There was a click. The voice abruptly cut off.
Raising his eyebrows, Terian looked at the little girl. Seeing the blank look in her eyes, he smiled.
“Are you finished?” he asked her kindly.
She held up her hands, pinning the bunny to her chest with one short arm. He understood her without words.
“No more paint?” he said sympathetically.
She shook her head, bouncing her dark curls.
Terian clucked his tongue, rising easily to his feet. Following her back into the other room, he lifted a paint brush from the edge of the television stand, using his fingers to wipe away stray hairs. He handed it to the little girl.
“...Let’s see what we can do about that,” he murmured.
Squatting fluidly, he examined the woman. No sound came from the area by his feet, but a single eye stared up, almost childlike in its attentiveness. The woman whimpered as Terian touched her skin. The eye closed, leaving the face featureless under hair and paint.
He checked the belt he’d been using as a tourniquet.
He considered loosening it, then pulled a flip knife from his back pocket instead, scanning options on the marred skin. Both arms had tourniquets already, both legs. The obvious choices had been tapped; to overuse any one would bring an end within heartbeats. He clasped a handful of her hair, speaking to her softly.
She had already given so much.
The little girl fidgeted. “Paint!” she shrieked. “Paint!”
“Relax, dearest,” he murmured.
The woman groaned when he sliced into her scalp. The eye flickered open and she fought to breathe as paint ran past her eyelashes, making her blink and gasp like a panicking child.
“Shhhh,” he said. “Shhh...”
The little girl jumped up and down.
He straightened, watching as she pushed the metal brush into the fresh pool, using one chubby hand to balance on the woman’s forehead and then scraping the brush back and forth on the wall, leaving behind an sweep of broken red lines. Occasionally, she would look back at him, showing him one part of the drawing or another.
“Good,” he said, approvingly. “Yes, very nice work, Melissa...very nice. Looks just like your bunny...yes.”
The little girl beamed back at him, her eyes shining.
I clutched the receiver. Something was wrong.
I couldn’t breathe. This pain wasn’t like what I’d felt in Seattle...it wasn’t...
Cold sweat broke out on my skin. A kind of liquid dread made it difficult to breathe...like someone treading in circles over a rotting corpse, crushing maggots...
“...and Mom?” I fought to swallow. “Don't let any strangers in the house, okay? There are some people after me, and...well, it would be better if you could go to Grandma’s for awhile. Or Aunt Carol’s. Please? Just do what I—”
A hand reached in front of my face, depressing the phone’s silver tongue.
I glanced up and back, still holding the receiver.
Revik stood there, his face blank until I saw his eyes.
He motioned with his hand for me to get up. When I hesitated, he caught hold of my elbow, jerking me to my feet. He steered me down the corridor. The horrible feeling didn’t go away; if anything, it got worse, until I no longer cared whether Revik was angry or even if I’d done something...again...that might get us both killed.
He took me through the glass front doors of the diner and to the street outside. The sun reflected coldly from the windows of high-rise buildings, but it only blinded me, making the sickness worse. I planted my feet when Revik stopped.
Still holding my arm, he pulled out a mobile phone, hit a single key. His message to whoever picked up was brief.
“Yes,” he said. “We’ll need it.”
He clicked the phone shut and threw it at a nearby garbage container, hard enough for the bin to vibrate as the phone rattled against the insides before it came to rest. Jerking me closer by the arm, Revik turned to speak, then stopped, staring directly at my face.
The anger in his eyes faltered.
“What?” he said. “What is it?”
I tried to answer.
“What, Allie?” His voice sharpened, but he didn’t sound angry at me anymore. “What is going on? What’s wrong with you?”
My stomach lurched. I turned away from him, throwing up coffee and part of a danish in a thick sluice on the sidewalk. A family was walking past us, aiming for the diner, and one of the kids gave a sharp cry of disgust.
“Ewww! Mom, that lady’s barfing!”
I heaved again, bent in half. I didn’t think about moving, not even to aim for the potted tree in the cement walk. Revik stood impassively, holding my arm, his eyes sweeping the street. I heaved a third time, gasping. When it started to feel like it might be over, I wiped my lips with the back of a hand.