Knight finished the burger and set it on the plate, and then turned to Hung. “Need t’ take off f’r lunch,” he said, and stripped off the apron. “I think y’ got it f’r this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, taking the plate and putting it in the window for the waitress. Knight went out the back door, to the alley, to Kord’s bike.
Brixl was supposed to have Kitty ready soon, but was taking his time with it. Not to say Kord’s bike wasn’t bad, but he felt badly using it. He felt like an interloper, like he was screwing someone else’s girl. He had to get Kitty back.
He took off down the road, skirting around Ren Center and heading the short distance back to the house. Mal was sick. This was bad, and he knew it – Mal never got sick. Knight didn’t want to think about it, but he intuited that Mal was connected to his land somehow; and he was being poisoned from the inside. He didn’t want to tell Mal, because he didn’t want to sound crazy.
But then, he also believed in some sort of Leopard god – not Tezcatlipoca, but something similar – that knew of the werecats and would…bless their union. Thinking deeply like that bothered Knight; he knew he was no theologian, and that his beliefs, though crazy to others, were felt deep within his heart.
It was something that his mother didn’t give him, but he figured out for himself.
He got home, parking in the garage and then going to the top floor where his apartment was. He walked in, saw that no one had touched anything downstairs, so he went right upstairs.
Mal was in bed. Knight checked the bucket by the bed and cleaned it out, checked the saltines. He’d tried to eat some, he noticed. Knight took a bottle of ginger ale that he had swiped from the bar out of his jacket and left it by the bed.
“Hey,” came a weak voice from the bed.
Knight turned to Mal. “Hey y’self. How’re you feeling?”
“Still – “ he made a waving motion with his hand.
“I brought y’ some ginger ale. Wan’ some?”
Mal grimaced but said, “I guess I should try.” He struggled to sit up but Knight helped, propping pillows behind him. Knight poured him a small glass of ginger ale and let him drink it.
He still looked pale and waxy. Knight almost told him what he thought was wrong, but, again, Mal would think he’s nuts. How could he explain the idea that a person could be tied to the land?
Knight sat at the edge of the bed, stroking Mal’s leg through the blanket. “I’m gonna get off early, righ’ after rush, an’ I’ll be home. If y’r not better, I think y’ should go t’ the doctor.”
Mal shook his head.
“Mal, you heal y’rself. Somethin’ ain’ right.”
“I know,” he said. “But not that. Not human medicine.”
As if I know a shaman, Knight thought. “’kay. I’ll still be home early. See if y’ c’n finish tha’, okay?”
Mal nodded and sipped. Knight knew from first aid that he needed to keep the body hydrated. Otherwise, lots of things would go wrong.
Knight got up, he kissed Mal gently on the lips – he tasted of peppermint and sweetness. Knight caught the sick scent of him, not the strong smell of windswept mountains and snow-fallen woods. He nuzzled against him, putting his scent of the plains on Mal, hoping that would help, and then he kissed him again. “I’ll be back.”
Knight left, praying to his leopard god. Please help him, please.