Not unless Xhex was a closet meteorologist and John was giving her the weather report of her life.
And good for them. Considering how hard-core things had been with John and those treadmills, it was a blessing.
Blay took a second to debate returning to the mansion, and decided that given how long Qhuinn could go, it was too early to head for his room. Ducking into locker-landia, he took a quick shower and changed into a pair of scrubs from the Vishous collection. Out in the corridor once again, he hustled along, pushing through into the office and shutting the door tight.
Quick hearing test and everything was quiet as far as he knew, which was just what he was after. Unfortunately, a check of his watch showed he'd blown through only about an hour and a half total. To think he'd always assumed an efficient shower was a wonderful thing.
Considering his alternatives, he decided to sit behind the desk. After all, studiously not listening to Xhex and John was an issue of decorum. Tuning out Qhuinn and Layla? Self-preservation.
Much better to rock the former than the latter.
Parking it in the swivel chair, he stared at the phone.
Saxton had been one hell of a kisser.
One. . . hell. . . of a kisser.
Blay's eyes briefly closed as heat wafted through him, like someone had started up a banked fire in his stomach.
He reached out to the receiver. . . and couldn't commit, his hand hovering, but not picking up.
And then he remembered Layla s
auntering out of his bathroom, heading for Qhuinn.
Snatching the receiver from its cradle, he dialed Saxton's number and wondered what the hell he was doing as the line rang.
". . . Hello. . . "
Blay frowned and straightened in the office chair. "What's wrong?" Long pause. "Saxton?"
There was a cough and a wheeze. "Yes, 'tis I. . . "
"Saxton, what the hell is going on?"
There was a terrible silence. "You know, I loved kissing you. " The strangled voice became wistful. "And I loved"--another cough--"being with you. I could look into your face for ages. "
"Where are you?"
"At home. "
Blay looked at his watch again. "Where is that. "
"Are you seeking to play hero?"
"Do I need to?"
This time the coughing didn't stop after just one hitch. "I'm afraid. . . I. . . must go. "
There was a click and the call went dead.
With his instincts screaming, Blay bolted through the closet into the underground tunnel, and dematerialized past the steps that led up to the mansion.
He took form again in front of another door hundreds of yards down.
At the Pit's entry, he put his face in the camera's eye and hit the intercom. "V? I need you. "
As he waited, he prayed to the Scribe Virgin that Vishous was--