Page 102 of Caretaker

I would find my freedom in immortality. In responsibility.

But however I found it, I would embrace it.

Eventually.

“I’m going to Angus’s house to pack,” I told them. “Do I just walk into the way station and claim it?”

Clayton looked surprised. “The way station has claimed you. It’s waiting for you. Can you feel it?”

An invisible wind, full of portent and expectation, rushed through my body. I shuddered. “Yes, I can. I feel it.”

Angus wrapped his hand around my upper arm. He said nothing, but the others seemed to understand.

They all melted away, even Leo, leaving me to Angus. Or leaving Angus to me.

We arrived at his house in minutes, but it seemed to take hours. We didn’t say a word all the way home, and after we slipped inside the dark and nearly silent house, we parted ways.

We both needed to clean up.

And then…

I knew where to find him.

My body was buzzing with energy, like the vampire’s blood was a potent drug I’d drunk. I reeled with everything that had happened, but there was simply too much. So in the shower, my muscles relaxing beneath the pounding water, I cried for Miriam, and then I let it all go.

I’d deal with everything, but not all at once. And not alone.

I would never be alone again.

And in the distant darkness of my mind the way station called like a faraway, lonely train whistle. I put that away, too, because it made me sad. I didn’t know why, only that it did.

I didn’t want to sink into despair. Angus was waiting for me, and I would go be with him before I went to be with the way station.

So I hurried through my washing, because in the other room was a man who, for whatever reason, made me feel safe. And I needed the hell out of safe. Just for a little while.

After my shower, I took a thin dress from the closet and pulled it on. I wore nothing else, but I gripped Silverlight and took her with me. I wasn’t ready to leave her behind. Not yet.

And then I opened the door and padded down the hallway, my heart in my throat.

I didn’t knock. When I slipped through the doorway and locked the door behind me, I turned to find Angus sitting in a chair across the room, watching me.

“Red dress.” He kept his head resting back against the chair, but his stare traveled from my face to that red dress, the dress that I hoped would somehow make him okay.

I’d bought it after he’d been taken away, because I knew someday he’d be back. I’d looked at that dress every day, and had imagined this night. I’d known all along it was coming.

“I wore it for you,” I whispered, then dropped my gaze when he lifted his glittering eyes. “God, Angus.”

“Trinity. Come here.” He didn’t move, just stayed sprawled in that chair, his long legs stretched out, one of his hands resting on his abdomen, the other on his leg.

I went to him. I couldn’t do anything else. Didn’t want to.

I’d have given anything at that moment for things to have gone back to the time before, when he’d bellowed and bossed and laughed and fought like he was invincible.

He would probably never tell me everything that’d happened to him in prison, but I could see the horror of it stamped on his face. His body.

Angus was strong. So strong.

But his eyes were haunted.