Copper and Salt, page 7
“What now?” Oren asked.
“Nothing,” Alex said, standing. “Will you show me… how to make your pancakes?”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Oren said, narrowing his eyes, but Alex kept his own gaze averted as Oren stood up.
Alex proved to be a terrible cook, beating the batter for too long and unable to determine when the pancakes were ready to be flipped, but Oren gamely ate the finished products, swallowing the bits of charcoal and giving a thumb’s up when Alex looked at him anxiously for approval.
“So what do you do today?” Alex asked, resting his elbows on the table and cradling his chin on his hands.
“Gotta get back to work on those orders,” Oren said. “Now that the snowstorm’s over, I’ll be expected in town soon anyway, so I need to have the first few ready to go.”
“Can I—”
“You want to come with me again?” Oren asked, a little startled. “Sure, kiddo, but aren’t you getting bored of my workshop by now?”
“It has you in it,” Alex said simply, and Oren caught his breath as the butterfly under his ribs stirred.
“Sweet-talker,” he said, keeping his tone light, and stood to clear the dishes. “Can you read English?” he asked over his shoulder. “It occurs to me that if so, I have bookshelf upon bookshelf that you can choose from.”
“Da,” Alex said, stacking the dishes still on the table. “I am not—fast, but I can read more than I speak. At home, in village, I always had book in my hands. Mihai teased, said the world would go past me and I would never know.”
Oren laughed as he washed the dishes and cleaned the counters. “That sounds about right.”
Alex picked out one of Oren’s favorites, a sci-fi action story based loosely on the battle of Rorke’s Drift, and Oren looked at him in surprise.
“Are you sure?” he said. “Not that I’m casting aspersions on your intelligence, but the vocabulary might be a little over your head.”
Alex shrugged, tucking the crutch under one arm and the book under the other. “If I do not understand, you can explain to me, yes?”
“Sure,” Oren said. As if I could say no to that face.
At some point, he reflected halfway through the day, carefully setting a tiny windowsill in place, Alex might stop surprising him, but it didn’t seem like it would be any time soon.
Alex was curled up in his chair, the blankets pulled up almost to his chin and the book in front of his nose as he devoured it.
He’d asked for clarification of a few things at the very beginning of the story, getting a feel for the setting, but from there he’d barely looked up, turning page after page in rapt absorption.
Over dinner, Oren shook his head, smiling to himself. “Liking it?”
“So much,” Alex said without looking up. “Although I do not understand some things. Why do the Krai eat anything?”
Oren laughed quietly. “Haven’t you ever met someone who’ll inhale anything set in front of them?”
“Yes,” Alex said, finally glancing away from the book. “Mihai is like that. He will eat anything.”
“Well, the Krai just take it to an extreme. Plus it’s funny, and the author uses that to excellent advantage.”
Alex hummed thoughtfully. “And the… how do you say it—di’Tay…”
“The di’Taykan?”
“Da,” Alex said, cutting his green beans into several pieces and impaling them on his fork. “I do not understand why they have so much sex.”
Oren couldn’t help his snort at that. “It’s a biological imperative.”
“A what?”
“Uh… means that they literally need sex to live.”
Alex grimaced and put his fork down. “I would not… want to be like that.”
Oren watched his face, the play of shadows under Alex’s haunted eyes. “Has it ever been good for you, Alex?” The words were out before he could think better of asking the question.
Alex looked up. “It has been… not bad sometimes.” He lifted one bony shoulder, toying with his fork. “I could pretend I was—away. Not in my body, you know?”
Oren swallowed grief and nodded. “You wanna go read by the fireplace?”
“If you will be there,” Alex said.
“Let me just wash up and we’ll do that,” Oren said.
He looked out the window as he set the pot to soak. The snow was definitely melting, which meant that by tomorrow the roads might be navigable. Alex was going to insist on leaving in the morning.
Dread swelled in Oren’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Who knew what Alex was walking into, going back for Mihai like this?
