Nicky and Manny were laughing so hard I don’t think they heard me. Nicky finally managed to say, “Yeah, but you did save his father’s life, and the whole damn city, maybe the country, from being overrun by killer zombies.”
“Oh,” Manny said, “no other daughter-in-law, or son-in-law for that matter, can ever compete with that. ‘What does your wife do? Oh, she saved the world from murderous zombies; what does your spouse do?’” They started laughing again, and I just gave up and let them have it. Ending the night with laughter was better than the alternatives. Domino was still passed out in the very back of the SUV. The doctor on call would meet us at the Circus of the Damned. I let the men laugh at my expense, because laughter was so much better than tears.
41
WE GOT TO the Circus of the Damned with the light still soft and yellow, letting you know from the color and feel of it just how early it was. We’d caught the beginnings of rush hour traffic after we dropped Manny at his car in front of Animators Inc. and headed north on 270, but you could make it from Olive/270 to the Circus in record time this early. The air was still soft, and the white yellow that lets you know that kids aren’t in class yet, and people are still rushing for coffee and breakfast but not quite at their desks. I used to hate this time of day, because it meant I’d worked far too many hours the night before and it made me grumpy, but when death had come so close the light was a victory. We’d survived the night. After a night when I wasn’t sure everyone would survive, morning did not suck, and dawn was a blessing.
I carried my equipment bag. We divided up the long guns on their tactical slings, and Nicky carried Domino in his arms as if the man weighed nothing. I could have carried him over my shoulder in some kind of fireman’s carry, but division of labor meant it made more sense for the biggest guy to carry the second-biggest guy.
I had a key to the back door of the Circus, but I didn’t have to use it today. The door opened and a medical team dressed in street clothes came to swarm around Nicky. They checked Domino, but they didn’t immediately take the unconscious man from his arms. I’d learned that doctors are very hesitant to move people until they know that moving them won’t make things worse. They were dressed in street clothes because we just assumed we were under surveillance from somebody; whether it was a rival group, cops, or government, it was just better to be cautious. Having a full medical team come swarming out might start to look even more suspicious than carrying an unconscious nude man inside. We could at least explain that part as a lycanthrope doing the typical pass-out when they first hit human form after hours of being furry. Most of the people in my inner circle didn’t pass out like that, but strangely, Domino did, which meant he was less powerful than most of my inner circle; maybe that was why he’d almost died from the beating.
Guards I knew took my bags, and I let them. Once I wouldn’t have let anyone carry my bags, but I’d learned they weren’t doing it because they thought I was weak, but as a sign of respect. The boss doesn’t carry shit.
Lisandro and another guard I didn’t recognize came out the door in the distance, as we all moved across the parking lot. The new guard was taller than Lisandro by inches, which made him at least six-three or six-four. Lisandro’s hair was black, but the new guy’s hair was that deep black that had blue highlights in it as the morning sun hit them. The hair had fallen forward, hiding his face, and then I couldn’t see either of them past the herd of taller people around me; when the view cleared I saw the black-and-silver T-shirt that I’d picked out for him, the black jeans that fit his hips nicely and clung to his thighs and all that long leg, until the slight flare at the bottom that gave room to go over the black-and-silver tooled cowboy boots that he’d just gotten. I felt silly not realizing it was Cynric from the moment I saw him. I just almost never saw him from a distance except on the football field, or the track, and this was different. Seeing him all rock-star casual for school made me wonder who he was dressing to impress. Technically he could date other people, in fact I was encouraging it, but wondering who he was dressing up for caused a slight flare of jealousy, which was totally ridiculous. He was only nineteen, twelve years younger than me, and I was always trying to get him to meet a nice girl his own age, or to admit he felt neglected being just another man in my life, but seeing him like this, noticing just how tall, how filled out he was from lifting weights and team practice . . . he looked older than nineteen. Maybe it was the height?
He looked up, and the moment he saw me his face lit up in that way you only look at someone that you love. He didn’t look much like the kid I’d met in Vegas. The issue was still there, big and ugly and therapy-worthy, but the issue wasn’t Cynric. The issue was what had been done to both of us against our will. We were both survivors—no, we’d done more than just survive what Marmee Noir had done to us; we had thrived. Some tightness in my chest eased, and I smiled at him. Maybe it wasn’t as good a smile as he gave me, but I would work on that. However we got together, the thought of him dressing up to catch the eye of another woman bothered me, in a way that Domino having full-blown sex with someone else didn’t.
My head and my issues had made me doubt, but it was as if admitting the issues out loud had freed me to look at them and begin to work through them. I was happy to see him, so happy it surprised me. Whatever he saw on my face made him look even happier as he hurried toward me.
“Go give Sin his good-morning kiss,” Nicky said.