***
I woke in the morning to the scent of strong coffee and something…sweet. I opened my eyes to investigate, even though I immediately registered the pain in my shoulder. What I really wanted to do was close my eyes again and curl into a tight ball in my bed—no, not in bed, I realized, blinking rapidly. I was downstairs on the couch. Then I remembered the events of the previous night. Coatyl…so many of them.
My mind replayed the scene in the grocery store, the pain of the coatyl’s long, sharp nails in my shoulder, Aries, and our escape. And…something more. Sitting up took more effort than I felt ready to give at the moment, but it was the only way to reach the hot coffee that someone had left on the end table. It was a bold, strong brew, just as I’d suspected. Good.
I continued to sip at the hot liquid while I fought to remember the very last part of the evening, the elusive hint of a memory that seemed faded now. Mark had tended my wound, that much was clear enough, but for some reason, I was also pretty sure he had spent the night on the couch with me. Not talking or even moving, just…there, almost as if he’d stood guard throughout the night. Other things were less clear. For a moment, I thought I could recall Mark’s voice in my ear, a low murmur of words that were at direct odds with his usually cool attitude toward me. Then again, his spending the night on the sofa with me was out of character as well—at least it was now. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing, I reasoned. I must have, because Mark didn’t want much of anything to do with me. Did he?
I stretched and finally shed the thick blanket that was still tangled around my legs, rose from the sofa, and, still cradling the mug of coffee, made my way slowly and carefully to the kitchen. The discomfort in the back of my shoulder had become more of a dull, throbbing ache, and I realized that I was hungry. I wasn’t sure what time it was, but a glance out the window showed a sky that was tinged with just a hint of purple; it was early then. Marta would be awake, Bob would either be on his way downtown already or barricaded in his home office for the day, and Ashley would soon be waking up.
But it wasn’t Marta I found in the kitchen, elbow deep in what looked to be pancake batter—it was Mark.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he told me without turning around from the hideous mess he was in the process of making. I cringed, thinking about what Marta would say when she spied her kitchen, her domain, in such shape. Batter dripped from several places on the countertop, hitting the floor and pooling there. The countertops themselves were a white, sticky mess—ditto with the tile backsplash.
Wide-eyed, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Marta is going to kill you.”
Mark chuckled. “Yes, she probably will. Everyone’s gone and I thought you might be hungry when you woke up. Guess it’s been a while since I’ve cooked in an actual kitchen.” He frowned. “I promise these will taste better than they look.” He dropped six circles of batter onto the stovetop griddle and turned to face me.
I doubted that very much but was too polite to say so. “It’s a little early for everyone to be gone. Did something happen?”
“No, nothing like that.” He tossed a quick smile in my direction and flipped his masterpieces over.
“Marta and Bob took Ashley to a pancake house in town.” One of his pancakes stuck to the hot surface of the griddle and broke apart when he tried to wedge the spatula beneath it. “Maybe it’s not too late for us to catch up to them.”
“No, I’m sure those will be, uh, wonderful,” I lied, and vowed to eat them anyway. After all, pancake mix was pretty standard, wasn’t it? Even if he’d used too much water, or forgotten to grease the pan, they would still taste more or less the same, right?
A minute later, when he placed an extra large plate of his creation in front of me, I found out I was wrong.
“They aren’t good, are they?”
“They’re very…salty,” I managed.
“Don’t eat them,” he sighed, and moved to take the plate. “We’ll go out for breakfast.”
“No. This is fine,” I insisted. They really weren’t fine at all, but I was too hungry to care—much—and I didn’t feel like going anywhere right then. Especially not out in public among people. So I smothered the salty, part overcooked-part raw in the middle pancakes in syrup and drank three more cups of coffee to get rid of the aftertaste.
“You didn’t have to do that.” Mark smiled and refilled his own cup.
I shrugged. “Thanks for cooking, anyway. Thanks for taking care of my shoulder last night, too.” I watched his face carefully.
“It was no trouble. How do you feel?”
“It hurts. I’ll be all right.”
“There’s some pain medication in the bathroom upstairs.” He began to rise.
“No, I’ll get it in a minute. I want to go up and take a shower.”
“Okay.” He fell silent, drinking his coffee and staring idly out the kitchen window.
“Mark, did you sleep on the couch last night with me?” I finally asked in a rush.
“Yes.”
“I see.” So I hadn’t been dreaming, then. It took a moment to process that.
“I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be alone.”
“Did you…” I paused and looked away, unsure of how to phrase my question.
“I didn’t touch you, Claire.”
“No, not that. I know you didn’t…you wouldn’t…”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“The thing is, I had this crazy dream that you spoke to me last night.”
“Really?” He leaned back and regarded me thoughtfully.
“It wasn’t a dream, was it?” I asked, certain from the look on his face that he really had spoken those words the night before.
“No,” he admitted without taking his eyes off me. “When Aries came through the door with you last night—” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Claire, will you tell me what happened that day?”
“You mean the day I disappeared?” I asked after a moment, though I was certain he could only be referring to that particular day.
“Yes. You tried to tell me before and I…well, I’m sorry that I acted as if I didn’t want to hear it. I’d like very much if you would tell me now, though. I think I’m finally ready to listen.”