Downfall (27 page)

“But who shows up in my classroom no matter how far I go but Cal’s brother? Isn’t that the way it always is?” She didn’t sound surprised.

“Grimm is
not
his brother, and you changed his thoughts?” I questioned, which wasn’t what I wanted to know, but the chances of George calling again were remote. I had to take what I could get.

“I know. You couldn’t care less that he tried to kill me. Your heart has room for only three people, and I’m not
one of them.” Now she was amused and too accurate, as always she’d been. “Moving on, Grinch, I was teaching GED students and I told him I knew who and what he was. I didn’t have to look. If anything, he impacts this world so strongly that he forced the visions to look into me. I knew how that would end.” Not well, I knew myself. “But he is so like Cal that I told him anyway that I knew him and was sorry for him, but . . . it didn’t matter. He remembers the illusion of killing me vaguely, but not who I was to Cal or where Cal lives due to some meddling with his thoughts on my part. As much as I could meddle and don’t ask if I could do more. I can’t. I do what I can do, and if I can’t, I can’t.”

I truthfully thought that an enormous load of bullshit, not that I would say bullshit aloud but I would think it. Instead I passed it all by and asked something important, for once in this conversation, “He found Cal regardless as is our luck. What can you tell me, then?”

“Oh.” She was quiet a moment. “Will you tell Cal I miss him?”

“No,” I said flatly. Would I tell Cal the love of this miserable life determined to kick him in the testicles at every turn that she missed him? I knew the Marquis de Sade, but that did not mean I was a sadist. “You love him, but you do not love him enough to give him what he needs.” Reassurance. “Would you really want me to?”

“If I was kind, I’d say no.” She was quiet a moment. “I’ll be kind. He deserves that, doesn’t he? Some measure of peace?”

“More than that,” I said.

“You’re right.” I heard her let it go. Let Cal go, as it was the most thoughtful thing she could do for him. Let the past be the past. Now, “I have an address for you. One in Canada I’ve sensed you need. Do you have a pen?”

I had a photographic memory, not always, but when I needed it.

Gods damn the pen.

“I’m listening.”

*   *   *

Cal woke up.

It was approximately half an hour after Georgina had called, not that I would ever tell him about that. He coughed once, blinked, opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling, then slant them in my direction. I’d rather hoped he’d be confused, but he wasn’t. “I fucked up, didn’t I?” he asked with complete misery.

“You did . . . a little.” I’d removed the elastic band from his hair as efficiently as I did for Ishiah most nights, and had spread out the ponytail to a messy halo of his newly quicksilver hair on the pillow. I ran my fingers through it now in comfort and then commanded, “
Audite
me
.
”
Listen to me
.

“Audio vobis,”
he replied.
I am listening
. His eyes and face had gone blank, and did I feel guilty about that? Yes, I did, but it was done and it had to be done. Guilt was irrelevant.

Audio vobis.

Cal, who had thought English and Auphe were the only languages he could learn, had learned Latin quite easily under hypnosis. But that was my burden to bear and no one else’s.
“Et Tumulum non record abitur ultra non erit
.
”
You will not remember Tumulus and you never will again.
It was a patch, at the very best, and one I could only hope would hold until Grimm was gone.
“Obedite.”

Obey.

Cal’s eyes were on me, red without a hint of gray.
“Ní bheidh mé ag déanamh.”

Gaelic, before it had made its journey from what
would be Ireland and Scotland. Gaelic, not Latin, not my hypnosis, and no, he was telling me, I will
not
obey.

It was Cullen again and Cullen who had died at five years and yet was worse than any version of an Auphe Cal. Who could think it? Cullen was relentless. “We are done and over—
Bhí muiddéanta.
”
The kid was hard-core as ever a kid had been. But then this kid had traveled lives until he’d landed in this one, a life where he would be Cal. I shouldn’t be shaken over it.

“Mura bhfuil tú ag éisteacht le domunless
.
”

Unless you paid heed to me. Unless you
listen. Cullen was a bossy little shit too, no denying that, but I wasn’t surprised there either, was I? Hardly. No, I was not, and good for him, I thought reluctantly with my own rebellious trickster respect.

“I will listen, Cullen,” I said. “I am a trickster, but tricksters need help now and again too. I will listen. I won’t discard what you have to say. This I swore, as before, times three over.”

