CALDER
Shay fell asleep sometime near the end of season one. Blue television light effervesced with city lights, illuminating Shay in a soft glow. Her eyelashes cast fluffy shadows on her cheeks. She gripped my thigh with one hand as she slept, her mouth slightly parted.
My gut twisted at how easily she breathed.
She felt safe.
I lightly traced her mouth with my knuckle, over the bruise she didn’t want to talk about.
In deeper than you realize.
Maybe it was somehow related to her illness.
Or maybe Butcher was right, she was in deeper than I knew, and someone gave this to her. Shay was an intoxicating and slightly infuriating combination of vulnerable and aloof. Sometimes being with her felt like a magic trick. I knew there was something happening beneath the surface, but she only showed me what she wanted me to see.
But I also knew that trying to get her to open up before she was ready would be like prying apart a clam. Maybe I’d get a pearl, but the clam would die.
The front door opened, and I ripped my gaze from Shay. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around her.
Bright-yellow hallway light set the shadows on fire. Shay’s sister, Lilith, stood in silhouette. I saw her shadow-puppet hand about to drop her keys into a ceramic catcher shaped like a cat, when she froze. Her head shot to me, and though I couldn’t see her eyes, by the way her head jerked up, I got the impression she’d spotted me.
With keys still in hand, she walked over to me.
Her seven-inch, spiky black stilettos clacked across the hardwood as she landed before me, folding her arms.
“Why are you here?” Her voice was low, the tone in her voice implying she knew the answer already, but was suspicious of it.
“Shay doesn’t like being alone when she’s sick,” I said.
Lithie pushed her tongue into her cheek, brows knitting together.
“There’s dinner in the fridge.” I offered an olive branch.
Once again her gaze flitted down to Shay, then back to me. She shifted on one heel, then wordlessly made her way to the kitchen.
She pulled out the glass Tupperware, eyes narrowed on me. “You made this?”
I’d read anti-inflammatory foods and healthy fats could help when someone had a chronic fatigue episode. So I’d made a simple meal complete with things like legumes, spinach, peppers, and quinoa.
“I’m a better baker.” I shrugged. “But judging by the plates of food I assume you left her—and how only the sweets were eaten—she wasn’t eating well. I made enough for you and anyoneelse who wants it.” My gaze shot to the door, knowing her other friends lived across the hall.
Lilith came back, watchful. “I will castrate you with a butter knife if you so much as make her cry.”
I held her stare. “I’ll give you the butter knife.”
She gave me a long, searching look, then exhaled, dropping her arms to her sides.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said, leaving the room.
Lilith shut the door to her bedroom, and Shay stirred. Her fingers stretched across my thigh. There was something both illicit and precious about being able to witness her wake, like stumbling upon a fairy—something not meant for mortal eyes.
Shay yawned, covering it with the back of her hand, and her eyelashes fluttered open.
A million micro expressions flitted across her face. Then, as if realizing where she was, her eyes widened, she blinked, and she quickly shoved herself up and off me.
I fought the urge to drag her back to my lap, instead pushing the hair out of her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” she said.
