Free Embrace The Night by Joss Ware Page A

slender, delicate body with curves exactly where they should be.
    And she was going to be climbing twenty-three flights of stairs in front of him.
    “I’ll go first,” he said, slipping past her. “One flight at a time, then you follow.”
    She nodded, surprising him when he was prepared to have to argue and explain the logic of allowing his heavier weight to confirm that the old steps were stable. “Right behind you.”
    Simon turned and jogged up the first few flights. The steps were metal and the railings completely intact, except for peeling paint, even after fifty years. He’d gone up a different stairwell awhile earlier, and was confident that they would hold. But it was a good excuse to not have to torture himself.
    Twenty minutes later, they reached the top floor of the tower where Remington Truth had a penthouse. Birds fluttered and took flight as Simon and Sage walked across what would have been the threshold to the condo’s entrance. Something rustled in a pile of leaves caught up in the corner.
    The apartment’s expansive French doors sagged in place. On the next wall, a stream of light came through a wedge of broken window, while the rest of the plate glass shone grimy and gray. A lush patch of green grew on the floor in an elongated vee where the pure sun would shine and rain would enter, though a bit of tenacious growth attempted to spread beyond the triangular patch.
    “I can’t believe it’s still intact,” commented Sage.
    Simon raised a finger to his lips and gestured for her to hold back. He didn’t think anyone was here, but he wasn’t about to assume anything. On feet silent over the dried leaves and branches, he moved to the doors and carefully peered into the room beyond.
    The place was in shambles, as one would expect. Shadowy furnishings melded with strips and patches of sunlight, and vines and bushes sprouted everywhere. Nothing moved. No sign of life.
    Easing the door open, he slipped through and crooked his finger for Sage to follow.
    She raised her brows as if to ask permission to speak—why did women always have to talk?—and he nodded, shifting away so that he wouldn’t brush against her shoulder.
    “If he was one of the Strangers, one of the people that caused the Change, do you think he meant to live here After?” she asked, looking around the room. “I mean, it might not be an accident that his home wasn’t destroyed. Do you think?”
    Good point.
Simon shrugged. “You might be right. But he’s not here now.”
    “And he hasn’t been here for decades. Or they wouldn’t be looking for him. I mean, if you found out about this place so easily…” She’d moved along the perimeter of the room, trailing her hand over leather sofas and along a long sleek table, kicking up dust and disturbing birds, mice, and God knew what else. It didn’t seem to bother her, though.
    Not squeamish. Smart and practical. And the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
    Pinche.
    Simon turned away and cruised along the other side of the room, then down a dark hall. Something slithered over his foot and he kicked it away, then felt something else bump into his heel as it scurried for safety. No, Remington Truth hadn’t lived here for a long time.
    He wasn’t certain exactly what to look for anyway. Surely anything of interest would have been destroyed or found long before now.
    What had been the master bedroom opened before him, complete with a waterbed long since drained and a jetted tub large enough for half a dozen people. The skylight over the tub was broken, and tall slender plants grew in the circle of light, spindly and greedy for sun. They looked like skinny bamboo plants, with their random, delicate leaves near the top.
    Maybe Truth had some good-luck feng shui bamboo that had sprouted. Simon grimaced as he was reminded that, along with her myriad of crystals, Florita had grown a few stalks of curling green bamboo in a glass vase. She’d lectured Simon on how important their