Ah . . . I don't know what I'm wearing, John signed. A tuxedo?
"No, I'll go get you what you need. Hold on."
Bam--the door was shut.
John looked around his room, and when he saw the closet, that clown smile he seemed to wear all the time came back. Walking over, he put the little red bag he'd gotten at the jewelers on the bureau and paused to admire the display of their coupledom.
Oh, man . . . she'd moved in. She'd really moved in. Her clothes and his were hanging together.
Reaching out, he touched her leathers and her muscle shirts and her holsters . . . and felt his flush of pride and happiness dim a little. She was going to fight in the war. Side by side with him and the Brothers. The Old Laws might have expressly forbidden it, but the Blind King had already proven he wasn't a slave to the ancient ways--and Xhex had already proven she could more than handle herself in the field.
John headed for the bed and sat down. He wasn't sure how he felt about her out in the night with the slayers.
Okay. Fuck that. He knew exactly how he felt about it.
Wasn't going to tell her not to go out there, though. She was who she was and he was mating with a fighter.
Just as she was.
His eyes shifted to the bedside table. Leaning over, he popped open the top drawer and took out his father's diary. Smoothing his hand down the supple leather, he felt history slide out of the intellectual and into the actual. Long, long ago another's hands had held this book and written on its pages . . . and then through a series of accidents and luck the journal had come down through the nights and days to John.
For some reason, on this evening, his tie to his father Darius seemed strong enough to best the foggy ether of time and pull the two of them together, uniting them until . . . God, it seemed as if they were almost one person.
Because he knew his father would have been thrilled with this. Knew surely as if the guy were seated next to him on this bed.
Darius would have wanted him and Xhex to end up together. Why? Who knew . . . but that was a truth as real as the vows he would soon be taking.
John reached forward for the drawer again, and this time, he took out the small old box. Lifting the lid, he stared down at the heavy gold signet ring. The damn thing was huge and sized to fit a warrior's hand, its surface glowing through the fine network of scratches that covered the crest and the sides.
It fit the forefinger on his right hand perfectly.
And he abruptly decided he wasn't taking it off again even when fighting.
"He would have so approved of this."
John's eyes flashed up. Tohr had come back and brought a bunch of black silk with him--as well as Lassiter. Standing behind the guy, the fallen angel's light spilled in all directions, as if a sunrise had happened out in the hall.
You know, for some reason I think you're right, John signed.
"I know I'm right." The Brother came forward and sat down on the bed. "He knew her."
Who?
"He knew Xhex. He was there when she was born, when her mother . . ." There was a long pause, as if Tohr had had his brain scrambled and the sloshing hadn't quite quieted down yet. "When her mother died, he took Xhex to a family who could care for her. He loved that young--and so did I. That was why he called her Xhexania. He watched her from afar--"
The epileptic attack came on so suddenly, John didn't have time to try to fight the seizure--one moment he was sitting upright listening to Tohr; the next he was down on the floor doing the not-this-again jitterbug.
When his synapses finally stopped snap-crackle-popping, and his flopping limbs fell still, his breath heaved in and out of his mouth. To his relief, Tohr was right over him, crouching down.
"How you doing?" the guy asked tightly.
John shoved against the floor and sat upright. Rubbing his face, he was glad to find his eyesight still worked. Never thought he'd be glad to get a clear picture of Lassiter's mug.
Struggling for control of his hands, he managed to sign, Feel like I've been in a blender.
The fallen angel nodded gravely. "And you look it, too."
Tohr shot the guy a glare, then refocused on John. "Don't mind him, he's blind."
"No, I'm not."
"In another minute and a half, you're going to be." Tohr hitched a hold on John's biceps and dragged him back onto the bed. "You want a drink?"
"Or maybe a new brain?" Lassiter offered.
Tohr leaned in. "As a public service, I'll make him mute, too, 'kay?"
You are such a giver.
There was a long pause and then John signed, My father knew her?
"Yes."
You did, too, didn't you.
"Yes."
In the silence that followed, John decided that some things were best just left at their definition. And this was one of them, given the Brother's tight expression.