“The important question here,” Ezra said, staring grimly at his phone, “is whether he really fell down the stairs. Because I think he didn’t but I’m not sure, and the fact I’m unsure means that whether he fell or not, he still wins.”
“Wins what?” I asked.
Ezra and Aaron looked at me with identical expressions of disbelief.
“Never mind.” I chose another slice of pizza.
When most of the pizza had been devoured and the remaining slices arranged in one box to form a new Franken-pizza, we retired to the living room and played a dozen rounds of Aaron’s favorite racing game. We laughed and razzed each other and drank through a six-pack of beer, and it was almost like normal.
Almost like normal, except for the empty spot on the sofa.
Almost like normal, except Ezra lost every other round, too exhausted—or distracted—to leverage his superior reflexes.
Almost like normal, except I couldn’t stop thinking about my suitcase, packed and waiting in my apartment for tomorrow morning.
“I’m done,” Ezra decided after the twelfth game, tossing his controller onto the cushion between us. “I need to stop now before I lose my reigning champion title.”
“Chicken,” Aaron taunted, waving his bright-red controller. “This is the most I’ve won since I first introduced you to the wide world of console gaming.”
“Yeah, right.” He stretched his arms over his head, back arching. “I lost nonstop for the first couple of months. You refused to go easy on me, even though I’d never touched a controller before.”
Never? I knew Ezra had been homeless for a couple years before meeting Aaron, but I hadn’t realized his childhood before that had been devoid of luxuries like console games.
“You wouldn’t’ve learned anything if I’d gone easy on you,” Aaron declared. “Besides, I knew you’d be stomping me in no time.”
A smile flickering over his lips, Ezra pushed off the sofa. He glanced at me, humor softening, sadness lurking. Silent, he disappeared into the kitchen, and the bathroom door clacked shut.
“Wanna watch a movie, Tori?” Aaron asked.
“Sure. Your pick.”
He switched modes on his huge TV and began scrolling through the action flicks. Two minutes later, Ezra reemerged and headed toward the stairs.
“Night, Tori.” He tossed a grin at Aaron. “Night, loser.”
“Oh, ouch. Harsh, man.”
They both laughed at Aaron’s “I’m so wounded” act, then Ezra traipsed up the stairs. I listened for the sound of his door, but he closed it too softly for me to hear.
I glanced at the clock glowing on the PVR under the television. Barely past ten, but it’d only been three days since the Carapace of Valdurna had devoured all his magic. It’d be days more before his stamina fully recovered.
A movie began with a swell of music, but I hadn’t seen which title Aaron had chosen.
“Have you talked to him yet?” he asked quietly.
“Not yet.”
“We’re leaving in the morning.”
“I know. Are you packed?”
“Yeah. My bag is in my room.” He settled deeper into his recliner. “What about Kai?”
“I called him this afternoon. He’s as excited about my plan as you are. He said he’d work on Makiko to get her to loosen his leash for a few days, but he couldn’t make any promises.”
Aaron nodded. “You sure about this, Tori?”
“As in, am I sure this will be anything but a huge waste of time? No. But I’m damn sure we’re doing it anyway.”
“I just don’t understand what you expect to find after eight years.”
My gaze rose to the ceiling where Ezra’s bedroom was. “I know what I’m looking for … and I know where to look for it.”
“How?”
“Insider information.” I pushed to my feet. “I’m going to see if Ezra is asleep yet. Don’t wait for me.”
I could feel his questioning gaze as I left the room, but I didn’t look back. My mind was made up. My preparations were complete. And before we left tomorrow, I needed to hammer out the details of our plan.
Chapter Four
At the top of the stairs, I halted in front of Ezra’s door. A dim light shone through the gap underneath it. I tapped on the wood.
A muffled sound answered me, and I pushed the door open. Ezra was halfway between sitting on his bed and rising to his feet, and three things registered in my brain all at once: that muffled response hadn’t been permission to enter, he was shirtless, and he was holding a tan folder.
He blinked at me, then sank back onto his bed. “Come in?”
Why, why was he so gorgeous? His bronze skin stretched taut over hard muscles—and my god, I needed to touch this man. His sweats clung to his hips, revealing the waistband of his boxers, and his shirt lay on the foot of the bed; he must’ve started to strip down for bed before getting distracted.
And now I was the one distracted.
Shaking myself, I offered a guilty smile. “Sorry, I thought that’s what you said. Do you mind?”
“No, it’s fine.”
I shut the door, then crossed his room, glancing wistfully at his guitar on my way past. He’d only played for me once. Should I ask if he’d play for me again?
As I sat on the mattress beside him, I tried and failed not to glance curiously at the folder he’d tucked halfway out of sight on his other side—but, of course, he noticed. Sighing, he slid it onto his lap. His fingers disappeared inside, then he withdrew a photograph, marred by creases but still glossy.
Guilt stabbed me. It was the photo I’d found in his dresser eight months ago while searching for a t-shirt. Snoopy me had taken a good long look at the image of young Ezra and a blond girl before hiding the picture back in the folder.
“I told you about her,” he murmured.
I studied the girl’s beaming smile, full of joy. How long after this photo had she become a demon mage, spiraled into madness, and almost killed Ezra before being killed herself?
“This is the last photo I have of us before I became a demon mage …” His voice roughened. “I was excited. I’d been chosen. I felt so goddamn special.”
He reached into the folder again, and this time, he handed me the photo—an even older one. An olive-skinned man and woman grinned at the camera, a laughing boy between them. Ezra took after his mother’s side of the family; his father had a blocky face and heavy jaw, his head shaved. His eyes, however, were the same warm chocolate brown as Ezra’s.
“I always liked this photo,” he murmured, gazing at his parents. “Things were never easy for us, but my parents were just happy to be together. That changed after …”
I waited, then prompted gently, “After you became a demon mage?”
“No …” His hand curled into a fist. “After they joined the … group.”
He tugged the photo of his parents from my fingers and returned both pictures to the folder. Before he could stand, I touched his arm.
“Will you tell me about it?” I asked softly.
The air rushed through his nose. He stared at the folder, avoiding my gaze.