Ink Exchange

Chapter 16

When Leslie woke with the nightmares still riding her, she had that awful first moment of not knowing where she was. Then she heard Seth talking, presumably on the phone since there were no answering voices.

Safe. At Seth's, and safe.

After stopping in the tiny bathroom, she went out into the front room.

Seth closed his phone and looked at her. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Niall's coming over."

"Here?" She raked a hand through her hair, attempting to unsnarl it. "Now?"

"Yes." Seth wore a bemused expression, not unlike the look he'd given her when she had sought his advice at the Rath. "He's a good … someone you can trust in the important things. He's close to a brother to me—a good brother, not like Ren."

"And?" She hated it, but she was embarrassed. Just thinking about the fiasco with Irial and Niall made her anxious.

"He likes you."

"Maybe he did, but after what happened—" She forced herself to meet Seth's gaze. "It doesn't matter. Ash has been pretty clear about the 'stay away' message."

"She has reasons." He motioned to a chair.

"Thought he was a good person?" she asked, ignoring the offer to sit.

"He is, but he's" — Seth toyed with one of the studs in the curve of his ear, a contemplative expression on his face—"in a complicated world."

Leslie didn't know what to say. She sat in silence with Seth for a few minutes, thinking over the day, the weirdness. Regardless of Seth's remarks, she wasn't keen on seeing Niall, not right now. It didn't matter, either: she needed her work clothes and they were at home. "I need to go home."

"Because Niall's coming here?"

"No. I'm not sure. Maybe."

"Wait for him. He'll walk you." Seth kept his tone casual, but the disapproval of her leaving was there all the same. "There doesn't have to be strings, Les; he can just be a person to get you safely to where you need to be."

"No." She scowled.

"Would you rather I walk with you?"

"I live there, Seth. I can't just not go home or take people with me all the time."

“Why?” He sounded far more naïve than she knew him to be.

Leslie bit back her irritated reply and said only, "It's not realistic. Not everyone has the good luck to—" She stopped, not wanting to argue, not wanting to be unpleasant when he was only trying to be a friend. "It doesn't matter why. It's home for now. I need to change for work."

"Maybe Ash has clothes here that—"

"They wouldn't fit me, Seth." She stood up and grabbed her bag.

"Call me or Ash if you need anything? Put my number in your cell, too." He waited until she pulled out her cell, and he recited his number.

Leslie punched the digits in and slipped the phone back into her pocket. Forestalling any more objections, she said, "I need to go, or I'll be late for work."

Seth opened the door and stared out at the empty railyard. It looked as if he waved at someone, a sort of 'come here' gesture, but she saw no one.

"Are you all eating 'shrooms or something, Seth?" She tried to make her voice teasing, not wanting to fight, not after he'd shown her such kindness.

"No shrooms." Seth grinned. "Haven't licked any toads, either."

"So the staring off into space thing everyone's doing?"

He shrugged. "Communing with nature? Connecting with the unseen?"

"Uh-huh." Her tone was sarcastic, but she smiled.

In a brotherly gesture, he put a hand on her shoulder— not restraining her but holding on to her firmly. "Talk to Ash soon, okay? It'll make a lot more sense."

"You're freaking me out," she admitted.

"Good." He gestured toward the edge of the yard again and back at her. "Remember what I said about Irial. Get away from him if you see him."

Then he went back inside his train house before she could think of what to say.

When she walked into her house, Leslie wasn't really surprised to see the grungy crowd in the kitchen with Ren.

"Baby sister!" Ren called in a way that told her he was in the up part of his high.

"Ren." She acknowledged him with as friendly a smile as she could muster. She didn't look long at the people with him. Not for the first time she wished there were an easier way to determine whether they were just getting-high friends or if one was a dealer—not that it mattered. When people were high, they could be unpredictable. When they weren't high but jonesing for whatever they used, they were worse.

Her brother complicated things by dabbling with too many drugs and therefore too many circles of druggies. Today, though, there was no need to guess what they were using: the sickly-sweet smell of crack filled her kitchen the way the scents of home-cooked meals once had.

A skinny girl with lank hair grinned at Leslie. The girl was sitting astride a guy who didn't seem to be high at all. He didn't share her pinched look, either. Without looking away from Leslie, he took the pipe out of the scrawny girl's hand and put the girl's hand on his crotch. She didn't hesitate—or look away from the pipe he held out of her reach.

He's the one to fear.

"Want a hit?" He held the pipe out to Leslie.

“No.”

He patted his leg. "Want a seat?"

She glanced down, saw the skinny girl's hand moving there, and started to back away. "No."

He reached out as if to grab Leslie's wrist.

She turned, ran up the stairs to her room, and closed the door against the laughter and crude invitations that rang through her house.

Once she was ready for work, Leslie slid open the window and slung a leg out. It wasn't a huge drop, but when she landed wrong it hurt pretty badly. She sighed. She couldn't waitress with a sprained ankle.

I could go back in, just run down the stairs and out.

Carefully, she dropped her bag to the ground.

"Here goes."

She sat with both legs dangling from the window, then twisted so her stomach was on the wood and she was facing the house. Slowly she backed out, bracing herself with her feet on the siding and gripping the wooden window frame with her hands.