He dried his hands off and climbed up to the living room to where Alex was already on the couch, his good leg tucked underneath him and book propped on his knee.
Oren chose a book off the shelf at random, barely seeing the titles, and sat down beside him. Alex immediately shifted his weight, curling up against Oren’s side like a cat, solid and warm under Oren’s arm.
I can’t, Oren thought helplessly. I barely know him and I already can’t bear to think of losing him.
“Bi—bio—biological… what is other word?” Alex asked.
“Imperative,” Oren managed. “Biological imperative.”
“Da,” Alex murmured, rubbing his cheek on Oren’s shirt. “This is my… biological imperative.” He sounded half-asleep already, drowsy and content.
Oren closed his eyes. He had absolutely no idea what to do.
When the fire had burned to its embers, Oren finally stirred and reluctantly dislodged Alex, by now fully asleep, in order to carry him to bed. Alex turned his face into Oren’s chest, his arms around Oren’s neck, and Oren climbed the stairs and set him gently in the bed, pulling the covers up into place.
Alex snuggled down into the pillows with a sigh and Oren couldn’t resist smoothing his hair off his forehead.
“Donkey,” he whispered.
He made himself as comfortable as possible on the couch, questioning yet again why he’d bought it in the first place as he tossed and turned, a spring poking him in the ribs and another in the thigh.
Around three AM, Oren heard a tinkle of glass downstairs and he sat up straight, wondering if he’d dreamt it. It came again and he swore to himself and nearly fell off the couch in his haste to get upstairs. He wasn’t exactly a high risk for break-ins, this far out. It had to be Andrei, back now that the roads were clear.
Alex was sound asleep, his mouth lax and soft, hand tucked beneath his cheek.
Oren took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm so that he could think.
Andrei’s men didn’t know the layout of his house. They’d likely search the downstairs first. But that wouldn’t take long and then they’d be upstairs and the game would be up. Oren had minutes, at best.
Thank God he was a neat housekeeper. There was literally no sign of Alex’s presence in the house except for Alex himself, which meant that all Oren had to do was figure out what to do with him.
He scooped Alex up out of the bed and ran for the wardrobe as Alex startled awake in his arms.
“Oren, what is it, what is wrong?”
Oren was too busy dragging the heavy doors of the wardrobe open to answer immediately. He set Alex on the lip of the beast and then felt for the spring.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he said through his teeth. It gave under his searching fingers and the false bottom of the wardrobe slid back silently.
Alex stared at him, his eyes huge in the moonlight.
“There are men in the house,” Oren said. “I need you to hide in here. Can you do that?”
Alex swallowed hard and nodded jerkily. He crawled into the space, drawing his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, pressing his face against his knees.
Oren reached in and touched his hair and Alex looked up at him. “It’s going to be okay,” Oren said. “I won’t let them touch you. Don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear.”
He slid the bottom back into place over Alex’s form without waiting for a response and swung the doors shut, turning to survey the room. He could hear feet climbing the stairs, and he grabbed the baseball bat that he kept by the bed and charged into battle.
He burst from the bedroom with a bloodcurdling scream, swinging the bat wildly, and heard a meaty thud as the bat connected with someone’s shoulder and they grunted in shock and pain.
Oren swung again, but the bat stopped mid-arc and then it was ripped from his hands and fingers were crushing his windpipe as he was forced back into his bedroom.
Oren clawed at the hand on his throat, choking and gasping, blackness crowding his vision.
“Let him go, Mikhail,” someone said, sounding bored. “Boss said not to kill him.”
The force on his throat abruptly eased and Oren went to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes as he dragged in air.
Someone was bending over him, flattened nose and small eyes, thin, cruel mouth—the goon who’d been with Andrei.
“Remember me?” he said.
Oren managed a nod.
Mikhail was busy tearing Oren’s bedroom apart, behind him. Something shattered and Oren flinched.
“Where is he?” the goon asked.
“Who?” Oren rasped.
“Bedroom empty, Nikolai,” Mikhail called.