The unbreakable oath. This kid had me on the run, Robin Goodfellow, and wasn’t that something to put you in awe?

“Grimm is better because Grimm cares for no one or nothing,” Cullen said, which was when my slightly optimistic mood faded somewhat, although I’d known it to be true. I’d been of the opinion that Grimm wasn’t better, that he and Cal were equally matched, but that could only be factual to a certain degree and I’d known that. If Cal considered Niko worth saving and not fair prey, which was true or he would’ve attacked him at their apartment with Grimm, then Cal had weaknesses he wouldn’t give up. In that Cullen was correct. Grimm was better, as he had no Niko, no weaknesses. The only mind-set Cal could use to defeat him would involve denying
his family, denying Niko, denying me, ending both our lives, and he wouldn’t do that.

Could not do that.

“Yes, Grimm is better, but it’s not the best who always wins. Not when I’m around. Not when I cheat. Trust me when I say that no one has cheating abilities are quite close to mine.” Normally I would’ve sounded smug when I said that, but now I sounded desperate. Never had I had so much riding on someone believing me. I could double-deal like no one that had ever been birthed or born. I had been banned from Vegas and Atlantic City forty years ago, and that was gambling and me not trying hardly at all at what barely qualified as a game. It had been nothing close to what we were playing here, and yet I could cheat all the same. I cheated in every aspect of life and always came out on top. I knew that. Everyone knew that. Cal knew that. I hoped Cullen trusted his future self to give me the benefit of the doubt.

“Then cheat and make it work. Without you, they are dead. Niko and Cal are as dead as the one you called Phelan and me.” Cullen’s voice drifted to the higher birdsong pitch of a young child out of the grown mouth of Cal, but it didn’t stop the next words from being a killing frost. “Unless you stop it . . .
this
time.”

As I hadn’t stopped it in his time.

Or all the other times.

As I had never stopped it.

“Cullen . . .”

He paid no attention. “Cal has a plan.” The Auphe red eyes turned to the dark of a starless sky. Cullen’s eyes. I’d not ever seen them, but I knew. “His plan will kill him. Him and Niko. If Cal dies, if we die”—as they were in many ways one and the same—“that’s all right. But my brother cannot die. Will
not
die. No more of this. No
more following me everywhere, even into death.” His voice was getting louder and more fierce. The last thing I wanted was to have Niko wake up in the middle of this.

“No,” I insisted. “Trust me, Cullen. Cal can predict Grimm, but I can predict Cal. I know what his plan will be. I know it, I swear to you. I will do whatever it takes to make it so that Niko and he survive it.”

“You said you were my
caomhnoir
,” my guardian, “and you swore three times over. . . .” He paused, his exhalation a child’s fear for his brother and himself . . . a child, five winters old fighting to keep another brother alive. “Keep your promise, please. It hurts to die and I’m . . .” It was Cullen who said it, but it was Cal’s chin that lifted stubbornly with a voice unsure.” . . . afraid.”

“Three times three,” I promised again, and felt my stomach lurch. He was afraid. Cullen and Cal both, the same person in one way and yet not in another, but they were both afraid whether both would admit it or not. “I will give my life for his, but, Cullen, stay hidden, please, and keep Tumulus hidden too, if you can. This is Cal’s life this time around. I know yours was short, but he deserves to have one of his own. Tumulus would rip it from him. Push it down as far as you can.”

“I will. Keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.” The eyes stayed on mine and a hand snapped out snake-fast to clasp mine. I twitched but held on to it as the dark eyes flooded back to Auphe red and Cal, back in all his profane if now woozy glory, repeated, completely confused, “Where am I?”

He looked around the room again as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh, shit. I fucked up . . . didn’t I?”

I felt my bones shift under the hold he had on my hand, but I cared not at the pain, and laughed in relief and renewed faith. “You did. You fucked up.

“But would you be Cal Leandros if you did not?”

*   *   *

I fetched Niko into Cal’s room and ignored any scowls or accusations that might have been made regarding foreign sedatives substituted for honey in my hospitably offered tea. People could be unaccountably suspicious when they cared to be. Wasn’t that a shame? Especially when I had done it and did not care one bit if I were caught out in such a thing?

Humans. They did make me laugh.

