The Sword and the Scythe

Chapter 26: Let Her Go

The day after he arrived at the American Faction's headquarters, Leroy woke up from the same awful nightmare of his mother dragging him into the ocean. He wasn't sure why, but he was having them more and more frequently. In the hundred years since he'd died, he'd had the dreams fairly frequently—once every couple of months or so, and then none in the four years he'd shared a bed with Charlotte.

Now, he'd been having the same dream every time he fell asleep.

Why now? What was his subconscious trying to tell him?

Running his hands through his hair and down over his face, he took a deep breath. He didn't have time to think about what the dreams meant. He needed to get a meeting with Hamilton's council so he could get Charlotte as far away from Thomas Clarke as possible.

The problem was...he didn't know how to find any of them. Hell, he didn't even know who any of them were. With another deep breath, he ventured out of his suite and knocked on Philip's door—the suite directly beside his.

Philip opened the door, greeting Leroy with a smile. "Good morning. You're actually up at a decent hour for once. Do you want breakfast? We could go downstairs. The coffee shop we showed you yesterday actually makes an excellent omelet. Or I guess I could whip us up something if you want..."

"I didn't come for breakfast, Philip."

"Oh, well, then what—"

"Don't pretend like you don't know why I'm here. You need to tell me where I find this council that makes all the decisions. Your dad said I could meet with them, and that's what I intend to do."

"Well, what he said was that you'd need their approval for any attempts to rescue your friend and that you could meet with them in a few days...not that you could barge in whenever you felt like it."

"Fine. Tell me how to get on the list to talk to them as soon as there's an open agenda spot."

"It doesn't work like that, but I'll go see what I can do after breakfast. I'll come find you once I get it sorted out."

Leroy stomped angrily down to the little coffee house to get himself a bagel and a black coffee to take back up to his room. There was a long line—apparently all the other American Grims started their day the same way. By the time he got to the front of the line, he was agitated. He ordered, and took the food back to his suite, not feeling any better after the outing.

Resting on the pristine white couch in the living room was a beautiful acoustic guitar. Leroy set his food on the kitchen table and wandered over to the couch. It was a flawless instrument: a Gibson Hummingbird—the sister guitar to the Dove he'd been using since the '60s. He sat down on the couch and pulled it into his lap—it looked brand new despite surely being fifty years old. He strummed a few chords, loving the warmth of the sound and wondering why he hadn't added one of these to his collection of guitars years ago.

He played absently for several minutes before he found himself starting off with an A flat major chord, letting it carry him away into the sweet, simple melody he'd been working on for months. He hummed the lyrics he'd written months ago but never sung aloud. The song didn't have a title because he never really planned on performing it. It was a song he'd been writing about Charlotte, long before she ever found out the truth of what he was. It was only ever intended as a way to work through his pent-up feelings for her and nothing more.

Now he almost wished that he had played it for her—sung the words to it and everything—just once. If he couldn't get her away from the European Grims, he'd never have the chance.