“Check the bathroom and kitchen,” Nikolai said. “I’m going to talk to our friend here.” He hauled Oren to his feet by his shirt with frightening ease and tossed him onto the bed.
Oren sprawled across the mattress as Nikolai loomed over him.
“Where is he?” he repeated.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Oren managed through the fear threatening to choke him.
“Where is it?”
Oren blinked at that, thrown. “Where’s… what?”
“You know what,” Nikolai said. “Tell me where it and the syavka are, no one has to get hurt.”
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oren said, struggling to get his elbows beneath him.
Nikolai gazed at him contemplatively. “Boss thinks you’re lying. Me? I think I don’t care. I get paid either way. But it doesn’t look good, I think. So you tell me what you know, yes?”
“I don’t know anything!” Oren said, dragging himself upright. He prayed that Alex would have the sense to stay silent and not give himself away. There was no point in both of them having to suffer.
“Maybe not,” Nikolai agreed. “So let’s find out.” He punched him and Oren’s world went dark.
Oren woke up flat on his back with Alex on the floor beside him, patting his face and sounding like he was trying to stifle tears.
“Please wake up,” he was saying, over and over. “Please, Oren.”
Oren groaned. It felt like he’d been run over by a semi with a grudge. The entire left side of his face hurt, and from the state of his ribs, Nikolai had left a parting gift or two there as well.
Alex caught his breath. “Oren?”
Oren opened his eyes. Alex was leaning over him, his cheeks wet.
“Ow,” Oren said.
“Don’t move,” Alex said, his tone anxious.
“Man, that guy’s got a punch like a mule,” Oren said, feeling his face gingerly. “Are you sure they’re gone?”
Alex nodded. “You should lie down right… in right way.”
“As long as you stay with me,” Oren said, his eyes still closed.
“I will,” Alex said, his voice wobbly.
He did his best to help Oren to his feet and onto the bed, both of them swaying dangerously, and Oren made himself comfortable with a groan, sinking into the pillow.
“I’m so sorry,” Alex whispered miserably.
Oren opened his eyes to see Alex looking at him from a few inches away, brown eyes full of guilt.
“I should have come out,” Alex managed. Even in the dark, Oren could see the tears in his eyes. “I should have stopped him.”
“How?” Oren countered. “You’re a buck twenty soaking wet and a stiff breeze would knock you over. Besides, you’re what he wanted. If you’d come out, he’d have killed me and taken you. I’d rather be bruised than dead.” He reached down, groping for Alex’s hand and twining their fingers together. “Andrei’s a piece of shit,” he said. “You’re not to blame for his actions. He’d have done this whether you were here or not.”
“Oren,” Alex whispered.
“Rest,” Oren said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
7
Alex was awake before Oren, making his way to the bathroom silently. Oren woke as Alex returned and sat up in the bed, yawning and stretching.
“Ow,” he said again, feeling delicately at his face.
“How do you feel?” Alex asked anxiously, sitting down on the bed beside him.
“Sore,” Oren said, dropping his hand and smiling at him. Alex didn’t return the smile. “How about some breakfast?” Oren said, and Alex shrugged.
Oren stayed close on the way to the living room, but Alex was getting fairly adept with the crutch and made it to the couch on his own without a problem, collapsing in his usual boneless sprawl on one end.
Oren sat down next to him. Breakfast could wait—whatever was bothering Alex needed to be addressed first.
“Spit it out,” he said.
Alex looked confused. “Spit—what?”
“What’s going through your head?” Oren said. “Something’s obviously eating you up inside. Tell me what it is.”
Alex drooped, his entire body a curve of guilt. “Is my fault,” he whispered. “All of this, because of me.”
Oren reached out and took his hand, rubbing his knuckles gently with a thumb. “That’s not true,” he said. “You want to blame someone, blame Andrei.”
Alex shook his head, staring at the floor as a tear slid down his cheek. “Mihai was sold because of me,” he managed, the words sounding as if they were being dragged from his throat.
