The Taste Of Night

28

Back in the days when cowboys still clipped along dusty one-lane roads and the test site put on expensive and lethal light shows for politicians, stars, and foreign dignitaries alike, there was a burgeoning business in Las Vegas called atomic art. Signs meant to attract attention to new establishments popped up as ubiquitously as mushroom clouds in the baby blue Nevada skies, and the Blue Angel, situated above the motel of the same name, was one of them.

When I was a kid I used to ask my mom to drive past that motel, worn down even then, save for the lovely lady twirling on her pedestal, standing guard over Fremont Street. Her robes, a powder blue, clung to her curvaceous frame, and her hair was beacon yellow as she pointed a star-tipped wand at pedestrians like she was bestowing blessings on all who passed below.

I stood below her now, gazing up at her chipped and faded gown, and realized there was more kitsch than romance to her, and that this original thoroughfare leading weary travelers downtown into Glitter Gulch was more highway to hell for most than it was yellow brick road. I sighed, unreasonably sad at being disillusioned. I’d long been aware that most people who came to Vegas never truly found what they were looking for.

So what the hell was I doing here? I should be back with Hunter, plotting our next move, kicking preternatural ass, and leaving street dreams and battered symbols to the mortals who needed them most. Instead, while the city sat embroiled in an apocalyptic-type plague, I was crouched beneath a fallen angel, trying to get my groove on.

I rolled my eyes, shifted, and placed my other heel against the wall, but I continued to wait for Ben and whatever questions and demands he brought with him. And the truth was, I couldn’t wait. God help me, I was like a high school senior on prom night, except instead of a gown and corsage I was wearing a preteen’s aura and a supernatural sidearm. How romantic.

Two and a half hours later a truck door slammed and the scent of hopeful nervousness wafted my way. I straightened, swallowed hard, and turned to face the lot behind the motel. Seconds later, Ben turned the corner of the cinder-block building and stopped, silhouetted there. We stared at each other, the Blue Angel twirling overhead, wrapping ribbons of light and shadow around our bodies so that we kept appearing to each other anew, over and over again.

I’d like to say I was giving him time to get used to seeing me again, but I was doing the same. I’d shut him off in my brain to survive this world without him, so in a sense, he was coming back to me as well. Finally, convinced that neither of us was going to disappear, we stepped forward at the same time.

A ghost of a smile flitted over his face. I felt it visit mine as well. “Hi,” I said. “Again.”

“You fly.”

It wasn’t the first thing I’d expected to come from his mouth. I’d been imagining endearments, perhaps a touch of anger or tears or silent numbness, so the words sparked a self-conscious laugh from deep in my chest, but I checked it, and it came out strangled instead. “I, uh…leap. It’s different.”

“Leap,” he repeated, coming closer. “And you save former boyfriends from death by junkie in darkened lots.”

I ignored the question underlying his words and focused on the facts. I smelled exhaustion and blood on him, and fresh pity coursed through me as I thought of his dead friends. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save them, Ben. I was protecting someone else. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.”

“So that hasn’t changed, at least. You’re still wandering dangerous streets, looking for trouble.”

I wanted to bristle at that, but I had to choose my battles. “Yeah, well. You know me.”

“I thought I did.”

“Ben, look-”

“No,” he said, holding up a hand, then extending it to brush my arm. Carefully, as if I might break. I let my eyes flutter shut, unable to remember the last time I’d been handled carefully. “I don’t care. I mean, I do. I will later. But, Jo…you’re here. I’m seeing you. I-I’m touching you. I’m not dreaming you. Am I?”

In all the time that I’d known Ben, that I’d watched and followed him-seen him joyful, grieving, strong, and destroyed-I’d never seen the toxic fusion of all those things swirling on his face at once. His eyes, however, remained steady on mine, asking, Where have you been?

I could either tell him, or lie. Reveal all, or remain hidden. But I did neither. I could leap from rooftops, dodge blows, and face bullets with impervious courage, but I couldn’t choose between my two lives, and I couldn’t allow Ben to be stuck between them, a pendulum swinging back and forth.

