Chapter 202: Did He Just Knock?

Blair took the shoes.

They were cold and wet through, and heavier than she expected. She held them by the heels.

Killian stood in front of the door and read the brass plate a second time. Then he tugged his cuffs straight, the left and then the right. He tried the handle. It held.

He looked over his shoulder at Jack.

Jack looked back at him. A blank expression on his face.

Killian turned to the door and knocked twice.

Daemus’s head came up. "Did he just knock?"

A lock clicked on the other side. The door opened a few inches onto a strip of lamplight.

Killian stepped through. The door shut behind him.

Blair stood in the white corridor holding his shoes.

The lamps hummed overhead. A drop ran off the toe of one shoe and hit the tile.

She leaned closer to the door. The steel was cold near her cheek. All she could hear was her own pulse.

Jack looked at the shut door for a long moment. Then he turned and walked back the way they had come.

"Professor?"

He kept walking. At the room with the steel table, he opened the door and went in. It swung shut behind him.

Through its small window she saw his shoulder pass once. Then only the far wall, and the light.

Blair’s stomach turned over.

She looked the other way, up the corridor, at the ward door. Their wet trail still turned in at it. Behind it, Ivy lay with her face to the wall.

"Great," Daemus said. "Fantastic. Everybody’s going in rooms."

He shifted Heather higher against his chest. She sighed and pushed her face deeper into his neck.

"We’re leaving," he said.

"We can’t leave him."

"He knocked, Bunny. He knocked on the door and went in like he owns the place." His ears flattened. "He can find his own way out."

"And the professor?"

Daemus looked down the corridor at the steel-table door. His jaw worked.

"Jack’s fine. Jack’s always fine." He jerked his chin at the shoes. "Why are you holding those?"

"He said hold these."

"So put them down."

She held on to them.

Daemus stared at her, then at the shoes. He blew a breath out through his nose and moved over until his arm pressed against her shoulder.

"Then you stand right here. Where I can reach you."

"You can’t reach anything. Your arms are full."

"I’ll figure it out."

Heather had left a wet shine on his neck, just above his collar. Blair tucked both shoes under one arm, pulled her cuff down over her fingers and wiped it away.

Daemus went still. He tipped his head to give her room. His throat moved under her hand when he swallowed.

She wiped slower than she needed to. His skin was hot through the wet cotton of her sleeve, and his pulse beat hard under her knuckles.

When she looked up, his eyes were on her face. Silver, and very close.

"Thanks," he said, low.

Her cheeks went hot. She rose onto her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw, quick and soft.

His breath went out of him. His arms tightened around Heather, and his ears came up.

He bent his head toward her. His mouth was an inch from hers. His breath touched her lips, warm, and her eyes slid half shut. Her fingers were still at his throat. She felt him swallow again.

"Bunny," he breathed.

Heather stirred between them.

"Tell them I said no," she mumbled into his collar.

Blair froze.

"Said no to what?" Daemus whispered.

Heather breathed slow and even. She was asleep.

Daemus looked at Blair over the top of the blonde head. Blair looked at Heather’s closed eyes, and at the white lashes of the left one.

Behind the RECORDS door, something heavy hit the floor.

Daemus’s ears went flat.

A second thud. Then quiet.

Blair took a step toward the door.

"Bunny." Daemus turned and put himself between her and the door, Heather and all.

The lock clicked. The door opened.

Killian came out. Behind him, in the lamplight, two men in gray uniforms lay on the floor. One lay on his face. The other lay on his back, and the fingers of one hand were still moving, opening and closing on nothing.

Killian pulled the door shut.

Daemus looked at the door, then at him. "Are they dead?"

"They are on the floor."

His hair was perfect. His shirt was perfect. His face was white, and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

He held out his hand.

Blair stepped around Daemus and gave him the shoes. Her fingers brushed his. They were cold. Colder than the shoes.

His eyes came up toward her face. They stopped at her mouth. Then he looked down at the floor.

He crouched in the middle of the corridor, set the shoes on the tile and pushed his feet into them, wet socks and all.

Daemus stared at him.

Blair watched his hands. Long pale fingers, quick and exact, the knuckles white. A wet sock showed at one heel, and he pushed it down into the shoe with his thumb.

Killian tied the left lace. He tied the right. He double-knotted both. Then he stood and smoothed the front of his jacket with two fingers, over the breast pocket.

"What did you do?" Daemus said.

"I asked for the records."

"What’s in there?"

"Mine."

Down the corridor, the steel-table door opened. Jack came out wiping his fingers on his cuff. He walked past them toward the corner.

Daemus fell in behind him, Heather’s quilt trailing over his arm. Killian stayed where he was, looking at Blair’s black palms.

She pushed her hands into her coat pockets. Her fingers closed on the hairbrush.

Behind the RECORDS door, something crackled. A man’s voice came through it, thin and tinny, from a radio on the floor.

"Records. Respond."

The lamps hummed.

"Records, respond."

Jack stopped.

"Run," he said.