Oren went very still. “What does that mean, Alex?”
Alex finally looked up, more tears spilling down his face. “I fail—my high school exams. Math—I cannot get it, I just—” He swiped at his cheeks with the back of his free hand. “Teacher say I can retake tests, get diploma in three months, but without it, I cannot get job, I cannot help our parents.”
Oren was beginning to put the pieces together. “So you failed to get your high school diploma, which meant you couldn’t get a decent job, which meant you couldn’t help with the family’s income.”
“Yes,” Alex whispered. He sounded like he’d swallowed shards of glass, his voice broken and hoarse. “My parents could not… feed us. They would have sold me, I think, but they knew I would fight. And anyway, I was too old. Mihai… Mihai was so young, so gentle and—” He broke off with a sob and Oren pulled him into his arms, down onto the couch next to him.
“Let it out,” he said against Alex’s ear, clasping him tight. “Let it all go, sweetheart, you’ll feel better for it. You’ve been holding it in for too long.”
Alex made an awful choked wail and began to weep in earnest, his frame heaving in deep sobs as he grieved.
Oren could feel hot tears on his own face as he held him, wishing he could do something to ease Alex’s pain, to fix the situation.
Alex burrowed closer, clutching at Oren’s shirt as his weeping began to taper off into gentler tears. Oren rubbed his back, crooning nonsense into his hair until Alex finally lifted his head.
“I am sorry,” he whispered.
Oren couldn’t resist dropping a kiss on his nose, making Alex’s eyes go almost comically wide.
“Don’t be silly,” he said. “Besides, I’m a lot cheaper than a therapist.”
Alex’s brows drew together. “You are so… strange.”
Oren laughed a little, wincing as it pulled on his abused facial muscles, and sat up. “So I’ve been thinking.”
Alex sat up too, watching Oren’s face, his expression wary.
“I think we should go to the police today,” Oren said.
“No,” Alex said instantly, recoiling so fast he nearly fell off the couch.
Oren went after him, capturing both his hands. “Alex, listen to me.”
Alex was shaking his head desperately, terror on his face. “They will kill him, Oren, when they see police, they will—”
“We’ll make sure they understand not to go barging in guns blazing,” Oren said. “We’ll tell them the situation, make them see how much danger Mihai and the others are in, and that they have to handle it properly.” He gestured to his face. “I think between the two of us, we have more than enough evidence that these are bad guys and they’ll need to take it seriously.”
“But—”
Oren tightened his grip. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
Alex looked up at him, his eyes still wet.
Oren smiled, a touch rueful. “I’m no one’s idea of a hero, honey. Do you really think that you with your broken ankle and me with my skill at making pancakes would be able to storm the castle on our own?”
“It is house,” Alex said.
Oren couldn’t help his laugh as the butterfly in his chest stirred again. “God, you’re adorable. I just meant that the two of us on our own aren’t exactly a force to be reckoned with. The cops can help, Alex, that’s what they’re there for.”
Alex looked at him, eyes dark and unreadable. “You do not want to be found either.”
Oren let go of Alex’s hands and sat back on his heels, running his fingers through his hair. “I guess everyone has to stop running sometime.”
“No.” Alex shook his head. “That would be… my fault too. No.”
“Grown man,” Oren reminded him. “My decision.”
“But Oren—”
“Sweetheart,” Oren said, cupping his face. “Stop talking. My mind’s made up.”
Alex brought a hand up, holding Oren’s hand in place against his cheek, and went to his knees. He moved slowly, giving Oren plenty of time to stop him as he lowered his face until their lips were touching. Oren’s breath hitched and he forgot how to breathe, caught up in the warm slide of Alex’s lips and tongue, fingers threading through his hair, one thumb stroking his cheekbone. Alex kissed hesitantly, as if afraid to make a mistake, but he tasted like sunlight and absolution and Oren could have stayed there forever, sitting awkwardly on the side of the lumpy couch as he memorized Alex’s mouth.