I shook my head sadly. “It’s all a dream, Ben. It’s one long night where nothing and everything makes sense. Like when you’re running, but not getting anywhere. When you’re falling, but you never hit the bottom.” I caught myself then, how vague and unsatisfying that all sounded, and smiled ruefully. “What I mean is…it’s complicated.”

Ben returned my smile, gave a slow nod of understanding that I didn’t deserve, and said, “But it’s never been complicated between us, Jo.”

“Except for that whole lose you/find you, lose you/find you thing.”

He brought my hand to his chest, drawing me closer. “Except for that.”

And what did that matter? I thought, as he lowered his lips to mine, as all that was heat and hearth and home enveloped me more thoroughly than any aura ever could. What did anything matter when his lips were warming mine, when his tongue found its home in my mouth, and his arms wrapped around me to draw me deeper, both away and into myself?

Ben managed to pull away first, making me wonder just which of us was superhuman. “Unless we’re going to make love in a place that charges by the hour, day, or week, I suggest you tell me where to take you. Now.”

I laughed. “As tempting as the week-long stay sounds, I think I have a better place.”

“Do you?”

I did, though I hadn’t thought about it until now. Olivia’s apartment was out because Hunter was now living there, and wouldn’t that be fun? Ben’s place would offer too much distraction-phone calls, memories, files on dead girls-and I wanted him to myself. But there was one place sure to offer both privacy and retreat from the world. I took his hand, smiling up at him as I did, and we headed to his truck. “Take me home.”

If Ben was a reminder of my past, going home was a full frontal jump into a life I’d left behind. We strolled up the walkway, after making sure we were seen by no neighbors, and I fumbled for the key Xavier had given me months before. It was a gift, he had explained. I-meaning Olivia-could sell my sister’s home and all its belongings, or hang on to it as long as I wanted. He’d continue to pay the mortgage, keep up the utilities…whatever made me happy.

I hadn’t been back for many reasons, the most obvious being that I was sure it was being monitored by the Shadow organization. But the Shadows were in hiding, the streets empty, and the house was dark but for the single interior light that went on with a timer. I slid my key into the lock, closing my eyes to heighten my olfactory sense, but scented nothing more than dust, a few dead bugs, and a bunch of memories. After shutting off the alarm, I flipped on a light and glanced around. It looked like a waiting room for displaced ghosts, I thought, everything draped in sheets. There were no plants and certainly no animals. Nothing living had been here for a long while.

Ben joined me in the center of the room, looking about. “You don’t come here anymore, do you?”

I thought of my darkroom set up on the other side of the house, how it called to me, and how I’d resisted coming back here even for it. For any reason. Until now. “I haven’t, no.”

He looked sad at that, almost as sad as I felt.

“Come on,” I said, “I think there’s some wine in the kitchen.”

I moved around efficiently, opening drawers, and handling flatware and wineglasses I’d never thought to see, much less touch, again. I was aware of Ben’s eyes following me, and I’d have risked a look in the mirror hanging across from me in the dining area, except that it had been draped as well. Instead I caught my reflection in the face of the microwave, and though blurred, it reassured me that Jasmine’s aura was still holding. I turned, holding out a glass.

“Sancerre,” I said. “My favorite.”

“Is it?” He took a sip, though I don’t know if he really tasted it. He was too focused on me. There was that predatory look I’d seen back at Dog Run, though this time I didn’t mind it at all. “I never knew that. But then there’s a lot I never knew about you. Here’s to some things never changing.”

The flash of sarcasm meant he was recovering from his shell-shock, but I merely clicked my wineglass against his, and said nothing. His expression softened.

“I meant what I said before, Jo. I don’t care where you’ve been, what you’ve done. I wonder, of course, but I can see you, I can touch you. And I can see you’re about to say something to try and take that away, like this is a mistake, and you must have reasons for that as well, but…” He paused, shaking his head, and ran a hand along his mouth. “Fuck your reasons.”

I put my glass down. “Ben-”

“And fuck that reasonable tone too.”

“Ben.”

