappeared into the hallway before she could even blink.
She collapsed to her knees on the grimy tile floor and wondered whether anyone had either known or cared that the sofa’s fabric was a water-resistant slipcover. Slowly, with trembling, numb fingers, she unzipped the first filthy, battered cushion.
The muslin surrounding the deflated down filling was somewhat yellowed, but otherwise intact and almost entirely clean. It also smelled much, much better than the tan cover, and she tossed that cover into a faraway dim corner, then repeated the process two more times. As quietly as possible, she then released some hidden Velcro fasteners and tugged off the slipcover from the couch’s frame. Rising to her feet once more, she kicked the fabric into the same corner as the seat covers.
The stripped cushions might still harbor lice or fleas or bedbugs, but she honestly didn’t care. As soon as she was dry, she was lying down on that sofa, resting her exhausted muscles, and letting memories warm her for a minute or two, even if her present circumstances remained too cold and volatile for true comfort.
The light emanating from the hallway dimmed and extinguished, leaving her in utter blackness.
“The door to the outside was open.”
Max appeared at her side so suddenly, she let out an involuntary, squeaky yelp. A loud one. Immediately, he grabbed her elbow and drew her against the wall separating them from the customer area, nudging the door to that area slightly open.
His chest rose and fell on a soundless sigh as they waited, gazes pinned to the narrow gap. When no one and nothing came running, he raised a brow at her.
