Blood Codex

Chapter 5

Crowley stood by the front door of Rose’s flat. “So you’re safely home.”

Rose nodded. She still trembled and he didn’t blame her. He was still buzzing as well. “Don’t leave just yet?” Her tone framed it as a question, but she sounded a little desperate. Scared. And understandably so.

“I’m happy to stick around for a while.”

She put her key in the lock and pushed the door open. Crowley followed her as she flicked on the lights and closed the door behind him. Her flat was bright and tidy, a polished rosewood table in one corner, red and white floral settee and armchairs facing a large television. It was roomy for a one-bedroom place, with doors leading off the main room to a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.

“I think I really need a shower,” Rose said. “Wash that whole experience off me, you know? Can you stick around until I’m done?”

“As long as you like.”

She gave him a grateful smile, dropped her light jacket onto an armchair, and went into the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of firm, smooth flesh as she peeled her shirt up before disappearing from sight. Crowley pushed away the thoughts that immediately arose, unbidden and inappropriate.

He wandered her living room. A couple of large images hung on one wall, slatted bamboo tied into a flat canvas for Chinese watercolors. One showed a red and white crane beside a waterfall, the other a stylized depiction of Zhangjiajie National Forest Park. Crowley smirked, shook his head. He couldn’t believe he still remembered that name, but after seeing a documentary on the area of sharp peaks and deep forests he became mesmerized and researched it. One day he planned to take a vacation there. One day.

Pictures on the mantelpiece caught his eye. One showed Rose with two people who must be her parents, a small, determined-looking Chinese woman with kindly eyes and a tall man, dark-haired and slim-featured, with laugh lines at his mouth and eyes. They looked like a happy family. Not far from it was another photo showing a teenage Rose with her parents and another young girl. The family resemblance was readily apparent; it had to be Rose’s sister. No other images of the girl were anywhere he could see. He wondered what the story might be there. Other photos showed her parents much younger on their wedding day, Rose with friends, Rose on a sleek red motorcycle. Crowley tried to imagine Rose riding the powerful machine rather than just posing on it and the possibility came easily. Maybe something else to talk about. He had often planned to take his test and get a bike, but had yet to get around to it.

He went into the kitchen and found the kettle, teabags, milk and sugar. He brewed two mugs of hot, sweet tea, the English panacea for all forms of shock and trauma. As he was stirring the sugar in, Rose emerged trailing a cloud of steam. Her hair was wet, flattened to her head and neck, her skin rouged with the heat of her shower. She pulled the rope belt of a towelling robe tight around her waist and smiled.

“Wow! A street fighter and a mind-reader!”

“I made it sweet,” Crowley said. He hefted the carton. “You want milk?”

“No, thanks. Black and sweet is good.”

She wrapped her hands around the mug and breathed in the steam first, sighed, and took a sip. “Thank you.”

“Tea I’m good at. Just don’t ask me to cook you a meal.” Crowley added milk to his and took a gulp. The burning sensation in his throat and chest felt good.

“No, I mean thank you for everything. It terrifies me to think what might have happened if you hadn’t come by.” She nodded to a chair and sat in the other one herself.

As Crowley took his seat he said, “You’ll torture yourself with what ifs. It’s lucky I came along, but you weren’t doing too badly for yourself.”

“Not well enough. They had me beat.”

He grimaced. “Yeah. But three strong guys is bad odds for anyone.”

They fell into silence for a while, sipping their tea and staring at nothing in particular. The slow, drudging release of adrenaline felt familiar to Crowley, but he doubted it was anything with which Rose was well acquainted. “Don’t be surprised if you feel a bit sick,” he said. “The shock might make you nauseated.”

She tipped her head toward the bathroom. “I nearly threw up in there, but it didn’t quite happen.” She lifted the mug. “This helps.”

“Nectar of the gods.”

They were silent again for a moment, and then Rose said, “Do you think they wanted to rape me? Kill me? They didn’t seem to be robbing me.”

The haunted, beseeching look in her eyes pained him. “No idea. Some people are broken inside, you know? I do wonder why they came after you. Maybe just a random choice?”

She made a noise that was almost a laugh, almost a curse. “I didn't have time to ask them, but I'll be sure to check next time.” She threw him a crooked smile to show she wasn’t being mean.

“Maybe you don’t need to know. Best not to dwell on it.”

“Hell of an impression for a first date,” she said. “I’m not likely to forget this night.”

Crowley made his eyes wide in mock outrage. “For all the wrong reasons! I’d hope to have made an impression without a potential… whatever that was.”

“You did make a good impression, only more so after that.” A strange look passed over her face, her words fading to quiet.

“What is it?”

“I just remembered something. One of them said ‘This is her’, like they knew me.”

“How could they know you?”

She frowned, thinking, staring into her mug. Shook her head. “No, not like they knew me. One of them dragged up the back of my jacket and I thought they were going to pull my clothes off, to… you know. But then he said, ‘This is her. Hold her down.’” She turned a quizzical look to Crowley. “Any idea what that meant?”

A chill rippled along Crowley’s spine, the supposedly random attack suddenly seeming like anything but. “What might they have been looking for? Or seen? You got a tattoo back there or something?” He raised a hand. “Sorry, don’t mean to get personal or pry.”

Rose’s mouth twisted in concern and confusion, a strangely vulnerable expression. “Not a tattoo, no.” She stood, turned her back to him, and lowered the bathrobe.