Feversong

He looked away a moment and when he looked back at me he said, “Let’s put it this way: I know I have to live each day to the fullest, and I’ve known that for a long time.”

I suddenly understood something I’d never been able to fathom about him before. He’d always been completely unfazed by folks like Barrons and Ryodan, Christian, even the Fae, and I’d endlessly wondered why. I’d admired him enormously for it, been quietly proud of him each time he stood his ground with such powerful immortals, because it had never been bluster, just confidence and laissez-faire equanimity. I knew why now: he’d been living with the threat of death most of his adult life. “Caoimhe loves you,” I told him, with absolutely no idea why I’d just said that.

Apparently he liked hearing it, though, because his grin widened. “I know.”

His response left me feeling unsatisfied and weirdly anxious. I know? That was it? Did he love her? Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? On the verge of setting up house together? Did he bring her here? Cripes, maybe she’d picked out his furnishings for him, brought him the rugs and candles!

I was out of here. I couldn’t deal with this. Any of it. I turned away and began to push up then glanced back and said, “So, are you and Caoimhe…” I trailed off as I sank back down. I was out of my depth. I wanted to leave. I couldn’t leave. My butt was a spring that couldn’t make up its mind, bouncing me off the sofa, dragging me back. I was conflicted by the sure knowledge that the hands of time were eating away at one more thing in my life. Clocks. Of course. Kill the clocks, those time-thieving bastards, he’d written. He’d been telling me, in his own way, the night he gave me the poem and the bracelet, that time was short and every moment mattered. I closed my eyes, recalling the last stanza. It had been his wake-up call, the one he’d been trying to get me to hear, without incurring the risk of me refusing to accept it and running away.

Kill the clocks and live in the moment

No cogs or gears can steal our now

When you laugh with me, Mega, time stands still

In that moment, I’m perfect somehow

Being with me gave him that—the feeling of being unhunted, unhaunted by the ancient, eternal Footman who was holding his coat at the ready, any day, anytime.

“What are you trying to ask me?” he said levelly.

“Do you and…” I trailed off again.

He let the silence stretch, watching me intently, gaze shifting from my right eye to my left and back again. Finally he prodded gently, “What, Mega? What do you want to know?”

“Have you and Caoimhe—bugger it, Dancer, help me out here!”

“You want to know if we’re lovers,” he said with such quiet maturity that I shifted uncomfortably.

He hadn’t said boyfriend or date. He’d used a word that had made me abruptly picture his long strong body stretched out on top of Caoimhe as he whispered something passionate in her ear, regarded her with desire. And it made my stomach feel hot and tight.

“Why is that so hard to ask? You just have to say, ‘Dancer, are you Caoimhe’s lover?’ ”

I scowled, poised on the verge of freeze-framing out the door and never coming back.

He leaned back, kicked his long legs up on the coffee table and spread his arms wide along the back of the sofa, and I got the distinct impression he knew exactly how good it made him look. Showing off his pecs and those arms he’d worked so hard to make cut and strong, arms that could wrap around me when we rode the Ducati. He flashed me a smile. “Nah. I’m still a virgin.”

I gaped with disbelief. “You are?”

“Hey, I’m only seventeen. It’s not that unusual.”

“But you might have, I mean, you knew that…” I trailed off.

“I was born with a shorter fuse than most?” he finished for me evenly.

I nodded.

“So, what—I was supposed to jump out there and grab whatever I could get my hands on while I had the chance? You know I’m discriminating, Mega. On the contrary, it made me want to ensure that every experience I had really counted. That it be the best it could be, or not happen at all. I didn’t want to rack up bad memories, no regrets.”

I understood that. We were so different yet so much the same.

“We’re totally different,” he said, like he was reading my mind, “but so much the same. You were born super everything: super strong and smart, super hearing, smell, eyesight, and super freaking fast. Man, I love that one. I think your speed-demon power is the one I’d want the most. And I was born super…well, not weak but with a flaw in my design. After I died when I was eight years old and discovered what was wrong with me—”

“You were eight when you died?” I’d been eight, too, when I’d pretty much given up the ghost.

He nodded. “Yeah. Dying did the same thing to me all your superpowers did to you. Made me fearless.”

“You do realize a lot of people wouldn’t have taken that lesson away from it. They would have felt more vulnerable and been more careful with themselves.”

“I saw something that day, Mega, during those three and a half minutes, and I know that there’s more after this. I have faith and it’s strong. I’m not afraid. Death is just the door to the next big adventure.”

Yeah, well, that was a door I wasn’t letting open for him for a long, long time. “I used to wonder if you had some secret superpower,” I told him. “I saw you walking down the street one day, and the ZEWs peeled away from you like you were one of Barrons’s dudes or something.”