“So this is the Scotland,” she mumbled to herself.
Cayne, who’d looked asleep, lifted an eyelid and nodded.
“It’s pretty,” she said.
“You should see the Highlands.”
His eyes searched hers, and she could tell he was asking permission to talk to her. She couldn’t answer him, so she leaned her cheek against her headrest and turned her attention to Meredith and Drew. Apparently Mer had found some nail polish in the van’s console. She was calling it Puke-a-licious Pink and refusing to let it anywhere near her “fine fingertips,” but Drew was insisting they could all use the fumes as a distraction. Carlin was on him about the dangers of drugs, and Edan was probably smirking his sultry Edan smirk.
Julia inhaled deeply, projecting herself into the seat beside Meredith. Anywhere away from the heat of Cayne’s body. Every little shifting of his legs sent a shockwave through her, and she was still wrestling with the question of how she should feel about him. It was getting exhausting. As if a genie was granting her a wish, someone cut the interior lights, and she heard Mer say something about being tired. Her friend’s hand touched Julia’s shoulder, and her mouth brushed Julia’s ear.
“You okay? Want to come up here with us?”
Even if Nephilim hadn’t had exceptional hearing, Julia would have been embarrassed—simply that Meredith could sense her discomfort.
She shook her head. “Thanks, though.”
“No prob, Bob.”
*
Carlin stopped at the Scottish version of a mini mart—it seemed to have a tiny mom and pop restaurant attached—and returned to the car with a detailed map, a gnome-sized flashlight, and a bag of treats, including homemade shortbread, some kind of candy bar (Aero, the wrapper said), and a bunch of soft peppermint sticks.
When the bag was passed to Julia, she passed it back without taking anything. (She was still just holding her cola—too off-balance to want to drink it). A second later, Meredith’s arm dangled the bag toward Cayne. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a small piece of shortbread, the sight of those big, capable hands making her stomach clench.
So he ate now?
Except, as they set off again, winding around the residential-looking loops Carlin called “round-abouts” in a misty rain, Julia watched Cayne bring the shortbread to his nose. He inhaled deeply, shut his eyes, and sank deeper down into his chair.
Julia got a strange flip-floppy feeling in her stomach, and had another almost overpowering desire to reach for Cayne’s hand. She didn’t let herself. She stared at his fingers—he still had blood under the nails—and imagined them breaking someone’s neck.
She glanced up, caught him staring at her. He lifted one side of his mouth in a wrenching non-smile and nodded, like he didn’t blame her at all for giving him the silent treatment.
And he shouldn’t, she told herself firmly.
Julia wondered if when they left for Zurich, she should leave him behind. If she asked him to stay, she thought he would.
*
In the dream, she was climbing—bare feet and sweaty hands clinging to a net of silken gold. Somewhere far below, beyond a vast and misting fog, she heard a warbling voice, the echo of an old boom, dimmed by age. She couldn’t hear the words with her ears; they came into her mind, some kind of mental shortcut that made her head ache terribly.
Keep climbing, he ordered. She could see his long, white beard. It vibrated with his words, which also caused the water to brim with waves.
My feet hurt. And I have a headache.
Yes, but someone’s waiting for you.
Julia looked down, between the rungs of the net, past the fluffy clouds that leaked gray rain over the spinning globe.
I can’t see anyone.
Oh, he’s there.
Somehow, she just knew he was talking about Cayne. She saw the charcoal wings before she saw his familiar form—wide shoulders, curling hair. But his face… His face was pale and dead. His eyes were bloodshot. His mouth bled, from where his teeth bit down on it.
She saw him at the bottom of a well. Inside a well of glowing stone. She saw him knock an arrow, pull his bow back… She screamed as it flew toward her heart.
Chapter 19
By the time they arrived at the Margaret Macdonald House, Julia was so tired and shaky, she’d decided to pop open her soda, which tasted like a cross between vanilla Coke and a Shirley Temple. She’d managed to thank Cayne for it, although her throat was still dry from her nightmare. Stupid nightmare. Stupid Cayne.
Carlin parked the van somewhere that looked illegal. Julia could hear her shaking Edan awake. Night had fallen down around them, and in the posh urban neighborhood, Glasgow seemed nothing but light.
“Our directions say it’s across the street,” Carlin said. “Is that right, Cayne?”
He nodded. Cleared his throat, sending shivers up Julia’s spine. “Yep. Housing for a college, also a hostel.”
“Great.” Carlin nodded, opening her door, and Meredith and Andrew started out the side door. Cayne waved Julia out first, and her body felt too hot, knowing he was watching. He walked behind her the whole way to the check-in area.
There a handsome strawberry-blond college guy confirmed the prices were good but there were only two twin beds per room. It was quickly decided that the girls would bunk together, leaving two rooms for the guys to divide however they wanted.
