Page 39 of Awry
No socks.
I shouldn’t be noticing inconsequential things like fucking socks.
Reck doesn’t take his eyes off the impostor.To anyone else, he might look arrogantly detached.Even professional.But I can smell the rancor simmering just under his skin.He needs to be rational now.Sly and even tricky, as is his nature, but coolly rational.Otherwise, the fake Zaya Gage is going to shred him.
I’ve spent barely thirty minutes total in her presence — this time around at least — and I already know how she’ll react to even a hint of aggression.
Grinder gets Presh in the passenger side of the SUV, then crosses back around to the driver’s-side door.His gaze — far too knowing for my liking — slides over Reck, then me, settling on Zaya.
“It was good to see you,” he says, “after all these years.”
Zaya pulls her gaze off Presh, who is grinning at her out the open car door, frowning slightly at Grinder.Confused.
“Ah, well …” He dips his head, smiling charmingly.
Charming?Grinder?
“You were young the last time we met,” he says.“Maybe twelve or thirteen?I had come by to call on your aunt.”
Zaya blinks, then she smiles tentatively.“You were … you knew my aunt?”
Grinder grins.The expression is suggestive and sharp.“As well as anyone can know her, I suppose.”
Now Reck and I are the ones who are blinking and confused.I don’t remember Grinder and Disa being all that close, but then as kids we ran wild, avoiding as much adult supervision as possible.
Zaya laughs quietly.
That soft sound of joy squeezes around my heart, and for a moment, I think it will never beat again.An idiotic idea, because of course it keeps beating, maybe even a little faster than before.
Grinder just bobs his head, turning away.“Send your aunt my good tidings, then, Zaya.I’m Grinder, but she might know me better as Timothy.Timothy Millard.”
Zaya grimaces.“She’s dead, I’m afraid.”
He pauses and just looks at her, completely shocked.
As am I.
“Dead?”Grinder echoes.
She bows her head, whispering, “She’d have to be.”
I’m fucking lost.I need answers, but I have too many questions to ask all at once.And I already know that each answer is going to bring more questions, and it will all just keep splintering and multiplying.
“Yes.”Grinder sighs quietly.I’ve never thought about who he might have loved before Pinky.They’ve been together for eight or nine years.“I suppose so … that is howthe thread is woven.”
Zaya tilts her head, exposing the long, delectable line of her throat.
I swallow harshly, and not because Grinder is obviously, suddenly, and randomly espousing some sort of arcane religious doctrine.
“Yes.”Zaya lets go of the suitcase to wrap her other arm around herself.She sways slightly on her feet.Where is her fucking coat?It’s too cold to only be wearing a thin sweater.“Even the weaver isn’t immune.”
They’re speaking in tongues.Well, speaking in litany, more accurately.Words from when the old gods supposedly still walked the earth.The kind of shit that Zaya’s aunt and her companions occasionally espoused, for people who believe in any of that.But as long as I steadfastly ignored my possibly mystical connection to the real Zaya, and the implications of the beast that resided uneasily under my own skin, I wasn’t a believer.
I’m very good at ignoring the unquantifiable.
I take a deep breath, utterly pissed and about to start blasting them with questions.Then I catch the scent of an achingly familiar power.It’s gone so quickly that I instantly decide I’m imagining it.But it staggers me just enough that I let the questions slide.Again.
Grinder nods, all solemn.
