asked as he walked back to the bar.
The man smiled and shook his head. “No, we’ve never met,” the man said. He was twisting a silver ring on the ring finger of his right hand. “But I thought I recognized you as you passed. Having some problems with the Bone Masters, are you?”
Francis studied the guy; there didn’t seem to be anything about him that set off alarms. As far as Francis could sense, he was harmless.
“What if I was? What’s that got to do with you?”
“Nothing, really,” the man said. “It’s just that I know some things about them, and I know some things about you. Maybe we can work out some sort of arrangement that would benefit the both of us?”
Francis realized then that if he left Methuselah’s, he would leave with nothing, but now an opportunity had presented itself. What would it hurt to see what the guy had to offer?
“Talk,” Francis said, pulling out the stool beside the guy and sitting down.
“Excellent,” the man said, extending his hand. “It’s a true honor to finally meet you, Francis. My name is Simeon.”
And Francis took his hand.
• • •
In that strange state between being awake and asleep, Linda remembered what it had been like when her Nana had died.
She’d been thirteen years old, old enough to feel the weight and sadness of the loss, but also old enough to know that it was for the best, that the poor old woman had been suffering terribly with cancer, and now she would no longer be in pain.
She remembered how her mother had busied herself with phone call after phone call—to the funeral home, to the florist, to family members and friends. Linda had hovered just within earshot, listening as her mother was mostly strong, but hearing the tears reserved for only those closest.
Linda awoke with a start and nearly pitched forward off the bed, where she sat beside Remy. She quickly pulled herself together, catching sight of the angel Assiel still on the other side of her love, his dark hand resting upon Remy’s chest.
Nothing appeared to have changed.
She stood, stretching the numbness from her legs, then leaned in closer to her man. If anything he looked worse, and she felt her mood grow heavy.
Marlowe came into the room again. The poor boy had been back and forth between upstairs and down, almost as if he believed that if he left and returned, he would come back and find his master well. If only that were the case.
“How you doing, boy?” she asked the dog as he came to stand beside her. She scratched behind his ear and rubbed his side.
She knew very well that Remy could die, and she was trying her best to prepare herself. It was one of the hardest things she had ever done, like sticking a toe into bathwater that is too hot. You immediately pull away, but when you keep going back to it, the discomfort gradually lessens, eventually becoming something bearable.
Something bearable.
She doubted that it would ever be.
But what if it did happen? What if Remy just couldn’t hold on anymore? She—everyone should be prepared.
Just as her mother had informed her family about Nana, Linda knew she had to prepare Remy’s friends.
She stared at Remy and Assiel, then turned to leave the room. Marlowe watched her as she went, the look in his dark eyes questioning.
“It’s all right,” she reassured him, keeping her voice low. “I’m going downstairs for a while. You can stay here if you want, or you can come with me. Whatever you like is okay.”
She stopped at the door and heard a soft sigh from behind her. Marlowe had returned to his bed in the corner of the room. It was nice to know somebody who loved Remy as much as she did would be with him.
In the kitchen, she found Steven Mulvehill and Squire sitting at the table, a stack of weapons piled in its center; there were knives and guns, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a few grenades.
“Hey,” Squire said.
Mulvehill stood, concern on his face. “Is he . . .”
“The same,” Linda said. She couldn’t take her eyes from the stack on the table. “What’s all this?”
“Francis asked us to grab some stuff from his place, y’know, just in case.”
“Are we expecting a third-world nation to attack us?” Linda asked.
“We don’t know what to expect, really,” Squire replied. He reached into the pile and removed a handgun, looking it over carefully before setting it back down