An I let him. Fer some reason, I let him. I stare straight ahead, not movin, hardly darin to breathe.

DeMalo. I thought of him so many times. An them dreams I had about him, in the vision lodge an other times too. Always so strange an . . . disturbed me. But here we are. Like we know each other. We don’t. I can count on two hands the number of times I seen him. An we never spoke, not really. You don’t speak with yer enemy.

It’s a long drop down Weeping Water, he says.

I give a little laugh. Weepin Water, I says. That fits.

Were you trying to kill yourself? he says.

I says naught.

When I pulled you out, you said no, he says. Let me be, you said.

I don’t remember, I says. I – I jest jumped. Becuz of . . . Nero.

Now I do look at DeMalo. An he looks at me. Properly, fer the first time ever, we look straight at each other. The lamplight brushes his broad cheekbones, his lips, the smooth gleam of his skin. His face is strong. Watchful. Beautiful. With heavy-lidded eyes, so dark they’re almost black.

I feel this pull towards him, between us. I felt it when I first seen him. Like there’s a thin, tight, invisible thread that runs from him to me. An there’s somethin about him – a kinda stillness inside of him – that makes me wanna tell him the truth. That believes he won’t judge me.

Maybe I did mean to kill myself, I says. I didn’t think it outright but . . . maybe the truth is, I didn’t – I don’t – much care one way or th’other.

To walk alone isn’t easy, he says. What about your friends? Your brother and sister? Where are they?

I left, I says.

You’re not the same as them, he says. You’re nothing like them.

I don’t unnerstand, I says. Why’re you bein nice to me? I killed Pinch. You put a price on my head.

Silence. Then, the sudden patter of rain on the tent roof. A moment later, it’s poundin down. It thunders onto the ground outside, splashes in through the flap.

As if we’re not wet enough already, he says. He gits up an pulls the flap to an we’re closed in. Alone. The air’s suddenly heavier.

I stand up. Nero’s cradled in my arms, already fast to sleep. I gotta go, I says. I’m shiverin. Shakin. My clothes hang chill an wet an heavy. My feet’s numb with cold.

DeMalo’s lightin another lantern. He don’t look at me as he says, Somebody waiting for you?

Emmi. Lugh an Maev. Tommo an Slim. Ash an Creed an the rest.

No, I says.

He says, It’s night, it’s raining, Nero’s been injured, you nearly drowned and you’re suffering from delayed shock. Have I forgotten anything?

Yes. I bin betrayed by Jack. Deceived.

No, I says.

Well, then, he says. He takes Nero an settles him in a little crate next to the stove. I clutch the blanket around me, my teeth chatterin. DeMalo takes a pile of clothes from the wooden chest an puts ’em on the bed. Dry clothes, he says. He moves back to the stove an starts to feed it more wood. He crouches, his back turned towards me.

I scuttle to the bed an skin off my sodden gear. Use the blanket to rub the clammy wet from my body. I’m cold to the bone. I ain’t never bin so cold. My teeth chatter in my head. I fumble into a soft shirt that hangs past my knees, thick socks. They’re clean. They carry a faint smell of him. Now I know what it is. Juniper.

Come, sit by the heat, he says.

I dash to the chair by the stove. Pull my knees to my chest an the shirt down over ’em. I hug myself, shiverin. He goes an strips off his wet clothes. I can hear him. If I turned my head, jest a little, I’d see him. DeMalo. Takin his clothes off, not more’n a few foot away. This has gotta be the strangest thing I could ever imagine to happen.

I ain’t fled. I ain’t run or fought him or tried to kill him. I’d of espected the red hot to kick me in the gut the moment I seen who it was pulled me from the water. But no. Not a sign of it.

This ain’t like me. But I ain’t like myself. I’m . . . a me I never bin before. I feel unfettered. Light. Free. Free of Lugh an Jack an everybody else who especks somethin from me. Who especks me to be what they want. I don’t owe them nuthin.

Right now, there ain’t no world outside of this tent. It’s as if everybody an everythin has faded away. Disappeared. Apart from DeMalo an me. An suddenly I know that this is where I’m meant to be. Right here. Right now.

All roads lead to the same place.

That’s better, says DeMalo. I glance over. He’s jest pullin a dry shirt over his head. I catch sight of a tattoo on the smooth skin of his chest. A red risin sun over his heart. My own heart quickens at the sight of his body.

He scoops up my wet clothes that I left in a heap an hangs ’em, along with his, to dry near the stove. Water’s drippin through one corner of the tent. He sets a tin unnerneath. He pulls the plug from a green bottle an pours dark red liquid into two glass jars. He drags a stool over, sits on it an hands me one of the jars.

To chance meetings, he says.

To chance, I says.

We drink. It slips over my tongue, warm an rich an soft an deep. Like a sad song. I ain’t never tasted nuthin like it. What is it? I says.

Wine, he says. He holds his jar up to the light. Very old, he says, very rare. A whisper from a lost world.

The rain rains. The air’s thick with the storm, heavy.

We drink some more. It’s delicious. I’m startin to feel a bit warmer. A bit bolder. D’you have a name? I says. Besides DeMalo, I mean.

Seth, he says. But nobody’s called me that for a very long time.

Seth, I says, tryin it out. I tip my glass to him. Thank you fer savin Nero.

What about you? he says. No thanks for saving you?

I says naught. I hug myself an drink the wine.

Three, he says.

I look at him.

That’s how many times I’ve saved your life, he says. Once at Freedom Fields, once from Vicar Pinch and just now.

The rule of three. If you save somebody’s life three times, their life belongs to you. No. That ain’t nuthin but Jack’s stupid nonsense. Don’t even think that name. Betrayed. Deceived. I hate him.

The rain thunders onto the tent. Water drip drip drips into the tin. Wood crackles an spits inside the iron stove. I stare into my wine. Why did you? I says. Save me all them times? You shouldn’t of. We warn’t on the same side. We still ain’t.

Whose side are you on these days? he says.

Nobody’s, I says.

Not even your own, it seems, he says.

None of this makes sense, I says. You bein kind to me, fixin up Nero. Why didn’t you let me drown? Ain’t you the one who put a price on my head?

Yes, he says.

So, why all this? I says. What now? What d’you want from me?

We look at each other. I can smell the warmth of him. His skin. His hair. Somethin old starts to thrum in my blood.

The rain’s slowin to a patter. It stops. He gits up, throws back the tent flap an checks the sky.

It’s nearly dawn, he says. I’d like to show you something. Will you come?

What is it? I says.

He’s pickin up a lit lantern. Something wonderful, he says. He sees my hesitation. Do you have to be somewhere?

They’ll all be waitin. Angry with me about Jack, blamin me that he took Emmi, waitin fer me to make things right. I cain’t face ’em. I cain’t take no more of my own wrongness. Always wrong about everythin. Hate fer Jack burns in my gut.