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of the bed to wait for Marc’s return. He wasn’t hiding from
Kate, he tried to tell himself, but the lie was hard to
believe.
    His sword was propped up
against the wall, sheathed in a scabbard Marc had had made to
replace the one Blake had lost in the demon dimension. Blake had
tried the scabbard on, and told Marc it fit him well, and that much
was true. Somehow, though, it felt as though Blake himself didn’t
fit that scabbard anymore. The weight of the sword felt strange on
his shoulder, almost alien.
    He had tried a few times to
get accustomed to it by running through balance exercises—the same
exercises he had loathed when Marc had taught them to him after
turning him. He had even sparred with Marc a couple of times. Kate
had offered to train with him, too, but he had found an excuse to
say no every time she suggested it. He couldn’t bear the thought of
raising a weapon against her, even to spar. It had been all he
could do to make himself strike at Marc, and the entire time a
little voice deep inside him had shouted that he would be punished
for this, punished so badly he would wish he would die.
    Every time he touched the
sword, the little voice started to shout again. He couldn’t help
but wonder what would happen once they returned to the front line.
He was the one who had suggested it, but he had done so because
Marc and Kate missed the fight, being useful, and probably the
physical outlet for their frustrations. Maybe he was fooling Marc
and Kate, but he couldn’t fool himself. He wasn’t ready to fight
demons again. He wanted to, but he wasn’t there yet. His body was
healed, his strength back, but his mind was still a mess, however
much he tried to hide that fact from everyone, himself
included.
    When, a few minutes later,
Marc returned and came to stand by the door to Blake’s room, it
took Blake a few seconds to focus on him.
    “ Ready?” Marc
asked.
    Blake didn’t know how to
answer, so he lied.
    “ Ready,” he echoed, and
picked up his sword.
     
    * * * *
     
    Three hours after they had
left the safety of Riverton, Kate declared that she was too tired
to keep driving and stopped the car. They all took the opportunity
to get out and stretch their legs. Blake in particular was glad for
the respite, even if he tried not to show it when Marc threw him a
badly disguised look of concern. The car was small to begin with,
and having four people in it made it feel absolutely
tiny.
    Being out at night wasn’t
such a good idea, but Kate had stopped at the top of a small hill
from which they could see the countryside all around them; no
demons would be able to creep up on them unnoticed.
    Simon was the first to go
back to the car, muttering about feeling chilled. When he reached
for the back door, Kate stopped him with a word.
    “ Wait. Do you mind riding
in the front? I’d like to lie down and get a bit of
sleep.”
    Simon’s eyes flicked toward
Blake; since they had left Riverton, Simon had tried to make small
talk two or three times, and no doubt he had intended to try again.
Blake felt bad for not replying to his attempts with more than one
word at a time, but it was all he could do to distract himself from
how stiflingly small the car was. Being polite or friendly was
beyond him.
    “ Sure,” Simon said. “But
I’ll want a turn later.”
    Both Simon and Kate climbed
back into the car. Marc stood by the driver’s door, his gaze
unreadable as he considered Blake.
    “ Are you okay?” he asked,
failing to conceal the worry in his voice.
    Blake nodded in lieu of
answer. “Do you want me to take a turn at driving?”
    Marc’s shoulders twitched
into what could have looked like a nonchalant shrug if Blake hadn’t
known him so well. “Let me take this one,” he said. “You can get
the next shift.”
    To Blake, it sounded like
Marc didn’t quite trust him with the wheel. Blake wouldn’t put it
past him not to surrender the driver’s seat until sunrise was close
enough to stop them anyway.