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She squeezes again and tells me gently to open my eyes. When I do, I see her dark eyes staring back at me with love and compassion.
“I feel it too,” she whispers. “Something in his aura has been dark for days. It’s like he’s hidden from me.”
I nod and pull her close. We embrace, both worried about our friend. I feel bad for the way I spoke to him the other day, especially because I know how much Tory loves him. He’s like the brother she never had, and I don’t want to get in the way of their bond. I love that my wife loves my friends.
But that brings us back to the problem at hand. I’ve just seen a horrible vision of him, and she’s been sensing a deep darkness surrounding him. Our friend is in trouble, and we have to find a way to help him.
The summer morning dawns muggy and gray. It reflects my mood perfectly. After last night, I feel purged of my rage, but that says nothing of the anxiety raging inside of me. I decide to go for a run, something I haven’t done in years. It’s the only thing I can think to do to shake these feelings.
My heart beats in time with my feet hitting the pavement, and I relish the burning that starts in my lungs. I take it hard, shallow breaths, trying to find a rhythm after all this time. My legs scream at me, but I push them forward, showing no mercy on my aching muscles. I run a mile before turning back toward the house, my body screaming at me.
When I return, I see a package sitting on the front porch. As I get closer, I see it’s addressed to me, and the return address is Anderson’s lawyer’s office. Great. I tear the box open to find a hideous vase wrapped in bubble wrap. I walk it to the outside trash can and don’t give it another thought.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
The booming bass of the music fills my veins. Since the police raided our home last night, I’ve needed to get out. As much as I hate clubs, I need this. I need to not feel anything for a while and not look for the undead.
I go up to the bar, easily pushing my way through the crowd. The recent shooting has done nothing to lessen the attendance. That’s New Orleans in a nutshell. It keeps carrying on. When I get to the bar, I wave down the bartender with a fifty, which immediately gets his attention.
He pours me a shot of Patron, which I only order because I have Juliana on my mind. As if I’ve conjured her, I turn around and spill my drink on her. She yells at first, but when she sees it’s me, she smiles.
“I thought you grew out of tequila,” she says over the music.
I laugh, remembering our conversation the other night. “Honestly, I only got it because I was thinking of you?”
“What?” she asks, cupping her ear. She can’t hear me over the noise.
“I was thinking of you,” I shout again.
She shakes her head and points toward the door. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
I put my glass back down on the sticky bar and follow her out toward the door. We leave the club and I follow her down the street toward a broken-down playground. The gate is broken, and though there’s a sign clearly stating it’s closed after sundown, we sneak inside anyway.
In the glow of the streetlight, I realize my memory can’t remotely do her justice. When she smiles, it’s like she’s telling me a secret, her whole face lighting up from the effort. I follow her to the swings and she challenges me to a competition.
We each take a swing and walk ourselves backward, ready to launch into the air. I’m taller and heavier, so I start much higher, but she pumps her legs back and forth quickly, easily catching up to me. She throws her whole body into the effort, serious about beating me.
I can’t help but laugh wildly as I watch her. I feel like a kid again, trying to prove to the pretty girl on the playground that I can keep up with her. The truth is, I’m not sure I can. She gets higher and higher, but my early weight advantage slows me down. I watch in slight horror as she soars several feet into the air, then launches herself off the swing, landing in a heap on the ground.
I stop swinging immediately, dragging my feet through the gravel to stop myself. I run over to her, worried, ready to call Graveyard, but I hear her laughing hard. It’s fuller and sweeter than the sound that’s been ringing in my ears. She laughs hysterically and sits up, looking at me with pure joy on her face. Tears stream down her face, and I realize they’re from laughter, not pain.
“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” she says joyfully, clutching her sides. “That was fucking glorious!”
I laugh with her, caught up in her joy. My body is lighter and freer than it’s ever been. We sit on the ground, laughing for a long time. Every time we begin to catch our breath, we realize we’re on the ground and laugh again. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my entire life.
She finally stands, wiping herself off, and I stand with her.
“Christ, I haven’t laughed like that in ages,” she says, and a dark expression flits over her face. It’s gone just as quickly, though. “Thank you,” she says earnestly. “Thank you for giving me that gift.”
I shrug. “It was your idea. I never would have thought to do that. It’s not exactly a manly thing to do.”
“Oh, I disagree.” She giggles. “I think it’s very manly.”
“Maybe if I’d jumped off like you.” I laugh, more controlled this time. “That would’ve been a very manly thing to do.”
She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. I instantly realize my mistake.
“No, no, no, fuck no!” I say, backtracking. “I didn’t mean that you’re manly. You aren’t, you’re gorgeous and so fucking wonderful, and—”
