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“Andyouneed to tell me what the fuck is going on between you and your dad’s boss.”
Saber took a deep breath and let it out, then took a bite of her ice-cream sandwich.
“Fine,” she said, “but you can’t tell anyone else.”
“I won’t,” Lozen said. “As long as you’re not in danger.”
Saber laughed quietly and leaned back in her chair.
Of course she was in danger.
They all were.
“So,” she said, “Ansel. His original name was Ulrich, and he’s about seven hundred years old…”
28
That night, as Lozen slept on the couch in her room, Saber woke to a voice in her head.
“Let me in, Saber.”
She sat straight up in bed.
“Ansel?”
“Let me in.”
She got out of bed and walked to the front door of her house. It was three in the morning. She looked through the peephole and saw Ansel standing there, though standing was a generous word. He seemed to be struggling to stay on two feet. She opened the door.
“Please come in,” she said, and he looked at her, dull and glassy eyed, and nodded.
She helped him to the couch and eased him down, looking at him. He closed his eyes.
“What were you doing out tonight?” he asked, his voice low, quiet, still deep.
“Are you hurt?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. The glow was missing, extinguished.
“I’ll be alright,” he said. “What were you doing?”
“Buying ice cream,” she said. “I hadn’t seen Derek in a while. I thought…”
He laughed a quiet laugh and let his head roll back. His face, in profile, was so achingly beautiful. She wanted to kiss him.
“What happened?”
“They followed you. I think they killed the person who worked there.”
Saber felt a coldness in her body at the words.
“What do I do?”
“Stop going out at night, evencloseto dark until I transfer your father to another office. I’m going to insist. Congratulations, you’re moving to California.”
“That’s not what I want!”
Ansel laughed again and looked at her with something like pity.
