Dark Child (Wild Men 5)

“Whatcha want?” he mutters, frowning. He seems unaware of the rest of the family standing in a semi-circle around him as he downs the rest of his drink. His cheeks are flushed. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“Work where?”

He flashes me a look of irritation. “In construction. Want the name of the company? It’s Phil Construction. Gonna check if I’m lying?”

I don’t care one way or another. It’s not what I’m here for.

Well, gee, what a relief. He starts to get up, but sways a little and sits back down on the stool. Out of the corner of my eye I see Jarett taking a step forward as if to catch him, but I shake my head at him.

“Did you fucking want something, or…?” He waves a hand.

“To talk.”

“I don’t fucking wanna talk.”

“I think you do. Just won’t admit it.”

“Yeah, whatever, Dr. Freud.”

“You told us where to find you. You called Octavia the other night, asked her about a silver swan I mentioned.”

He freezes.

It’s fascinating to watch it happen from up close, how his pupils widen, his hands on the bar go still, how his chest seems to stop moving with each breath until he’s a living statue sitting beside me.

“Hi, Ross,” Cos says softly from my left.

The statue moves. His hand spasms on the bar, eyes narrowing. “Who’re you?”

“Cosima. I’m with Merc.” She smiles, not as brightly as she smiles at me, but it has a strange effect on Ross. He hunches over a little, as if in pain, and the hostility leaves his gaze.

“Okay.” His gaze darts around, and he lets out a breath. “So what’s this? A family reunion?” He glances at Octavia. “You’re back to interrogate me some more?”

“No,” she says quietly. “I’m not. This is between you and Merc. We only drove him here.”

“Oh, I see. Sightseeing and ambushing Ross on the day’s schedule?”

“Ambushing? What are you afraid of?” Gigi asks.

“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “What do you people want?”

“The swan,” Cos says. Her voice is so soft, it barely rises over the muted sounds of the bar—stools shuffling on the floor, the bartender talking to a customer, the gurgle of a faucet spewing water in a sink, ancient pipes rumbling in the walls.

But he hears her. His eyes widen for a long second. Then they narrow.

“Why don’t you tell me first,” he turns to me, “what the hell you were doing, calling me that night? You’re the one who started this.” He jabs a finger at me. “You called me. You said those things.”

“What things? I can’t remember.”

“You fucking kidding me? About the river and the swan and the… the ax.” He huffs. “You sounded crazy, or drunk off your ass.”

I catch Gigi’s eyes on me. “I was hopped up on sleeping pills. A bit too many, as it turns out. Too many nightmares can spoil the night, you know?”

Again his eyes widen. Looks like we keep catching him off guard today. “Nightmares,” he repeats dully. “If this is just about fucking dreams…”

“Your turn,” I cut in, as if we’re playing a children’s game, dammit. “Tell us about the swan.”

The goddamn swan, whatever it means, looks like it means quite a bit to Ross, because he pales, chewing on whatever thoughts are going through his head.