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The tension in her shoulders eased. “Right. Of course. So he’s okay.”
“That’s right.” I mentally crossed fingers it was true then decided to shift the conversation to a less worry-filled topic. “So, are you going to stay Naomi or go back to Julia? I mean, your cover is totally blown and everyone including your mother knows you’re really Julia Saber.”
Her expression turned fierce. “I don’t want to be a Saber. I’m a completely different person now, both inside and out.”
“You never seemed like a Julia to me.”
“Exactly! I’ve never felt like a Julia.”
“I feel like an Angel, but I sure as hell don’t act like one!”
“You do in all the ways that matter,” Naomi said with unexpected warmth then glanced at her phone when it buzzed.
“Duty calls. Let me know if Kang does anything interesting.” She closed her book and set it on the nightstand then stood and leaned close to his face. “Hey! Wake the fuck up, you lazy shirker.”
Kang remained utterly still except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Naomi straightened with a sigh. “Worth a try.” She flashed me a cheery smile that didn’t fool me one bit. “Catch ya later, babe.”
She was out the door before I realized she hadn’t asked about the shambler incident at the morgue—which meant she didn’t know about it. Was it being kept from her because she was human? Or was the info restricted to the Tribe’s inner circle?
Or, in a less paranoid world, maybe she’d simply been busy and hadn’t heard the latest gossip yet.
I plopped into the chair and picked up the book. Victorian Poetry from Clough to Kipling. On a whim, I opened to a random page and started reading.
Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling;
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To flutter—and the Bird is on the Wing.
“What the shit?” I made a face and set the book aside. “She’s trying to torture you awake, Kang. Why else would she read you this.”
“Kang likes to style himself an autodidactic polymath,” Pierce drawled from the doorway.
The fit, broad-shouldered, thirty-something Pierce Gentry was a far cry from his old Pietro Ivanov form, but I was used to it now. Helped that his personality hadn’t really changed.
I had no idea what an automatic polymorphy thing was, but I also didn’t care about looking stupid in front of Pierce. “A whatsit whosit?”
“An autodidact is a self-taught person, and a polymath is one whose expertise covers a wide variety of subjects.” He closed the door behind him. “I style Kang a pompous ass.”
I tensed as Pierce approached the bed. He smirked. “Don’t worry. I’ll abide by Ari’s wishes.”
More like Dr. Nikas’s commands, I thought, but kept my expression bland.
He folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me everything of what happened at the morgue.”
My eyes flicked toward Kang. “Er, here?” Couldn’t some coma patients still hear what was going on around them? I definitely remembered bits and pieces from my time regrowing in the tank.
“He’s not awake, Angel,” Pierce said, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I would know if he was faking unconsciousness. Even Kang can’t control himself to that extent. Now, tell me what happened.”
“I didn’t think he was awake awake,” I muttered then went ahead and launched into the stirring tale of Angel and the not-really-zombie. When I finished, I slouched in the chair and eyed him. “What did you mean by ‘even Kang’?”
Pierce didn’t answer for several seconds, still mulling over my story. “His great age affords him certain . . . advantages.”
“Great age? But he’s only seventy-something, isn’t he? I mean, he told me his parents died in the Korean War.” That was old, but not oooold. Hell, Jacques was pushing two hundred.
Pierce gave me a slow blink, then he tipped his head back and roared in laughter. “My god, Kang is such an asshole. Yes, his parents died in a Korean war. But not the one in the twentieth century.”
