Page 107 of Disturbing the Dead
I’m about to tell my hosts that I’m here for good, whether they want me or not.
I’m mired in all that fear and indecision, and all Gray says is “Mallory?” and I realize he still isn’t sure it’s me.
I should start spouting proof. Instead, I hear myself saying, “I came back.”
He only looks at me, uncertainty lingering.
How often have I said not to trust whoever comes back? But now I’m here, and proof is easily given—I last saw you when you left me with Queen Mab, outside the vault market, with me carrying the Hand of Glory in a carpetbag.
Yet I don’t want to need to prove it. I want him to look in my eyes and see me, and I know that’s childish and illogical. But it’s what I feel, and when he keeps looking at me as if he’s not sure who has woken in this body, I want to flee.
I swing my legs off the bed, only to realize I’m wearing a nightgown and my legs don’t “swing” the way I’ve grown used to again. I curse under my breath, and Gray goes to catch me, but I brush him off.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Is Mrs. Wallace all right?”
He nods, slow, still wary.
“I need to speak to Isla,” I say.
He still says nothing. Not one damn word, and that hurts more than I ever imagined silence could hurt.
What did I expect?
More than this cautious, guarded stare. The man was sitting by my damn bedside, waiting for me to wake up, and when I did, I got a single word from him.
Catriona.
With that, I realize he wasn’t waiting for me to return. I get a closer look at him in the gloom, and he looks like shit, lank hair and stubbled face and a shirt that isn’t even buttoned up correctly. But that’s not because I was lying on my deathbed.
He has been sitting vigil against Catriona’s return.
I don’t think Gray had realized he was harboring a sociopath. Catriona had seemed like just another person with a criminal past that his sister was trying to help, and if she wasn’t coming along as well as Alice, well, these things took time. Through me, he fully came to understand that Catriona wasn’t someone they could help, that she was someone they needed to get out of their house if she ever returned.
So Gray was waiting, ready to deal with a threat to his family.
“Where’s Isla?” I say, and there’s more snap to my voice than I like.
“Mallory…”
“Yes, it’s Mallory. If you want proof—”
“No, I just… I didn’t think…” He exhales. “You are back.”
“I am. Now, if you can point me—”
“I’m sorry.”
I look over at him, and my heart leaps into my throat, my brain running wild at those words. He’s sorry? For what? Has Isla been hurt? Did something happen?
“I know…” he begins, and then takes a deep breath. “You said you came back. I presume that means you went… home. After you were hurt.”
I give a curt nod. “I did.”
“Then I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you could not stay. I know it is what you wanted, and yet somehow you found yourself back here, and I am sorry.”
