And there he was. Lying on a futon, asleep. He was sprawled on his back, fully clothed in jeans, high boots, and a leather jacket. He looked good.
Just like the old days, Jez thought. When the gang would stay out all night riding their bikes and hunting or fighting or partying, and then come home in the morning to scramble into clothes for school. Except Morgead, who would smirk at them and then collapse. He didn't have parents or relatives to keep him from skipping.
I'm surprised he's not wearing his helmet, too, she thought, pulling herself back up to the roof. She picked up the fighting stick, maneuvered it into the window, then let herself down again, this time hanging by her hands. She slid in without making a noise.
Then she went to stand over him.
He hadn't changed. He looked exactly as she remembered, except younger and more vulnerable because he was asleep. His face was pale, making his dark hair seem even darker. His lashes were black
crescents on his cheeks.
Evil and dangerous, Jez reminded herself. It annoyed her that she had to remind herself of what Morgead was. For some reason her mind was throwing pictures at her, scenes from her childhood while she was living here in San Francisco with her Uncle Bracken.
A five-year-old Jez, with shorter red hair that looked as if it had never been combed, walking with a little grimy-faced Morgead, hand in hand. An eight-year-old Jez with two skinned knees, scowling as a businesslike Morgead pulled wood splinters out of her legs with rusty tweezers. A seven-year-old Morgead with his face lit up in astonishment as Jez persuaded him to try the human thing called ice cream....
Stop it, Jez told her brain flatly. You might as well give up, because it's no good. We were friends then-well, some of the time-but we're enemies now. He's changed. I've changed. He'd kill me in a second now if it would suit his purpose. And I'm going to do what has to be done.
She backed up and poked him lightly with the stick. "Morgead."
His eyes flew open and he sat up. He was awake instantly, like any vampire, and he focused on her without a trace of confusion. Jez had changed her grip on the stick and was standing ready in case he went straight into an attack.
But instead, a strange expression crossed his face. It went from startled recognition into something Jez didn't understand. For a moment he was simply staring at her, eyes big, chest heaving, looking as if he were caught in between pain and happiness.
Then he said quietly, "Jez."
"Hi, Morgead."
"You came back."
Jez shifted the stick again. "Apparently."
He got up in one motion. "Where the hell have you been?"
Now he just looked furious, Jez noted. Which was easier to deal with, because that was how she remembered him.
"I can't tell you," she said, which was perfectly true, and would also annoy the life out of him.
It did. He shook his head to get dark hair out of his eyes-it was always disheveled in the morning, Jez remembered-and glared at her. He was standing easily: not in any attack posture, but with the relaxed readiness that meant he could go flying in any direction at any moment. Jez kept half her mind on watching his leg muscles.
"You can't tell me? You disappear one day without any kind of warning, without even leaving a note...
you leave the gang and me and just completely vanish and nobody knows where to find you, not even your uncle .. . and now you reappear again and you can't tell me where you were?" He was working himself into one of his Extremely Excited States, Jez realized. She was surprised; she'd expected him to stay cooler and attack hard.
"What did you think you were doing, just cutting out on everybody? Did it ever occur to you that people would be worried about you? That people would think you were dead?"
It didn't occur to me that anyone would care, Jez thought, startled. Especially not you. But she couldn't say that. "Look, I didn't mean to hurt anybody. And I can't talk about why I went. But I'm back now-"
"You can't just come back!"
Jez was losing her calm. Nothing was going the way she'd expected; the things she'd scripted out to say weren't getting said. "I know I can't just come back-"
"Because it doesn't work that way!" Morgead was pacing now, tossing hair out of his eyes again as he turned to glare at her. "Blood in, blood out. Since you're apparently not dead, you abandoned us. You're not allowed to do that! And you certainly can't expect to just walk back in and become my second again-"
"I don't!" Jez yelled. She had to shut him up. "I have no intention of becoming your second-in-command!" she said when he finally paused. "I came to challenge you as leader."
Morgead's jaw dropped.
Jez let her breath out. That wasn't exactly how she'd planned to say it. But now, seeing his shock, she felt more in control. She leaned casually against the wall, smiled at him, and said smoothly, 'I was leader when I left, remember."
"You... have got to be ... joking." Morgead stared at her. "You expect to waltz back in here as leader?"
"If I can beat you. I think I can. I did it once."
He stared for another minute, seeming beyond words. Then he threw back his head and laughed.
It was a scary sound.
When he looked at her again, his eyes were bright and hard. "Yeah, you did. I've gotten better since then."
Jez said three words. "So have I."
And with that, everything changed. Morgead shifted position-only slightly, but he was now in a fighting stance. Jez felt adrenaline flow through her own body. The challenge had been issued and accepted;
there was nothing more to say. They were now facing each other ready to fight.
And this she could deal with. She was much better at fighting than at playing with words. She knew Morgead in this mood; his pride and his skill had been questioned and he was now absolutely determined to win. This was very familiar.
Without taking his eyes from her, he reached out and picked a fighting stick from the rack behind him.
Japanese oak, Jez noted. Heavy, well-seasoned, resilient. Good choice.
The fire-hardened end was very pointy.
He wouldn't try to use that first, though. First, he would go for disarming her. The simplest way to do this was to break the wrist of her dominant hand. After that he'd go for critical points and nerve centers. He didn't play around at this.
A minute change in Morgead's posture alerted her, and then they were both moving.