“That’s right,” he said, backing me into the counter. “My name is on your lips, something I never thought I’d hear again. So if you don’t want me to start questioning all the things you’re not saying, you’d better just say it again.”

I was ready to argue, to bolt, but one look into his implacable face, and I couldn’t help it; I licked my lips. “Ben.”

“Again,” he said, inches closer, watching me fiercely, seeing me as few people ever did. He always had.

“Ben,” I complied, whispering, being seen.

“Again.”

“God,” I reached for him. “Benjamin. Ben Traina.” I slid my limbs around him, wrapping myself up tight; pelvis, chest, lips meeting his, forcing him to lift me, climbing into him, losing myself. Saying his name. “Mine…”

He pulled back at last, smiling as he stared into my eyes. “That’s all I need to hear.”

He carried me to the bedroom that way, as I nibbled at his neck and ear, and the corner of his mouth, the hard warmth of his body sparking into mine. He flipped on the light with his elbow, but I reached over and flipped it back off, uncurling myself from him long enough to yank the dust sheet from the bed in a single flourish and discard it in the corner. Then I raised the blinds and opened the windows, allowing the stars and distant streetlights to bathe the room in an ethereal glow. A cricket chirped from beyond the window screen, and a night-ferried breeze swept the room like the wide caress of a cool hand. It would only last for a couple of hours, I knew. Then the scorching sun would be back, and we’d have to face each other in the stark light of day. Face those questions he wasn’t asking as well. But I turned back to Ben anyway. If a couple of hours was all we had, I didn’t want to waste a minute.

We filled ourselves on each other, and once we were sated, sweaty and loose-limbed, lying in a tangle in the middle of the bed, we opened our bruised and swollen lips, and simply talked. How many people get the chance to talk to someone lost to them forever?

“I knew it. I knew you weren’t dead,” he said, leaning on one elbow, toying with my hair with his free hand, while I passed the single glass of wine I’d brought back to the bed between us. He took the sip I pressed to his lips, and some dripped down his chin. I leaned over and licked it off, my thigh curving up and over his hip. “I felt your presence inside me, around me. Like you were watching, though not like the angels in a far-off place. Was I right?”

I nodded. “About one thing…I’m definitely no angel.”

“Tough talk, tough girl,” he said, running his hand under the covers, along my side. Chills popped up on my thigh, and he smiled. “I always liked that about you. Except…now you really are tough, aren’t you?”

Now his hand moved to my left arm, where scars from my latest battles rose like Braille on the otherwise smooth skin.

“Find it unattractive?” I asked, dodging the question.

“Obviously,” he said, slipping a hand between my thighs. I was still wet from our lovemaking, and his fingers slid along the soft skin with gentle ease. I sighed into them, my eyes fluttering closed. His voice, however, had them winging back open. “So how did you do that? That leapy thing?”

“I thought you didn’t care.” I sure didn’t at the moment.

“I said it didn’t matter, and it doesn’t.” His fingers explored me, brushed me open, slipped inside. We both sighed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t curious.”

I opened to him further, lazy and unguarded. In body and speech. “And remember what I said? All of life is one big dream. What if you’re dreaming now? What if your real life awaits you on the other side of night? You’ll wake and I’ll be gone.”

He rolled over on top of me so fast I didn’t have time to save the wineglass. It tipped, spilling chilled, fermented juice between us, dribbling down my chest, soaking into the bedsheets as I stared up at Ben, startled. His eyes were wild now, and filled with the questions he was trying so hard not to ask, instinct telling him if he pushed too hard, I’d be just that…lost to him. And Ben wasn’t going to let that happen without a fight.

“You’re the only woman who’s ever been strong enough for me. Did you know that?” He scraped his nails against my wrists as he pinned me beneath him, and I simply lay there, open to him, not exactly proving his point. “I like that, you know. A strong woman needing me.” He lifted himself up, one hand on each side of my head, and shoved my legs open with a thigh.

I swallowed hard and traced the tattoo circling his right bicep, following the waves of pattern with my battered fingertips. I couldn’t speak. I was quivering inside, and I lifted to meet his flesh, though he pulled back, smiling at me in the dim light.

