Page 10 of Night So Silent
Colson lowers his voice. “A werewolf.”
I just stare at him, speechless. I have so many questions, but can’t decide whether they merit even asking. The whole thing sounds ridiculous, but at the same time incredibly unsettling.
“When did this happen—allegedly?” I ask through hooded eyes.
“Oh, decades ago. And after that,miraculouslythe killings stopped. Stevie Hunter went on to be the best softball player in the state, win a championship, and then a bunch of college championships, immortalized with a scholarship named afterher and bestowed upon none other than my own sister—” he breaks into a grin, “Evie Maguire.”
My jaw drops. “Noway!”
I am stunned.
Colson gives a smug nod and starts attacking the kebab on his plate. On that note, I follow suit, shooting Brett a look as she chuckles silently across the table. A few minutes later, as the conversation drifts from werewolves to Colson and Sergei’s work talk, I notice a sensation near the bottom of my leg.
I look down at my lap and see Sergei’s leg resting against mine. Normally, I would be annoyed at the intrusion on my personal space, but for some reason, I don’t demur and move my leg. Because I’m going to find out more about Sergei.
Or maybe I just like a challenge. That’s why I’m assigned the most interesting patients at work, after all. Why should the silent Russian giant next to me be any different?
A moment later, my phone vibrates and I pull it out of my back pocket to silence it if it’s ringing. It’s not, but as soon as I look down at my screen, my heart goes to my throat. The text list is filled with the word,UNKNOWN, all the way down. But I know who it is, and I don’t have the stomach to look at the messages right now.
Why won’t he leave me alone?
I try to put it out of my mind. I don’t even want to talk about it and ruin the good mood I’m in now that I’m finally here. Instead, I turn off my phone and try to focus on the here and now. After a while, I’m sufficiently distracted with inhaling intoxicating baby scent while Brett flutters around doing all the little things she hasn’t been able to while holding a baby as Colson finishes prepping enough bottles for overnight.
Meanwhile, I sit with Ev, my feet up on the sofa while she sleeps on my chest. In my other hand, I hold my e-reader, every so often stealing glances at Sergei, who’s sitting just inches frommy feet, reading something on his phone. He’s been like this for almost as long as I have, since right after dinner. After a while, I finally realize that he’s also reading a book. He seems to be ignoring me, but somehow has inched closer to my feet over the course of the last hour. At least I think he has. He’s very tall and very broad and takes up a lot of space as it is.
Sergei adjusts his position and I flinch slightly when his elbow brushes against my crossed heels. But he just sits, reading on his phone, looking up only to acknowledge Colson and Brett when they turn in early, thanks to my insistence. And still, he stays, both of us reading on our devices while Ev snoozes on my chest.
And no one seems to think anything of it. Maybe Sergei hangs out here a lot. I don’t live here, after all.
It’s not one hour before my phone vibrates with a text from Brett.
BRETT (10:33PM): Is Ev OK? I swear I heard her crying.
ME (10:34PM): Nope, she’s still asleep!
BRETT (10:34PM): Woken up by phantom baby cries. Fantastic. But I take it you and Serg hit it off?
ME (10:35PM): Why do you say that?
BRETT (10:35PM): Because he’s even more of a homebody than me and he would never dream of staying out this late.
Is that so? I clear my throat, zeroing in on Sergei at the end of my feet.
“What are you reading?”
He arches his brow like he just realized I’m still here. “The Furies,” he replies in what I now recognize as his signature stoictone. “Women, Vengeance, and Justice,by—” he peers at his phone, “Elizabeth Flock.”
That’s…interesting.
“Have you read it?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ve read it.” Because I have. Women perpetrating violence against a system that perpetrates violence against them is right up my alley. I just didn’t think it would be up his.
“What did you think about it?” he asks.
“As a woman, I think there are only so many times we can take the high road before taking matters into our own hands. And, as a trauma therapist, I listen to people tell me stories like that all day long.” I hesitate for a moment, but decide to continue. “So, when a new client tells me they just got out of prison for cutting off their abusive husband’s dick with a pair of loppers and carrying it around in their purse while he rotted in a shed for a month, I don’t bat an eye.”
For the first time, I see the corner of Sergei’s mouth twitch into something that could possibly be described as a smile. And when it does, it sends an unexpected tremor through my stomach and down my legs.
