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“Jean-Claude wanted me to see if I could help raise theardeurso you could heal Wicked and Truth, but neither of us is in the right head space for it.”
I shook my head and this time he could see it. “No, not really.”
“I wish I could help you more tonight,” he said.
“You take care of the Lunatic Café. I’ve got help here; come to think of it you should have bodyguards with you.”
“I do, I swear, I just wanted some privacy in case we did manage to raise theardeur. Sometimes it spreads and I just don’t feel that way about Jamil and Shang-Da.”
That made me laugh, which was an improvement.
Then there was a sigh, and the rustle of sheets. A man’s voice cried out in pain. The Wicked Truth were awake.
“They’re awake,” I said. “I’ve got to go.”
“Go,” he said, and I went.
26
They both satup in bed at the same time, like it was planned, looking wildly around the room. They went for weapons they didn’t have. Truth doubled over with pain, cradling his injured hand because he’d tried to reach with it. Wicked turned to look at his brother and it was his turn to bend at the shoulders, hand rising toward his face and stopping as he remembered. The pain in his eyes was replaced with fear.
“I’m here, you’re okay,” I said, as if that was helpful, or true. They were so not okay.
“Where are our weapons?” Truth asked, still holding his arm against his body and trying his best not to touch anything with his hand.
“We have them,” Fortune said.
“Where?” he asked.
She walked between their beds and knelt down to draw a large white drawstring bag out from under Truth’s bed. She cradled it in her arms like there was something longer and harder than you’d expect in the bags that they gave us for personal effects. She laid it across his lap and he tried to undo the strings so he could reach into the bag, but he couldn’t manage it one-handed.
Fortune untied it for him, her voice cheerful and teasing as shesaid, “We double-knotted it so nothing would fall out and scare the nurses.”
Truth didn’t smile back as she opened the bag for him, just reached in and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. I’d known that was what he’d grab first. He was great with a gun, but his heart belonged to sharp things meant to cut and slice. I’d only recently realized that I preferred blades to guns, too, but not like Truth did. I’d never lived in a century where being good with a sword or axe was the difference between life or death.
Some tension lifted from his shoulders and face as he pulled the hilt out, so he gripped the sword across his thighs, the tip still inside the bag. “I can never carry anything that big concealed, I’m just not tall enough,” I said. I was trying for light and ordinary, too.
“I…” Wicked said, and stopped, pain showing on his face again, and then he took in a breath and let it out slowly between barely opened lips. He swallowed carefully and then said, “Weapons, please.” It hurt to talk, no big surprise, but it was still hard to see Wicked struggle with something so simple.
Ethan went to kneel on the other side of his bed so he wouldn’t bump Fortune. He lifted the bag out and laid it beside Wicked’s legs. He was able to open his own bag. He lifted out his FN 509, popped the magazine out to check that it was full, then pulled the slide back to eject the bullet in the chamber. He put the bullet back in the magazine, then put that back into the gun, slapping it home against the palm of his other hand. He pulled the slide back and the round went back in the chamber where it had started, and then he laid the gun beside his thigh, hand still touching it. It helped him feel more like himself; I knew that because I felt the same way about my guns. I loved blades, but if I had to choose in that moment I’d have gone for the gun.
He turned his head slowly and more carefully this time to look at his brother. Fortune was still in that direction, but we all knew whohe was looking for; they were the Wicked Truth. “Truth’s hand, less flesh…on it.”
“The doctor cleaned all the burned flesh away while you were both unconscious,” Fortune said.
“I’m grateful we slept through that,” Truth said.
“Mirror,” Wicked said.
“Let’s get the doctor,” Fortune said.
Wicked looked past her to me. “Mirror.”
I nodded and got my phone out of the pocket of my borrowed scrubs. I brought the camera up and turned it, so he’d be able to see himself.
“The doctor asked us to get him when they woke up,” Fortune said.
“Then go get him,” I said, and went to stand beside Wicked’s bed.
