Curled up on the couch underneath a knit blanket, Toby nestled next to her, Val watched the Times Square New Year’s Eve celebration play out on television. Some band she’d never heard of, composed of five boys who looked only slightly older than her own children, performed a catchy pop song as a massive audience froze their asses off. The ball had dropped in real time almost three hours ago, but a delay in the broadcast allowed the Pacific Coast to experience the moment at their own stroke of midnight. Stacey had already called it a night, not in the mood to stay up late or party. Like Val, she’d been reflective and thoughtful of late, reining in her impulses until she got a better handle on who she wanted to be rather than giving in to whatever felt good in the moment.
Val, however, couldn’t sit this night out. Glancing at the clock again, she scratched Toby’s ears to keep her hands busy. She didn’t particularly care for the New Year’s Eve pomp and circumstance, but the prospect of things to come—in just a few minutes, hopefully—had her fidgeting under the blanket with barely contained excitement. That afternoon, she’d received a package from Sten, an unexpected token of his gratitude. On a single piece of paper he’d written “Баркалла”—“thank you” in Chechen, the only clue she needed to know he’d sent it. Inside, he’d placed two vials of a clear liquid, along with a stack of papers typed in French.
While Ryan Seacrest prattled on about resolutions, Toby launched from the couch and ran to the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the door to the carport open and close, followed by Max trotting into the living room. He tossed his coat and baseball cap on a chair and smiled brightly at Val.
“I got it,” he said, holding up a small grocery bag. He cocked his head toward the stairs. “Ready?”
She nodded, threw off the blanket, and followed him up to the second floor. Tiptoeing past the kids’ bedroom, they quietly shut the door to their own bedroom and sat on the bed. Max emptied the grocery bag on the comforter between them; a couple syringes sheathed in plastic, a rubber tourniquet, and sterile wipes tumbled out. Then he retrieved one of Sten’s vials from the nightstand. He held it up, watching the liquid swirl in the warm light.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he said to her. He’d used those same words right before they’d made love for the first time and sealed their lifelong connection. Now came another critical decision point—whether or not to accept Lucien Christophe’s cure for their condition.
According to Max’s translation of Lucien’s notes, the cure wasn’t permanent; it lasted only three to four hours before wearing off, though Lucien had been convinced he could develop a permanent version if he’d had more time. Of course, they had to assume Sten sent them the real cure he’d stolen from Lucien and kept hidden from Northwalk, and not something poisonous, but Val was sure it was the real thing. After all they’d been through together, Sten wouldn’t kill her now. Max took her word for it without a lot of questions, thankfully. He’d finally accepted her explanation about her and Sten’s relationship, and seemed to let it go. Since they’d both nearly died giving in to anger and old grievances, it didn’t seem that important anymore.
“Let’s do it,” she said. Max would hand one of the vials, along with Lucien’s notes, over to a pharmaceuticals lab to replicate and increase the potency—if it actually worked. The only way to be sure was to test it on themselves. Hopefully, it was the first step toward a normal life for them, for others seers, and most important, for their children.
He slipped off his sweater and sat bare-chested on the bed, then tied the rubber tourniquet around his upper arm.
“You sure you know how to do this?” she asked.
Rubbing a sterile wipe on his inner arm, he raised an eyebrow at her. “I used to be a heroin addict, Val.”
“Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”
He unwrapped one syringe and used it to draw liquid from the vial, up to some amount he’d deciphered from Lucien’s notes. Val held her breath and winced when he eased the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger down. He used his teeth to unbind the tourniquet, then flexed his fingers. She exhaled in relief when seconds passed and he continued to look normal.
“How long does it take to work?” she asked.
“Close to immediately.”
“Do you feel any different?”
“No.”
Val pulled off her own shirt and held out her arm. He picked up the tourniquet and looked at her. “You’re sure?”
“It didn’t kill you.” When he still hesitated, she moved her arm closer to him. “Just do it already.”
His lips tightening for a moment, he looked uncomfortable letting her take the risk on a mystery drug, but he tied the tourniquet around her bicep without any further argument. He injected the rest of the drug into her arm the same way he’d done to himself, then cleared all the medical paraphernalia off the bed until it was just him and her.
They looked at each other like two virgins on prom night. In a way, they were virgins. Neither of them had experienced the ecstasy other people felt at the height of lovemaking; they could only imagine what it might be like. Now, for the first time, they would know. Her heart raced as he touched her cheek and traced his fingertips along her jawline.
“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked, pressing her hands against his chest and feeling his heart beating as fast as hers.
“Then things will stay as they are now.” He kissed her, then traced a path with his lips to her ear. “Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, it is. It should have been before.”
“Don’t think about the past, or the future. Just be here with me now.”
She did as he said, and cleared her mind of the chaos and pain they’d experienced in the last month, and throughout their entire lives, and would surely experience again in the future. All her senses focused on him—the taste of his tongue, the caress of his hands slipping off her clothes, the warmth of his bare skin pressed against hers, and the feel of him sliding inside her. As she held him tight against her, she didn’t try controlling her thoughts to avoid a terrible vision of death and mayhem. Instead, she let him fill her completely, losing herself in the emerald and amber depths of his eyes, seeing a reflection of herself there, and choosing to be that person.
She felt the familiar fire growing from where they joined, gaining in strength until an inferno made of passion and love engulfed them. His breath grew haggard against her lips. He entwined his fingers with hers as something completely unfamiliar and frankly scary bore down on them.
Then with a gasp, he tightened his grip, and she cried out as whatever he felt hit her, too. Like the single, clear note of a brass bell, it vibrated through every nerve, so intense she could barely breathe. She clutched Max to her as his body shuddered with hers, consumed by a sensation so powerful and wonderful, she thought she might cry. Slowly it faded, until only the echo of it remained, like waking up from the most beautiful, nonsensical dream she’d ever had.
Wide-eyed and chests heaving, they looked at each other, at a loss for words. Then they began to laugh as giddy delight replaced their shock. They laughed until they ran out of breath, exhausted and excited at the same time. While strains of “Auld Lang Syne” wafted into their room from the condo next door, he wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and kissed her.
“I don’t think I could have done that with anyone else,” she said, and he responded with a smile so bright and beautiful, it gave her stomach butterflies.
Before that moment, she hadn’t thought she could love him any more than she already did. She was wrong.