“It’s a different kind of strength,” he continued, like he’d thought about it for a while. His erection played lightly against my belly. “Being the soft spot where a strong woman can rest.” He lowered his head, hair falling over his eyes, and when he glanced back up at me through it, his smile was untamed. “I fucking love it.”

Yes. Let someone else be strong for a change. I did need a soft spot. Even if only for a night.

My answer was my sigh, my breath as it caressed his cheek, my mouth as it played over his. As our tongues met he was inside me again, hard and fast in a solid stroke. I reared beneath him, wordless noises scattering across the moonlit room, my sigh turning into a needy moan.

“This is real,” he said, thrusting, the impact sealing our bodies together as one. “This is all there is.”

And feeling my acceptance, my need equaling his, he eased up, hooking his right ankle beneath mine, and flipped us easily, so I was on top. I gazed down and met his eyes, swallowed hard at the challenge there, and began to rock. Yes, I thought, as waves of heat rose through me, up my belly, making my head light. He licked wine from my chest, and I sighed his name into his hair. He was right. This was all there was.

After that we really did talk. I answered what questions I could-yes, I was alive, but yes, I was different too. No, I had no contact with my sister. Yes, that was in order to keep her safe. And I posed a few pointed inquiries myself. Did he miss the police force? Why wasn’t he still writing? Who the fuck was Rose?

Then he led the conversation into a linear questioning about what had happened the night of my disappearance, what had happened subsequently, and what was going to happen next. I answered these with mumbled half truths about a secret life-nothing about the sanctuary, Shadows…and certainly not that I’d found Joaquin-and ultimately the vague responses piled up between us and we fell silent, him trying to think of ways to draw me out, me wondering where I could hide.

So I distracted him by disappearing beneath the covers, mouth too full for words, and by the time I emerged again, he was too breathless to ask any more. We sipped directly from the wine bottle after that, propped up on each other’s flesh until the pastel colors of predawn seeped into the inky sky. I got up and shut the windows, knowing heat would begin bleeding into the room within the hour.

Ben watched my every move. His eyes fluttered shut from time to time, but he opened them again by sheer force of will, only letting a smile and relief pass his face when they found me again. I drifted off myself, and that was unexpected. So much so that when I did awaken it was with a jolt, breathing quickly, eyes winging open. Ben’s breathing didn’t change.

I rose and dressed, knowing even as I did so that it wasn’t fair. I mean, here I was, a ghost lover returning to seduce my beloved, to keep him in essence from getting on with his personal life, when I’d known all along that come sunrise I’d leave him again. What I hadn’t expected was to feel this soft; the ability to be fragile with another person wasn’t even something I’d realized I was missing, and only the contrast between the lightness I felt with his arms around me and the heaviness that returned as I left that room made me aware of it at all. Wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around?

And how the hell was I supposed to live without it now?

And still I couldn’t help but think maybe I could return to him intermittently, even semiregularly, as me. It wouldn’t be a normal relationship, but what was normal? The guy who went to his nine-to-five every day, then stopped by a strip club on the way home to his wife and family? The woman who waited until her husband was away on business to invite the UPS guy inside? The couples I’d seen at the swingers’ ball who’d decided three was most definitely not a crowd?

Hell, I’d turned down mortals and superheroes alike just because the memory of Ben was stronger than the reality of anyone else. But if I left now-and I had to get Jasmine’s aura back to her soon-at least I could comfort myself with knowing Ben wouldn’t die with scorched lips and genitals.

And he won’t replace your spot in bed with another woman.

I jotted down a quick note in the kitchen, telling him if he needed to get in touch with me to leave a message, unsigned, in the mailbox. Then I dropped the house key next to it before returning to the bedroom one last time. Just to look.

“It’s best this way,” I said from the doorway. “I promise.”

As I blinked back tears, I felt Jasmine’s aura loosing on my lids, the movement echoed just a fraction of a second after mine, and knew it was time to go. Letting myself out the back door, I leaped the block wall separating my house from the next, and sprinted away from my home and lover.

Away from my real secret life.