Page 7 of Caroled
“It’s not good, but I’m still breathing, so there’s that.” Donne’s upper-class English accent had altered over the years, taking on tones and phrases better suited to a streetwise American detective, but it still contrasted with Ferencz’s New York–flavored speech.
“What happened?”
“It was bloody stupid. An ashi-magari tripped me when we were chasing a jiangshi down the Stockton Tunnel stairs. Broke my leg in three places.”
Ferencz patted Donne’s shoulder. “Thomas doesn’t fly well.”
“I fly fine. It’s the landing that’s the problem.” They exchanged the type of fond look unique to couples who’d been together a long time and who loved each other despite their shortcomings.
Ferencz waved at a pair of armchairs opposite the sofa. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I know, just water for you, Charles, but Tenrael?” He cocked his head as if the answer was of great interest.
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Tenrael waited for Charles to sit before he did, and even then he looked uncomfortable. At home he generally knelt at Charles’s feet, often leaning up against him. They both liked that, and besides, chairs were uncomfortable with wings. Even though no one else could see Tenrael’s wings right now, Charles knew he felt their absence acutely.
Looking thoughtful, Ferencz trotted off, leaving Donne to stare at Tenrael. There was no hostility in his gaze, just frank appraisal. He was good at reading people, a skill that had served him well during his years with the Bureau. He was also good at looking menacing, which could be handy enough in itself. “The Bureau’s shorthanded all over then, yes? Not just here.”
“That’s what I understand,” Charles replied. “The war.”
Donne winced. His fingers trembled on his thigh—not very much, but enough that Charles noticed. “The war,” Donne echoed.
Trying not to feel defensive, Charles shrugged. “I can’t enlist.”
“I fought in the last war to end war. It wasn’t….” His jaw worked for a moment. “We need heroes at home as well.”
Charles would have argued that he in no way resembled a hero, but at that moment Ferencz returned with a tray. He handed a glass of water to Charles, then set everything else on the coffee table. Moving with the grace of a man who’d done this thousands of times, he poured a shot of liquor for Donne and a large glass for himself. He perched on the edge of the couch, careful not to jostle Donne’s leg. “L’chaim,” he said before taking a long, deep swallow—as if he were drinking milk instead of alcohol. Charles remembered that Ferencz drank enough booze to put most men in a coffin yet never showed signs of being drunk. In that way he resembled Townsend, although Charles had never remarked aloud on the similarity.
“Were you with the Bureau too?” Ferencz asked Tenrael, eyes bright with curiosity.
“No.”
“We met in Kansas,” said Charles. “During my last case as an agent.”
Ferencz smiled. “The one where the demon got away.”
“Yeah.”
“I see. And now you do private-eye work together.”
Although it wasn’t even dinnertime, Charles was suddenly very tired. He’d driven a long way today. And although he liked Donne and Ferencz well enough, he’d never been much for socializing. As a child, he hadn’t had any friends—other children found him too strange, and his mother kept him out of school, fearing his stupid wings would be discovered. As an adult, well, he kept to himself. Did his job. Walked on the beach. Until Tenrael entered his life.
Charles looked steadily at Ferencz. “Tenrael and I are partners. In life as well as work.”
Several things happened at once. Donne gave a nod, as if his suspicions had been confirmed. Ferencz grinned broadly and said, “Mazel tov!”
And Tenrael, his head held high, slid from his chair to kneel proudly beside Charles. “Master,” he whispered, his eyes shining.
Charles froze.
But Donne didn’t look shocked, and Ferencz’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, in fact, it broadened, and he refilled his glass and held it up as if for a toast. “Shkoyach,” he said. “Good for you.”
“Uh, thank you.”
Ferencz looked as if he was going to say more, but Donne prodded him in the arm, not especially gently. “They’re here to do a job, Avi, not to have you pry into their lives. Just because you’re bored sitting around the house with me doesn’t mean you get to be a… a… what’s that thing you call me when you think I’m being a pest?”
“A noodge,” Ferencz replied merrily.
“Yes. That.”
They bickered back and forth for a few moments, and Tenrael watched closely. He’d relaxed his posture and now leaned slightly against Charles’s leg. Charles wanted to run his fingers through Tenrael’s hair, as he might have done at home, but instead he subtly increased the pressure against Tenrael’s body.
