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But his men needed to rest and mend. Poor Father Walters had been sent home to the Americas to deal with his severed hand. He would likely be out of service for a very long time, if not permanently.
Yet no one had died.
In a brawl with a lich and his army of ghosts in a cemetery…no one had died.
Rinaldo would thank God for many, many things.
But he knew God had nothing to do with that one.
* * *
The cab ridehome was just as awful as she thought it would be. She felt disgusting. Her hair was matted down, and she felt, for all intents and purposes, like Algernon if he had been stuck out in the rain.
The cab driver shook his head but didn’t say anything as they rode home in silence. But that wasn’t the part she was dreading the most. No, the part she was dreading the most was strolling in the front door of Gideon’s London home.
Inside, there was going to be a set of clean dry clothes and a nice hot bath waiting for her. And a giant cup of steaming coffee. She very much wanted to go inside. But also waiting for her inside the building was Harry.
And when they walked in the front door to find him sitting on the stairs, already glaring at the spot they now occupied, her concerns were realized. “Hey, Harry.”
“Where the fuck have you two been?” the revenant snapped at them as he stood from the stairs.
“Fascinating choice of words, Hero.” Gideon smiled cruelly at the other man. “You aren’t usually so apt.”
She elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Knock it off. I’m not in the mood to deal with this.”
Harry’s gaze snapped between the two of them, putting it together in his head. He groaned in dismay and looked at her, disappointed and crestfallen. “Mags…you didn’t.”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare. You’re not my father, Harry.” She walked past him up the stairs. “I need a hot shower and dry clothes. And a nap.” When Harry grabbed her wrist, she turned. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her like a wounded animal. Like somehow, by being with Gideon, she had betrayed him. She sighed and pulled her wrist out of his grasp and took his hand in hers instead. She squeezed it, trying to convey to him how complicated everything was.
God, she hated that word so much.
“Don’t forgive him,” her friend quietly begged.
“I can’t promise that. It’s my decision to make whether or not I do. But I can’t forgive him yet. I don’t know what he’s done.”
“You’re falling for it. For his routine. For that smarmy asshole. You can’t.”
“I’m right here, Hero.”
“Shove it for a hot second, Gideon.” She shot the necromancer a glare. The doctor sighed and leaned against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. If he wouldn’t give them privacy, then he could at least shut up. Turning her attention back to Harry, she squeezed his hand again. “I’m not ‘falling for it.’ I’m not. But I’ve spent my entire existence running from him—from us. I can’t do it anymore. If I forgive him eventually, that’s my decision. If I don’t? I don’t. You have to trust me to make my own informed decisions, Harry.”
“I do, I just—I’m worried.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a jackass about this, but I don’t want to see you manipulated again.”
“I honestly think that for once in my life I know what I’m getting myself into.” She chuckled. Leaning forward, she kissed his forehead. “And I have you to help me double-check. Don’t apologize. You’re my best friend and my rock.”
He smiled halfheartedly.
“I need that damn shower now. My socks are squishy.” She made a face. “You two just please, please don’t start a fight while I’m scraping myself back together, okay? Stay on opposite sides of the building if you have to.” She pointed at Harry. “That means no cheap shot insults.” She pointed at Gideon. “And that means no gloating.”
“Not even a little?” The necromancer’s silver eyes glittered in playfulness. “Very well, princess. As you wish, I will refrain. I find myself in a remarkably good mood this morning, and I can’t possibly imagine why.”
“She said no gloating, twatwaffle.”
“Guys.”
Both men raised their hands in a show of surrender. Shaking her head, she walked up the stairs to her room, grumbling under her breath about melodrama. When she pushed the door to her room open, she heard a quiet thump, thump, thump, from the bed. Looking over, half expecting something terrifying to leap out at her, or one of the Order lying in wait, she immediately smiled at what she saw. “D’aw, look at you two.”
The thumping was Mephisto’s tail on the comforter. The sheepadoodle was lying there, her tail wagging. Curled up on her back was Algernon, who woke up and stretched as she came in. He began cleaning his face as if trying to wipe the sleep from his missing eyes.
