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“Origami. My talents are wasted on packing.”
She punched him on the upper arm.
“Ouch,” he exclaimed. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
“Stephen can kiss it all better.”
“Bitch.”
“Love you, too.” She winked.
The music had stopped. She walked to the lounge and pressed the repeat button. Back in the kitchen, she refilled their glasses with wine.
“You always listen to him,” Johnny said.
She looked up. “What?”
“You’re always playing his music.”
Before Ivan had returned, she’d never listened to any of his songs. She’d walked circles around his CD displays in music stores. When his voice had come onto the radio, she used to switch it off. Now, she owned every CD and single he’d ever recorded. Maybe she was playing it a bit too much—all right, all the time—but he’d had such a unique, incredibly sexy voice. It still gave her goosebumps.
She shrugged. “I like his voice.”
He searched her eyes. “Are you getting over him?”
The laugh she uttered didn’t quite disguise her pain. Instead, it came out like a nervous sound. “No.”
“You need to come out more. I’m throwing a party next week and—”
“Forget it. You’re not playing matchmaker.”
“I was just going to ask if you’d mind helping out with the catering.”
She snorted. “Give it up. Who is he?”
“A single friend from college.”
“No.”
“You have to get back into the game. It’ll help.”
“It’ll be unfair, because I’ll use some poor guy on the rebound.”
“Who says it’s a guy?”
She burst out laughing. “I’m not gay. You are.”
“You never know. Have you tried kissing a girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Try a woman. Won’t be anything like Ivan, nothing to remind you of him, no worries about long-term commitments or being on the rebound.”
“Are you trying to turn me?” She wagged her eyebrows.
“Just pointing out obvious advantages.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stick to my cat.”
“Your neighbor’s cat.”
“Rub it in and you’re not getting any cake at my office farewell party.”
He pulled a finger over his lips. “Zipped. Sealed.”
“Good.” She grabbed an empty box. “Because it’s chocolate.”
Johnny stayed until the bottle was empty and took a cab home. After packing up the kitchen, she took a long bath and called Cain to let him know at what time she was arriving at the airport. London had been an escape, but it was time to go home.
The first thing that registered in Ivan’s mind was his lack of sensory impressions. His body was weightless, the pain in his chest was gone, and there was no light or voices. It was like being born but reversed, sucked into some invisible, comfortable amniotic fluid. Then gravity returned, and he dropped to his feet with a force that pushed his stomach up into his throat. His soles hit a solid floor with a thud. He glanced around the silent darkness, the transition from the earth plane to this one immediate and complete.
“Hello?”
His voice echoed in the void. Where his heart used to beat there was nothing but a cavity, but that cavity was filled with one intangible thing only—his love for Alice.
Save Alice. Find the portal.
Beams of energy crisscrossed over him like spotlights. In their wake, the hall came to life with ripples of cheering sounds and grabbing hands, flashbacks of fans that dispersed as quickly as they’d started. They appeared to be static noise, leftover energy from the fragments of his physical mind.
In the far distance, two long shafts of light pierced the shadows. Before he could take one step, he was already in front of the luminous rays, his intention to where he wanted to go seemingly enough to execute the displacement. Beyond the first was a woman, her back turned to him. He knew exactly who she was without having to look at her face. His mother, a necromancist, like him. When she turned, her radiant smile engulfed him. She held out her hand in silent request, a finger slipping through the light into the black where he stood. He reached out without hesitation, pressing the tip of his forefinger against hers. His life unfolded before him from when he was nothing but an intention in the mind of the woman who birthed him. There was genuine joy, hope, love, and choice. The knowledge that she’d given her life for him, knowing her fate would be to die in childbirth, filled him with peace and acceptance like he’d only ever felt in Alice’s arms.
“Your father was a bad choice,” she said, her voice a pure, high soprano. “I’m sorry he made you suffer.”
“He was heartbroken after your death,” he said with sudden new insight. “He blamed me.”
Knowledge was a deep-seated certainty, like instinct. He only had to think of a situation to see, with mind-blowing clarity, the facts, the influences, and the repercussions.
“He’s not with you,” he said.
“He chose a different path,” Agatha replied.
“Are you lonely?”
“Loneliness doesn’t exist on this plane.” Her smile was gentle. “What took you so long to find me? You could’ve called me up any time.”