The guys were on the third floor, the girls the second; in the privacy of a narrow hallway, Cayne protested this arrangement, but Drew insisted any attackers would come from the sky, so they’d have to come through the third floor to get to the second. Edan asked if Cayne could sense other Nephilim, and he admitted that he could.
“Then that’s two of us.”
Finally the guys passed the second floor. On the walk to the girls’ room, Julia heard a strangled sound and glanced over to find Meredith’s hand over her face. Carlin noticed at the same time, and the two of them practically collided trying to wrap their arms around her.
“Honey, what is it?” Carlin asked.
Meredith’s sobbing intensified, and a second later, Julia spotted the public bathrooms, where the three of them filed into a shower stall and Meredith sank down to her knees.
Julia could barely make out what she was saying, but she thought she heard “Herbert.” A second later, “Anise” was clear, followed by more unintelligible weeping. And then: “Nathan!”
Carlin was holding onto Meredith’s arm, looking teary herself, and, having no idea what else to do, Julia stroked her friends pretty hair and leaned close to her.
“He’s okay, Meredith. You said you thought he made it.”
“I just…miss them! I can’t believe they’re gone! It’s just not fair.”
“No, it’s not.” Carlin’s voice cracked and her lower lip trembled.
And for the next ten minutes, Julia experienced her first-ever group girl-cry. She found it both more and less sad than crying alone. It hurt her to see her friends so upset—having been at the compound longer than she had, they were more upset than she was—but it was also amazing, the feeling of comfort she felt when the three of them were huddled on the cold tile floor together.
A few minutes later, a girl came in, chattering loudly in Spanish, and Carlin suppressed a giggle.
“What?” Mer sniffled.
“She’s talking about her butt.”
“Huh?”
Carlin giggled—this time more loudly. “She’s telling her friend on the cell phone that she got her butt crack waxed. Now it’s very smooth, just like a seal!”
They all started laughing, and everything seemed a little less awful.
After a few more minutes, Meredith had decided they needed a good diversion, and was trying to convince them both that it would be even safer than merely staying downtown if they were to stay downtown and go hopping.
“Hopping?” Julia asked.
She nodded. “Bar hopping.”
“Yeah… B
ut how would we get in?”
She shrugged. “We don’t need fake IDs.”
“Why not?”
“We can charm our way in. Isn’t that right, Carlin?”
Carlin nodded, though Julia could tell she wasn’t taking Meredith’s plan seriously.
“I mean this! I think all three of us could use a little…adventure. The good kind.”
Pausing from searching the hallway wall for their room number, Carlin looked at Julia. “Are you and Cayne together or not?”
Julia put her head down in her hand, and Carlin said, “Yes, then it’s settled. We’re definitely going.”
“What about the guys?” Julia asked.
“Drew can come,” Mer said. “He’s one of the girls.”
“Edan?” Carlin asked.
Meredith wiggled her brows.
“I was just—”
“No you weren’t. Come on, girl. Don’t even try to lie to these eyes.” Meredith jerked her thumb at herself and did a little dance.
Julia tried to keep up, but her head was throbbing—a headache that had been getting worse since the plane had landed.
“I guess I could use a little…escape,” she heard herself saying. She wondered what it would feel like to drink alcohol. Whether it might make her relax; she was pretty sure her headache was of the tension variety.
Their room, a cozy, colorful place with a desk, two bunk beds, and art deco posters, became a dressing room as Meredith pulled lipstick and mascara from her pocket and Carlin set about finger-brushing everyone’s hair. The bathroom drawer had a random pack of bobby pins, which Meredith used to make Julia a fun updo.
“What about our clothes?” Carlin asked, nose scrunched.
“Scrubs,” Meredith said with a dismissive wave. “We work at a dentist’s office—where we all wear cheap trucker t-shirts.”
“Those are some dirty chompers,” Carlin said in a dorky accent. “Kiss me, Mr. Man.”
They all shared a laugh that only felt a little forced, and for reasons unknown to her, Julia volunteered to let the guys know where they were going.
She wiped her eyes with the heels of her palms and jogged up the nearest flight of stairs with her stomach in her knees. She pounded on the door of room 303, surprised when Drew answered shirtless. Behind him, she saw Edan brushing his teeth.
It was such a far cry from the death and destruction in the Commons, for a moment her head spun. Then she pulled it together, looking at Drew’s face to avoid the awkwardness of checking out his torso.
“I wanted to let you guys know…we’re going out for a while. To get some air.” Reluctantly, she smiled. “I think Meredith may have other plans, too. Do you want to come?”
To her surprise, Drew high-fived her, grabbing her hand and tugging her into their Dali-themed room. “I’m in.” He glanced at Edan, his face souring slightly. “What about you?”
“Why not?” He raised his brows, his chiseled face looking a lot like a model’s, despite his toothpaste moustache. “I can get us into the good ones.”
“And how is that?” Julia asked, hand on her hip.
