Instead, he closed his arms around her, dropped his cheek to the top of her head, and hung on tight, like he was already saying good-bye.
Or Godspeed.
When Anna’s husband, Dick, phoned her office just past lunchtime and then spent a good five minutes talking about the weather—hot and sunny wasn’t exactly news for Texas in July—she knew he was working up to something she wouldn’t like.
That knowledge drummed alongside the headache that’d been a constant low-grade throb since the day before, when she’d been released from Brackenridge Hospital around lunchtime. The docs had diagnosed her crash as ‘‘catatonia pursuant to a transiently high fever of unknown origin’’—i.e., ‘‘Nobody knows what the hell it was, but you seem fine now.’’
As far as she was concerned, an FUO sounded far saner than, ‘‘I read a spell off my grad student’s laptop and nearly put myself straight through the barrier.’’
She’d been so surprised to see familiar words twined into the line of text on Lucius’s laptop screen that the words had slipped out before she’d been aware of it, as though something else had reached across and spoken through her. The next thing she knew, poof. Instant loss of six hours. And ever since then, she’d had headaches she suspected were the result of her mind fending off the power—and the visions—-she didn’t want.
She’d known the barrier was reactivating, had felt it at the solstice. She’d just hoped to avoid dealing with it for as long as possible.
Like forever.
‘‘Anna, did you hear me?’’ On the phone, Dick’s voice gained a faint edge.
She shook her head to clear her vision when the walls of her office blurred around her, threatening to become a step-sided pyramid rising up from a sea of foliage. It took several furious blinks before she could focus on the cordless phone in her hand. ‘‘Sorry, hon, what was that again?’’
‘‘I said I’ll be home late tonight, and you shouldn’t wait dinner. I’ll grab a sandwich or something.’’ He paused, and his tone softened. ‘‘I know we were going to go over the bills tonight and figure out how we’re going to pay for another round of in vitro, but the dean asked me to meet him at the faculty club. I’ll owe you one, okay?’’
By Anna’s count he owed her several hundred already, and she knew damn well that if she stopped in at the club later, he wouldn’t be there.
‘‘No problem.’’ Her lips felt numb, as though they belonged to someone else, another woman entirely, and she wondered fleetingly if that other woman would challenge Dick’s glib excuse, or if she, too, would be too much of a wuss to force the answer she didn’t want. ‘‘I’ll wrap a plate for you, in case you’re hungry when you get home.’’
She was dimly aware of a quiet knock at the door. Moments later, the panel swung inward and Lucius stuck his head around the corner. The shaggy-haired grad student winced when he saw she was on the phone. He mouthed, Sorry, and motioned that he’d wait outside.
No, she mouthed back, come in. She waved him in, knowing her husband all too well.
‘‘Thanks for understanding, hon.’’ Dick’s voice gained that false cheer that she’d come to hate over the past few months. ‘‘Okay, then, I have to go. I’ll try not to wake you when I get home. Love you.’’
He hung up before she said anything, which was probably just as well, because she didn’t know what she would have said in return. She loved him; she really did. And she knew he loved her. But she was tired and discouraged with their marriage, and had a feeling he felt the same way, which left them . . . nowhere, really, and sinking fast. The more months that went by without the pee stick showing positive, the more distant he became. Or maybe that was her drawing away, like he said. Maybe both. But she’d even gotten to the point of wondering why they were going to bother for another try at in vitro when they barely talked to each other anymore beyond vapid pleasantries and scheduling. She’d wanted a baby to add to her and Dick’s life together, not as an attempt to fix it.
Feeling hollow and achy, she sat for a moment with the phone pressed against her ear before she sighed and snapped the receiver back in its charger.
Lucius crossed to the side of her desk and folded his long limbs into an easy, graceful crouch, so they were eye-to-eye. ‘‘Everything okay?’’
Carrying a battered canvas knapsack over his shoulder, wearing worn jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals, with his hazel eyes clear and guileless, his brown hair too long to be stylish, too short to be a fashion statement, he looked so damn young. Too damn young. The eight years separating them could’ve been twenty, the way she was feeling these days—at least, that was what she told herself, because it was best to think of him as a boy rather than a man, better to ignore the occasional urge to lean on him, especially now, when she was so close to falling apart.
Instead, she forced herself to lean away. ‘‘I’m fine.’’
He tilted his head. ‘‘You’ve been saying that a lot lately,’’ he said. ‘‘Why don’t I believe you?’’
Anna exhaled. ‘‘Weren’t you headed to the library?’’
‘‘I’m on my way.’’
But he didn’t move, just kept looking at her until she was tempted to wipe a palm across her face, thinking she had something on her cheek. A hint of something sparkled in the air between them, an attraction that had no business existing.
‘‘Lucius,’’ she finally whispered, feeling weak and small. ‘‘Please go.’’
‘‘I will. But first, I have something for you.’’ He shifted, dipped into his knapsack, and pulled out a flat, paper-wrapped package. He held it out to her. ‘‘A guy came by my office and asked me to get this to you. I’m not sure why he gave it to me and not you, but . . .’’
She didn’t hear the rest of his sentence, as his voice faded to a buzz—or maybe the buzz was coming off the package, she couldn’t tell. She felt the power before she recognized the handwriting, the shock jolting through her like heat. Like temptation.
‘‘I’ll take it.’’ She snatched the thing away from Lucius and gritted her teeth when the magic sang up her arm, even through the wrapping.
What the hell was in there?
I don’t care, she told herself sternly. This means nothing to me now. I’m a wife. I’m trying to become a mother. I’m not that person anymore.
Yet the power called to her, reaching deep down inside and curling around her soul, warming the places that had grown so cold.
‘‘What man?’’ she asked, more for something to say than because she needed to know. It would’ve been Strike, her baby brother, coming to bring her back to the fold.
‘‘He didn’t give a name, just told me to take the package straight to you, nobody else.’’ Lucius frowned. ‘‘Huh . . . that’s weird. I can’t really picture him. I know there was something seriously cool about him, but . . .’’ He scrubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and as he did so, she saw that the coarse hairs on his forearm were raised, as if drawn upright by static electricity. His voice went serious. ‘‘What’s going on, Anna? Things have felt . . . weird around here since the night you conked out, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. Half the artifacts are suddenly under lock and key, you’ve got strangers dropping off mysterious packages, the interns are practically living at the library, and I get the feeling you’d be happy if I joined them.’’ He paused. ‘‘I’d like to think you know me better than that, so why don’t you spare us both the argument and tell me what’s up?’’
Anna almost told him, but didn’t, because he wasn’t part of what was going on behind the scenes of everyday life. Hell, she wasn’t even part of it, not anymore. She was a consultant. A convenience. I’ll give it to Anna, she could picture Strike saying. She’ll translate it.