"At the Wake"

The Largos somehow allowed Shilo to put her father in a marked grave. They paid for a casket and a funeral and everything, but when Shilo asked about the courtesy, Amber refused to give an explanation. Nathan Wallace was laid to rest with his late wife, far from the damned sinkhole many thought he wholeheartedly deserved.

After the service was over, Shilo went home. She opened the door and stood in the house, suddenly so big and empty and hostile – a far cry from the familiar home she'd always known. The dust motes floating in the air were a sad commentary on her passionless existence. The painting over the fireplace mocked her, saying, I've got him now. You're all alone. No one is going to look after you.

Upstairs, the toilet beckoned. Shilo crouched in front of it and threw up half her body weight. She trembled as she stood and went to the sink to splash water on her face. When she looked in the mirror, a ghost with bloodshot eyes red-rimmed from crying looked back at her. "Oh, God."

"Believe me, kid, I've seen much worse."

Shilo whirled around and swore. It took her a moment to register the man's face, but once she did, she let herself relax. "Graverobber. What are you doing here?"

"I came to offer my condolences," he said.

She swallowed. Her throat was still raw. "You came to say you're sorry to hear my father died?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what condolences are?"

Shilo studied him from head to toe. The last time she saw him, she'd had little time to look at him, but now she had all the time in the world. She remembered the face and the smell, but the rest was entirely new to her. If he'd worn a mask, she wouldn't know him. He was more filled-out than she remembered him, more real, if she were being honest with herself. And dangerous. There was something about him warning her against trusting him even now.

"Don't you have a tomb to rob?"

"It's nice to see you, too." Graverobber helped himself to a seat on her bed. He pushed the plastic curtain aside and frowned as though it had offended him. His lips were dark, Shilo noticed.

"How the hell did you find me, anyway?"

"You've been all over the news for a while now. I heard the funeral was today, and there were some reporters outside your house this morning, so I put two and two together and followed you just to make sure."

"Okay, well, how did you get in here?"

"You left the gate open."

Damn. She'd been too dazed to remember to lock it. Shilo crossed her arms and stared at him. "Did you really come here just to express your sympathy?"

Graverobber scratched the back of his neck and wiped his hand on the curtain. Mud spread over the plastic. He either didn't notice or he didn't care. "Yes and no."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means yes, I did come here to offer my condolences and no, that is not the only motive for my visit." Graverobber held up a finger in a "wait" gesture and began to rifle through the pockets of his coat. Vials clacked together, reminding Shilo of his profession as a street Zydrate dealer. She wondered if he still made good money.

"Do you make good money?" she asked.

"Huh?"

"Selling drugs. Does it pay well?"

"Oh, yeah. I earn a decent living," Graverobber said. "Of course, I accept a lot of sex in place of credit, so I could be doing much better to be honest."

"And how's the sex?"

"Not as awkward as you'd expect, sweaty, dirty, and sometimes messy. Some customers are better than others, but as long as they're giving, I don't much care how good I'm getting." He winked and went back to sifting through the lining of his jacket. Shilo watched him as he worked. His fingers were quick; his movements, deft. He was good with his hands.

"I've never had sex," she said.

He looked up. "Ever?"

"N-no. I'm a virgin."

"Well. How about that." He returned to the task at hand – the pocket search. "I guess I could've figured it out. You know, it makes sense. You've been cooped up in this house your whole life. How were you supposed to get a guy to bang you?"

She blinked.

Graverobber withdrew a glass jar from his pockets and offered it to Shilo with a grin. Inside, she could see a glowing insect. It was one she'd never seen before.

"It was a bitch to find, and I wasn't sure if you'd found one already, but I saw it and went, eh, what the hell. You like it?"

Shilo turned the jar over in her hands and stared wide-eyed at the creature inside it. The light from beneath its exoskeleton was a pale green and reminded her of something she'd seen in a dream long, long ago. She looked at Graverobber and smiled. "I love it! I can't believe you found this!" She handed him the jar and scurried over to her book, hastily flipping through pages until she found what she was looking for. "Solaris princepus! Thanks, you're the best!"

Graverobber tensed instinctively when she hugged him, but then managed to override his reflex and return her enthusiastic embrace. When was the last time someone had hugged him? He paused. Had anyone ever hugged him?

Shilo hadn't let go. This situation was dangerous.

"Kid, I can't breathe."

"What?"

"Let go, okay?"

"Sorry," she said, but she wasn't sorry at all. Shilo pulled away so she was looking up at him, her slim fingers resting on the lapels of his coat. He was warm and soft and somehow more familiar to her than the home she'd been raised in – more comforting, and safer, even.

"You didn't mean that," he said.

"No, I didn't." She blinked. "Did you want me to mean that?"

"No."

Shilo's eyes were glazed. Her eyelashes fluttered, still wet with tears. Her hands slid over his chest. She wanted him. She wanted him to take her pain and grief and sadness away, to help her forget her life was a frigid hell. She needed him to pull her out of her father's grave.

"Sleep with me," she said, pressing her hips against his and biting her lip.

He winced. "I don't think that's a good idea, kid."

Her eyes closed. She was trembling, and Graverobber didn't know what to do about it. He put his arms around her and held her, uncertain. When she buried her face in his chest, he shifted and cleared his throat.

"This is your father's wake. It's not a good time – shhhhhit."

The last word emerged as a hiss. She was squeezing his crotch.

"Less talk," she said. "More action."

He told himself he shouldn't. He swore to himself he wouldn't. He didn't think he could, either – yet, somehow, his body responded to her every virgin ministration. He opened her mouth with his own. He slipped his tongue between her teeth. She fumbled with his belt buckle and he – fool that he was – fumbled with the buttons on her little black dress.

Shilo jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. Graverobber held her tightly as they made out. He carried her over to the bed and they crashed against the plastic curtain. She groped blindly for the zipper. He pulled her inside, and they reached for each other again.

"Your dad's funeral was today," Graverobber said again. "Shouldn't you still be grieving?"

"I've spent seventeen years of my life in mourning. Shut up and screw me before I change my mind."

###

After the sex, Graverobber went into the kitchen to get something to eat. Shilo followed him downstairs, basking in post-coital bliss. The house itself no longer haunted her – she knew there was more to the world than the empty rooms and hallways. She was warm and confident and satisfied, thanks to the carnality she'd been denied in her sheltered upbringing. The painting over the fireplace judged her with a knowing smirk – You're nothing but a filthy little whore. You'll never hear from him again, you know.

Shilo turned to the painting, hands on her hips, and stuck her tongue out at her mother. Distantly, she could hear Graverobber whistling as he rummaged through the pantry. He emerged minutes later with a bottle of wine and two glasses, one of which he handed to her.

They drank a toast to Nathan Wallace. Only when Graverobber apologized for violating Shilo at her father's wake did she realize she was falling for him – and maybe, just maybe, he was falling for her, too.