Niko had replaced his hand in Cal’s where mine had been, and that was fine. If there weren’t cracks in the smaller bones of my hand, it wasn’t for lack of effort on Cal’s part. “How are you, little brother?” he asked.

“For shit. That’s how I am.” He sat up under the covers of the guest bed, no less dejected than he’d been before. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember it exactly. I don’t remember what I said or did, but I know I went Auphe. I know I fucked up. And I’m goddamn sorry.”

“But you didn’t try to hurt me and here you are now. You’re you, so what have you to be sorry for?” Niko pushed it all away as if it hadn’t happened or, if it had, wasn’t important. It was so well done that I honestly was in wonder of it, how dismissive he was of not one, but two Auphe right there ready to slaughter anyone and everyone.

Except Niko.

Everyone save Niko. I didn’t know what an Auphe-Cal would do if I’d been there. When you don’t know things, there’s one way to find out. Ask. “Cal, if I’d been there with Niko and Grimm, would you have killed me?” I plopped on the end of his bed in a casual slouch with a curious countenance and something hidden behind my back.

“No, Robin. Shit, you don’t believe . . . no. Not you. You fought and destroyed the Auphe with us. You were at the gates of Troy, you fought against the Romans when
I was Caiy, you who stood with Alexander when I passed, you’re always there,” he answered, shocked then retreating behind one of many walls. Miserable that I would ask that, angry that I would doubt him when I’d worked years to gain his trust. “You’re the one who guarantees that Nik and me aren’t alone . . . ever. If I don’t remember it, the fucking history books tell me that,” he finished flatly from behind the wall. Angry at me for my uncertainty, angry at himself for causing it.

Ah, children. So faithful. Ah, me. So cynical.

I should’ve known better than to question. I didn’t know if he’d have that kind of control, but he thought he would. He wanted to; he wanted to stay with us as long as he could. That was all that mattered. Every—Maat cursed—one of us needed to believe some things, whether we were lying to ourselves or not.

“I am sorry. I know you wouldn’t.” I gave one of his blanket-covered legs a pat before adding. “Especially as I’d defeat you easily and spank you for the naughty half Auphe that you are.” He gave me a wary sideways glance but the wall crumbled somewhat. I felt his formerly tense leg relax under my hand. It was a good start. “How about Promise or Ishiah?”

“Promise and Ishiah . . .” His eyes went from a thoughtful scarlet to a bitterly angry crimson, and what was written on his face was not an indication of certainty at all. “Hmm. Let me . . . fuck . . . think . . . who? Blood-sucker-leech-Promise. No, Niko loves Promise. No. Yes. Maybe. Ishiah . . . bad . . . bad. Pigeon who left us to die. I remember him. I know him. Coward. But Robin feels for him. I don’t know. . . .”

I didn’t know what he was caught up in with Ishiah. Ishiah hadn’t known of Cal and Nik until the past few years, but Cal was sane, relatively sane, honestly as sane as I could hope for at this time. I’d have to go with that.
I stopped his Auphe-ish drifting by moving my hand from behind me and slamming his glove-and-claws against his chest with a hard toss. “Here. Use it as you wish, but make certain you know who you use it against.”

Cal caught it with surprise and an edge of guilt, as if he knew he’d done wrong with it but couldn’t recall how. That was right and I didn’t try to reassure him there. He was dangerous and I wouldn’t try to convince him otherwise. That would be idiotic. “You’re sure?” He lifted the glove as if he wanted to put it on but feared it at the same time.

“No.” I could be honest. It didn’t happen often, but it wasn’t impossible. “I’m not, but you had better be before you put it on again. Do you understand me, Cal? Niko and I might be safe from you, but there are more than the two of us out there, and you and Grimm hooking up to share a buffet made up of human homeless at the nearest shelter isn’t an option.”

I straightened, leaned in, and had a blade at his throat before he or Niko could register the movement. My family, they were, and I loved them, but they were human or Auphe-human, and while the second was worthy of fear, he wasn’t me. He had been born
of
the first predators on earth, but I had been born the actual first
and
second predator long before dinosaurs had hatched to see the sky. It made a difference. A horde of Auphe were undefeatable, true, but one incredibly young Auphe like Cal? One Auphe did not have my speed or my ability to take a life one on one. I loved Cal, I loved him as my brother, but that meant I had a responsibility to end his life as my brother if he didn’t have it all in check . . . before he could do what he would always regret.