Fire When Ready
Gold streaks the sky around the sickle of the moon, tendrils of cloud dipping down to dabble in the still black waters of the lake assuming the colours of moonlight.
It's a night for romance.
Outside, anyway.
Josh watches from inside, with a layer of glass between him and the wide world. He sits on the broad windowsill of the library, a twist of the heavy velvet drape between his spine and the wall.
The hands of the silent clock on the mantelpiece tiptoe toward thirteen, and the brash strobes of approaching headlights intrude, precursor to the rumbling of an idle engine. There's a rise and fall of males voices, a clicking of doors and the spitting of gravel as the engine accelerates away.
Josh stays where he is, between the moonlight and the sprawling radiance of a trio of floor lamps by the central grouping of furniture. Their prismatic shades convert electricity to broken rainbows.
Kelly leans a shoulder against the door, storm grey eyes targeting Josh immediately. "Bad dream?"
Josh abandons the lake and the moon to their mutual appreciation. "Bad waking," he admits.
Kelly massages his sternum. Some brief emotion flits over his angular face, distorting it for a second. "Yeah, been there too often myself, lately."
The rubbing of his knuckles seems automatic, absent, and that's very unlike Kelly. Josh runs his tongue over the edges of his teeth. "How are the hands?"
Kelly pulls his fist away and holds it flat at arms length from him. "No tremors anymore. And I've got full range of motion. The scar tissue isn't as bad as expected."
"But."
Kelly pushes off the doorjamb and slouches into the library proper, bringing the flavour of night air with him. "Malcolm says the scarring will stay or go of its own accord and there's nothing he can do to speed the decision."
"A vampire doctor." Josh shakes his head, still coming to terms with the concept.
Kelly stretches lengthwise on the couch, sighing deeply as he shoves a cushion under his head. "Hey, who better than someone who loves being alive."
"Point."
Josh stretches out his legs, tapping his toes on the opposite side of the window ledge before swinging them down to the floor. He wanders idly, touching the spines and shelves. Picking up Barbara Hambly's Bride of the Rat God from the barrel-belly table he slides it home on its shelf. The walls of books are reassuring, full of knowledge, celebrating what if, and exploring ideas, dreams.
Josh shudders.
"I loved to sleep at night," he says suddenly, the words escaping. "Now I think I might be afraid of the dark." His knees lose their tension and he folds into one of the big leather chairs.
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