I hate this.

She pushed off, bracing herself for the impact. It didn't come. Instead she was caught in someone's arms before she touched the ground.

"Let go of me. Let go." She was facing away from the person who held on to her. She kicked backward and made contact.

"Relax." The guy holding her lowered her gently to the ground and stepped back. "You looked like you could use help. It's a big drop for a little thing like you."

She turned to face him and had to crane her neck to see his face. He was an utterly unfamiliar older man, not grandfather old, but older than most of the people who hung around Ren. He had a different look, too. Heavy silver chains dangled from both of his wrists. His jeans were faded and ripped in the calves to reveal the tops of scuffed combat boots. Tattoos of zoomorphic dogs covered his forearms. She should be afraid, but she wasn't: instead she felt still, calm, like whatever emotions churned inside had ceased to connect with the world around her.

She motioned to the tattoos on the man's arms. "Nice."

He smiled in what seemed to be a friendly way. "My son did that. Rabbit. He has a shop—"

"You're Rabbit's dad?" She stared. There was no family resemblance that she could see, especially when she realized that this meant he was also Ani and Tish's father.

The man smiled wider still. "You know him?"

And his sisters.

"Look like their mothers. All of them. I'm Gabriel. Nice to meet…" He scowled then, causing her to step backward and stumble—not in fear, not even then, but in wariness.

But his scowl wasn't directed at her. The creepy dealer from the house had stepped around the corner. He said, "Come back inside."

"No." She collected her bag from the grass where it had fallen. Her hands shook as she clutched it and tried not to look at the dealer walking toward her or at Gabriel. Fear surged. Delayed and dulled as it was, it still made her feel like running.

Is Gabriel here to see Ren? Rabbit never talked about his dad; neither did Ani and Tish. Is he a drug dealer too? Or just an addict?

Gabriel stepped in front of the dealer. "Girl's leaving."

The dealer reached out toward Leslie. And without thinking, she grabbed his arm, wrapped her fingers around his wrist and held it immobile and away from her body.

I could crush him. She paused at her thoughts, at the weird calm settling back over her, at the weird confidence. I could do it. Break him. Bloody him.

She tightened her grip just a little, feeling bone under the skin, fragile, in the palm of her hand. Mine to do with as I want.

The dealer wasn't fazed by her grip, not yet. He was talking, telling Gabriel, "It's cool, man. She lives here. It's not a—"

"Girl's leaving now." Gabriel looked at Leslie and smiled. "Right?"

"Sure," she said, looking dispassionately at her hand curled around the dealer's wrist. She squeezed harder.

"Bitch. That hurts." The dealer's voice grew shriller.

"Don't cuss in front of the girl. It's rude." Gabriel made a disgusted noise. "No manners these days."

Something's wrong here.

Leslie tightened her grip again; the dealer's eyes rolled back in his head. She felt bones splintering and saw white through broken skin.

I'm not strong enough to do that.

But she stood there, holding the dealer's wrist in her hand, still squeezing. He'd passed out from the pain, dropped to the ground. She let go.

"Where you headed?" Gabriel handed her a dark rag.

She wiped her hand, watching the immobile man at her feet. It wasn't sadness or pity she felt. It wasn't… anything. It should be, though. She knew that, even if she didn't feel it.

"Why are you here?"

"To rescue you, of course." He grinned, baring teeth that looked like he'd filed some of them to points. "But you didn't need rescuing, did you?"

"No." She nudged the dealer with her foot. "I didn't. Not this time."

"So let me give you a lift, since my rescue services weren't needed." He didn't touch her, but put a hand behind her as if he'd rest it on the small of her back.

Not lying. His words felt true, not whole, not all there, but not lying.

She nodded and walked away from her house.

Some part of her thought she should be angry or frightened or ashamed, but she couldn't feel those things. She knew that somehow she had changed, as surely as she knew Gabriel hadn't truly lied.

He led her around the side of the house to a screaming-red Mustang, a classic convertible with black and red seats and vibrant detailing on the exterior.

"Get in." Gabriel opened the door, and she saw that what she'd initially thought were flames on the sides of the car were actually a throng of racing animals, stylized dogs and horses with odd musculature and what looked like smoke writhing around them. For a brief moment, the smoke seemed to move.

Gabriel followed her gaze and nodded. "Now that I did myself. Boy might look like his dam, but he's got my art."

"It's gorgeous," she said.

He slammed the door behind her and went around to the driver's side. After he slid the key into the ignition, he gave her a smile that was the exact same look she'd seen on Ani's face before she did something inevitably unwise. "Nah. Gorgeous is how fast she moves. Hook your belt, girl."

She did, and he took off with a scream of tires that could barely be heard over the roar of his obviously modified engine. She laughed at the thrill of it, and Gabriel gave her another Ani-ish grin.

She let the rush roll over her and whispered, "Faster." That time it was Gabriel who laughed.

"Just don't tell the girls you got to go for a ride before they did, okay?" She nodded, and he accelerated until he topped out the speedometer and delivered her to work remarkably early— and laughing.