He grinned. “I have my ways. And before you wonder, yes, they’re ‘Chosen-safe.’”
For just a moment, Julia allowed herself a pinch of gladness at experiencing what felt like regular social interaction… but then there was the matter of notifying Cayne. Her sort-of, kind-of, maybe-ex boyfriend—the Nephilim.
By the time she knocked on his door, her head felt like an atomic bomb about to blow. She rapped gently with her knuckles—knuckles he had kissed not twenty-four hours ago. When no one answered, she checked the door, but the number—308—was right. Andrew had said Cayne was staying in this room, but when she opened the door, she found herself staring at an empty bed.
*
Scotland was never in his plans. Didn’t matter. There he was, inhaling deeply of the cool, damp air—watching humans move about in scarce clothing, touching and talking and laughing with a lightness he would never understand.
The country was different now, the cement, glass, and light as foreign to him as the stone and heather had been so many years before. Scotland had never been his home.
He tracked a pretty girl with long, long legs and mocha skin, staring at her from behind the tinted window of his cab. For a time Kat had been something close to home, and after that…
He ran a hand over the ripped knee of the too-loose jeans he’d found in the Misplaced bin on the first floor of the hostel. Shifted his weight in the leather seat so his black t-shirt—a little snug—pressed down on his skin. One of his hands was damaged from Samyaza’s dagger, but it was nothing put against the pain inside his chest. That was a burn—a dry-ice, vacant, aching burn where Julia had been.
He missed her very badly, and being so near to her was making it more difficult to bear.
At the train depot in Virginia, he’d thought…
He shook his head.
Of course she wouldn’t let him close. He didn’t deserve it. There was no denying that. In Virginia, he had been too weak to keep himself from Julia. Now he would. She didn’t want him, and he couldn’t blame her. He’d gone downstairs to apologize one last time, to explain that he would track her from a distance, keeping her safe while sparing them both the pain of interaction.
When he’d reached the door, he’d heard their plan—about the “hopping.” Cayne had paid Edan—with “a favor, which I’ll ask for when I think of it”— to take them to a bar that appeared safe and stick on Julia all night.
From what he knew of Stained, none was powerful enough to reach this continent tonight, so Julia would be safe.
He had somewhere else to go.
Aside from the weight of Julia on his mind, he was bothered by what the girl who was not a girl had said—about his birth. He felt ill thinking of it, but if he was really the first Nephilim born after a 2,000-year dry spell, during a time when it was difficult for Nephilim to enter the Earth, he could be…
Something else.
The thing had said he serving some kind of purpose; so had Samyaza. But what? Did it have something to do with Julia?
He rubbed his forehead and looked through the lit-up windows of the club for long brown hair. He’d paid his cabbie with the wad of pounds Carlin had given each of them, so he had time to do what he thought was called “creeping”: staring into a Wild West-themed bar as Julia downed a beer, danced atop a wood plank stage with the one called Drew, leaned her backside against the decorated walls, and talked to an attractive human male. By all appearances, she seemed intact, but her hands kept fluttering at her temples. Was she worried?
Of course she was. He wanted to comfort her. To be the version of himself that she’d let close.
Cayne had always regretted his time as a Hunter, but until now he hadn’t felt remorse. Killing Stained was just one of the things he did at times. He didn’t get any particular pleasure out of it. Not like Samyaza, who seemed to relish a messy slaughter.
He watched Julia do a wild dance with Edan, ignoring the bite of jealousy that sparked inside his chest. When the guy knew Julia wasn’t looking, he flashed Cayne a thumbs-up, and Cayne told himself it was time to go. Still—he lingered, and good thing. A few minutes later, while Edan was dancing with a girl with pink hair, Julia said something to Meredith and then walked out of the bar—alone.
Drew rushed out after her, but Julia gestured at the busy sidewalk. No one’s going to get me. Look at all these people. Cayne didn’t know what she said, but he knew Drew must be an idiot, because the guy went back inside, leaving Julia to shoulder through the crowd alone. The perfect target.
He asked the cabbie to wait, reaching her in less than a dozen strides and grabbing her bare arm. His fingers sizzled.
“Julia.”
She grinned, wide and…loose. She swung her hand up toward his face. His gut clenched tightly, but she didn’t touch him. “Nephilim.”
The word was like a dagger in his chest. For a second he could
only breathe, pitiful shallow breaths. He looked into her eyes, seeing her intoxication, loathing Drew.
“Julia… You shouldn’t be out alone.” He looked down at her arm; her skin; he was touching her. “Let me give you a ride.” He expected some resistance, but instead she nodded happily, pointing to her gum-pink All-Stars. “My feet hurt. And I have a headache.”
She tolerated his hand around her elbow as they made their way back toward the car, and when he held the door, she turned around to face him.
“Cayne,” she said loudly, standing close enough so he could smell her shampoo. “Where’d you go?”