Good As Dead

Chapter Thirteen

After the bright, blue-white light of Gideon's ink, the lamp in the laundry room seems a weak, sickly yellow. My reflection in the mirror reveals I look as bad as I feel, clumps of ash and half-burned gristle stuck in my hair and clothes. The floor under my feet hums from the water pipes. Gideon must be in the shower; I waved him in the direction of the bathroom with my blessings, and came here instead to wipe the gunk off Gran's purse.

It's still stained. I think I should be upset about that, but the only thing I feel while ducking my head under the faucet is the cool stream of water. I stay that way for a few minutes, washing everything out of my hair, and then strip down to my underwear to work on the rest of me.

It's weird. Shouldn't I be hysterical? I'm scrubbing off the remains of my former best friend. Someone who used to be more like a sister than my actual one. Someone I just brutally killed. Losing Gran made me cry until I couldn't breathe, but I can't dredge up anything for this. As dirtied water swirls down the drain, I frown at my hands. Maybe I'm becoming a monster in more ways than one.

I wait for emotion to flare up at the thought. Panic, or denial, or maybe even something twisted like excitement. But there's only a dull throb of uncertainty over how true that might be. Everything in my mind went dim and flat. I can't even figure out how I feel physically. Tender? Shaky? Like my bones are vibrating, I think.

The dirty laundry hamper is overflowing, and that's where all my clothes are. I get a load going, but I'm still fucked for now. The one thing in this room that would cover me is a button-down men's shirt Gran wore for gardening work in the early days here. I brush one sleeve, remembering the smell of upturned earth mixed with the sharp tang of metal tools. When I put it on, though, it only smells like old denim.

The shirt hangs past my thighs, and right now, that's good enough. My hair already feels half-dry from the heat as I make it back to my bedroom, but the shivering in my bones gets worse. Crawling into bed seems too difficult; easier to curl up with the crocheted blanket spread over the top, instead. I'm still shuddering, and eventually, I realize it's from trying to hitch in breaths while my eyes burn. I am crying.

I don't know how long it is before the water pipes rattle as the shower turns off. But only a little later, Gideon quietly knocks on the door.

"You can come in." The tears stopped leaking out, but I still hear them in my voice. I pick at a stray piece of yarn on the blanket while he sits on the other side of the bed, concern mixing with the exhaustion on his face. He's dressed only in a pair of jeans and an undershirt, and his hair is still wet, slick strands falling into his eyes as he looks at me. "Are you badly hurt? You were trapped in that cell for fifteen minutes with the creature."

"Most of the blood on me was from it. It did slash my arm, but..." I pull it free of the blanket long enough to show him the fresh scar. "I'm fine now. Guess I have more wolf witch in me than I thought."

He nods, but the ugly things that happened in the hidden room still hang between us. I don't want to talk about them yet, not by a long fucking shot, but when I see him rubbing the bridge of his nose like he's got a blistering headache, something finally drifts through the grey fog in my head. Worry. "Are you going to be okay?"

For once, he gives me a straight answer. "Not immediately. I've burnt myself out and bruised myself up besides."

"You mean Laci did," I say, flatly. When he hesitates, I add, "You don't have to sugarcoat things. I know what she did, and I know what I did, too."

"Yes, well, I've left myself enough energy to find a safe spot before dropping out. With that in mind, I think it's better if you found someone to stay with tonight while I make arrangements with a hotel," he says, quietly.