Vial Things (Resurrectionist #1) - Leah Clifford Page 0,70

from happening. And though he may sign his own death warrant, I’ll be damned if he’ll do it without a fair shot at saving himself. But I won’t coddle him any more than he’ll coddle me. “This was different,” I say.

“Was it?” he asks. He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. His sigh is weary. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Lover’s spat?” Talia asks from behind us. She tosses me a hairbrush and my deodorant. “Thought you could use those.”

“We’re not lovers,” I say, shoving the toiletries into the bag.

Talia’s snort of disbelief tells me just how much she’s enjoying this and I wonder if she’s forgotten how dangerous any feelings I have for Ploy are. “You two sure looked pretty cozy when I interrupted you on the pullout earlier,” she says. The comment only amps up the rage boiling inside me.

“Talia.” I catch her eye. “Don’t.”

Any trace of humor drops from her face. “Sorry,” she mumbles.

Ploy, whether out of a sense of self-preservation or because he agrees with me, keeps his mouth shut for once.

“Do you need anything else?” Talia asks.

“No.” Now that it’s clear there’ll be no attack, my adrenaline starts to dwindle. It’s nearly five in the morning. “Let’s just get out of here.”

I lock up silently. We get to the car and I slip into the passenger seat without a word to Ploy. When we make it to Talia’s I plug the charger into my phone and flop down on the mattress, as far to one side as I can. After a trip to the bathroom, Ploy climbs in on the other side. Neither of us attempts an apology. Instead, we lay, wordless and fuming.

Talia’s bedroom door opens. “Allie,” she calls. “Can you come in here and help me fill out my casebook?”

It’s after five the morning, so it takes a second before the oddness of what she’s said registers. I’m burning for sleep. “Um, yeah, sure,” I say, sitting up. I hope Ploy doesn’t notice my confusion, though he seems to be steadfastly ignoring me. Talia doesn’t have a casebook. Logging in the cases would be my job now. She wouldn’t write in it.

“Shut the door behind you,” she says in a low voice when I get there. Once it’s closed, she scoots over on the bed so I can sit. Talia flicks a finger toward the closed door, the living room beyond where Ploy lays. “What’re we doing about that?”

I sigh hard. “The fight? It’s nothing,” I say. “We’re figuring out each other’s boundaries.”

She toys with the edge of the sheet. A desperate flutter fills my lungs and I know she wasn’t talking about Ploy and I arguing.

“Why bother?” she whispers suddenly. “I get what you were after with him. But that’s over.” She glances up and then her eyes dart to her dresser. Pictures are stuck in the crack where the wood frames the mirror, the chains of several necklaces hooked around one of the corners. For a second, she seems to be watching our reflections. Our eyes find each other. “Everything else aside, he’s a street kid. He’s broke. He’s got no job, no prospects and the only roof over his head is yours.”

She opens her mouth to go on but I hold out my hand, listing off on my fingers. My voice comes out too loud. “I’ve got no job, no prospects and the roof over my head was paid for by Sarah.”

The fierce determination in her eyes wavers when they meet mine. “Exactly! If you’re not taking on cases anymore, what the hell kind of life are your expecting with that guy?”

“That guy saved my life.” I think back over the last couple days, the gunshot wound, the fire at Sarah’s. “More than once.”

“While everyone else was dying.”

My lips part, but I’m too wounded by her words to come up with a retort.

“He thinks you’re weak,” she says.

I scoff. “Because I hoped Jamison was at my apartment and went in without a plan? That doesn’t make him think I’m weak. That makes him think I’m upset and not thinking clearly and it’s his way of calling me on it.” I’m practically yelling. He has to be able to hear that last line through the closed door. I’ve got to get myself under control, but he needs to know this as much as she does. “We’ve known each other for months. We were friends until I kissed him. And you know what he did? He stopped me. Because he was