Staying Dead - Laura Anne Gilman [129]
Two weeks later, Wren placed a stem of lilac on the sidewalk. Her fingers lingered on the bloom before pulling away, standing up.
“Why lilac?”
She shrugged, feeling the bandage pull as she did so. The sling was long gone, but she still didn’t have a full range of movement back. “Seemed more appropriate than roses.”
There had been the faintest whiff of something floral, when Jamie finally disappeared. She had spent half an hour in the florist this morning, trying to recognize it.
Sergei reached forward to place a fist-sized chunk of smoky quartz beside the flower, his fingers brushing the small brass plaque workers had affixed to the side of the building just that morning.
“James Koogler. 1927 to 1955.” He shook his head, dark glasses hiding whatever expression was in his eyes. “You’d think they could have done more for the man who gave his life for this building.”
“Hey, you don’t want to go around telling people a man was killed in the very spot where they work. People might start talking about ghosts, or curses, or something.”
Wren’s attempt at humor fell flat.
“It’s not enough, is it?”
“It has to be,” she said. “For now.”
She had told him that first night, crying in his arms, about the deal she’d struck, the oath Oliver Frants had sworn. With her as the only living witness, there wasn’t any way to ensure he would honor it, despite her bloodthirsty thoughts at the time. But somehow, Sergei still thought it would all work out in the end. He believed in karma, did her partner. And justice.
She wasn’t sure what she believed in. And she really wasn’t sure there was any justice at all in the world. Not the kind that satisfied. But that was what she hoped to find with the Silence. Maybe.
“I’ll watch him, Jamie,” she promised. “And I’ll never let him forget.”
As though on cue, a jacketed security guard came out of the building. Not Rafe.
“Excuse me. I’m going to have to ask you two to move on.”
Sergei looked at him over the tops of his sunglasses, and the smaller man blinked but didn’t retreat. “Please. I really don’t want to have to have you arrested for trespassing.”
“It’s okay,” Wren told her partner. “We can go. It’s no big deal.”
He held the guard’s gaze for a long moment, then let him go. “You want coffee?” he asked Wren, as though they had never been interrupted.
“Do I ever not? But back to my place. Jackson’s had an order delivered, including this new blend he swears will put curl in my hair.”
As they walked away, Sergei glanced back. The guard had already removed their offerings, tossing them into the city trash bin on the corner. He thought briefly about arranging with a florist to have more lilac delivered the next day. And the next, and the next, until they got tired of tossing them. Then he let the idea go. It wasn’t needful. Jamie, if he was still there at all, knew the attempt had been made.
There were other things to worry about.
“So.” She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “All done?”
“All but the handshake. Astonishingly, I think everyone’s pretty well pleased with the result,” Sergei said in wonder. “Although if I never have to go through a negotiating round like that again…”
“We did good, huh?”
“Yeah.” Sergei nodded. “I think maybe we did real good.”
“Excellent.” She leaned a little against his shoulder. “Take me to dinner.”
“Why should I do that?”
She bit the inside of her cheek and looked up at him thoughtfully.
“Because you love me, and worry that I’m not eating right.”
Behind them, just far enough down the street and in the shadows to be unseen but near enough to be helpful if something happened, P.B. rolled his eyes and made a rude noise only he could hear. But his black button nose was scrunched in amusement, and his eyes rested on the two figures with affection.
They weren’t bad, as humans went. He rather thought he might keep them.
STAYING DEAD
ISBN 978-1-55254-486-0
Copyright © 2004 by Laura Anne Gilman
First mass market printing: June 2006
First trade printing: August 2004
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review,