Chapter Eight

“I was wondering…” a voice inquired diffidently into the ether. “Are you hiring?”

I jerked my head out of the paper. A small, brown-haired woman stood on the other side of the counter. She was young, and she looked clean — that was my main impression. She looked quiet. Beyond that, she was about as nondescript as a woman could be and still remain visible to the human eye.

I was afraid to move, afraid to speak too loudly in case I scared her off. I asked carefully, “When could you start?”

Possibly that came across as too needy. Her brown eyes widened.

“Don’t you want me to fill out an application?”

“Absolutely. When can you start?”

I smiled, but apparently it was not a reassuring effort. She said warily, “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Full-time? Part-time?”

“Whatever I can get, I guess.”

Did she guess about everything? Were there no certainties in her young life?

“What’s your name?”

“Velvet. Velvet White.”

See, this is why people should have to be licensed to have kids. Imagine going through years of homeroom as White, Velvet.

“Hang on, Velvet,” I told her. “I’ll find an application.”

I hustled to find the forms in the storeroom archives before Velvet had time to make an escape. Still doubtful, she filled the application out at one of the library tables in the back, while I went into the office to let LAPD know that I might have been the last person to see Gabriel Savant before he vanished.

* * * * *

Velvet showed up on time Sunday morning. We spent the day going over basics. She seemed to be an intelligent life form — at least she followed directions, and that seemed as good a place as any to start.

When she showed for work on Monday, I began to think I had a live one. She was quiet, even quieter than Angus, and she seemed to watch me when she thought I wasn’t noticing. I figured she’d relax as soon as she realized that her first impression was wrong, that I was actually quite the model of mental stability — barring recent lapses.

I hadn’t heard from Jake since Thursday night. Monday night was one of our usual get-togethers, but I had agreed to meet Lisa’s councilman for dinner. I left word on Jake’s cell phone, but still hadn’t heard from him when time came to close shop.

So when the downstairs phone rang, I doubled back to pick it up, though I was already running late.

A pause followed my greeting. Then, “We’re watching you,” whispered the voice on the other end.

“Yeah? Did you see what I did with my keys?”

Silence. Then dial tone.

These younger demons. So easily discouraged.

Not discouraged enough, though, I had to admit half an hour later as I negotiated my way into the river of cars flooding the I-210. I got my cell phone out and dialed Guy Snowden’s number.

No answer.

Was the man ever home? I left a message, flipped shut the cell, and returned my attention to insinuating my way into the fast lane.

The good news was that they apparently only had the shop number. The bad news was that, regardless of what Guy believed, the minions of evil were still way too interested in my corner of the cosmos.

Why?

I merged onto the C-118, considering this objectively.

* * * * *

Down in the valley, the valley so low, lights glittered in the blackness like jewels in a pirate’s chest. The Odyssey offers a spectacular view of the San Fernando Valley at night if you can get a table by a window. The councilman could and did.

“Glad you could make it, Adrien,” he said gruffly, giving me another of those industrial-sized handshakes. His eyes bored into me under the shaggy eyebrows.

I batted something inane back, and we settled into our game.

Over drinks we discussed cars, gas prices, traffic, California’s economy, and scotch versus whiskey. Or maybe it was whiskey versus scotch. Bill was drinking Johnny Walker Black Label, which apparently wasn’t up to scratch. I stuck to Chivas Regal, and apparently that was also for the tourists. He promised me the life-altering experience of a “wee dram” of Laphroaig at Christmas. I declared myself ready and willing, and wondered if there was any chance in hell of avoiding a full-scale family Christmas with “the troops,” as Bill referred to his harem.

Classical music and the murmur of voices from other tables filled the silences, which fortunately weren’t many.

We ordered, both opting for seafood, for which the Odyssey is justly famous. Over our meals, Bill filled me in on what a city councilman actually does. I wasn’t sure I was getting my tax money’s worth.

The soft lights, sweet music, and gallons of alcohol began to have their effect. Bill’s keen eye grew less keen, his voice went deep and resonant with emotion.

“When Eleanor, my first wife, died, I believed that I would never remarry, never find anyone who could begin to fill that void. I’ve known and admired Lisa — your mother — for many years, but I never dreamed…”

I nodded — not so much in encouragement as indicating that he need say no more.

He went on to tell me that obviously no one would have to tell me how beautiful and delightful and charming and intelligent and warm and wonderful Lisa was, and I agreed and kept agreeing, but he seemed to be on a roll. He assured me that Lisa would never have to want for aught. But since she didn’t now, I only managed a few polite sounds. He said he realized that he didn’t need to ask my permission to marry my mother, but that it meant a lot to both of them if I would give my blessing.

He seemed perfectly sincere. I figured that he might be a throwback, but he certainly did have nice old-fashioned manners.

“If this is what Lisa wants,” I said by way of blessing.

He nodded. We had more drinks and finished our dinner. See, that wasn’t so bad, I reassured myself, as Bill appropriated the bill.

But I was kidding myself if I thought the male bonding was over for the night. Bill offered port and a Cuban cigar by the fire pit out on the patio.

I accepted the port and declined the cigar.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was forgetting. You have a heart condition, I understand.”

“Very mild.”

He nodded politely — Lisa had likely convinced him I would never see forty.

Thanks to a freak bout with rheumatic fever when I was sixteen, the valves of my heart were damaged. As long as I didn’t do anything too stupid, it wasn’t usually a problem, although maybe it gave me a different perspective from most guys my age. Getting involved in a couple of murder investigations had reinforced my conviction that life was short and happiness pretty damn fragile.

Bill and I drank in silence that was not exactly companionable, but not unfriendly. The scent of cigar mingled with the fire and the hint of sage from the surrounding hills.

Dauten tapped cigar ashes over the railing, said gruffly, with the air of a bull who knows damn well it’s in a china shop, “I know that you live a…uh…an alternative lifestyle, Adrien. I don’t want you to feel that any of us would judge…would feel… We want you to be comfortable, and of course, any friend of yours would naturally be welcome in our home at any time.”

I went cold. Had Lisa told him about Jake? Had she named names? Was there any likelihood that Dauten would bump into Jake in the normal course of either of their jobs?

“Thank you,” I got out.

“You’re one of the family now.”

Talk about cults. “I…yes.”

He held his brandy snifter out, we clinked glasses ever so carefully.

* * * * *

Velvet departed for an early break on Tuesday, Lord of the Rings lunchbox in hand — what is it with girls and that elf, by the way?

Not long after she’d left, two young females sauntered in. Although there is really no typical bookstore customer, this pair looked like they would be more at home in a mall in Hades.

One was tall and blonde. She looked familiar. In fact, she looked a lot like one of my new sisters tricked out for Halloween — though I assumed she would have mentioned if we were destined to share ceremonial turkey in the near future. She wore leather jeans and a black lace T-shirt, through which I saw her scarlet bra. A silver pentagram gleamed on a chain around her neck (so much for secret signs). The feathery tips of her hair were tinted black. Her lipstick, eye makeup, and fingernails were all painted a macabre and sooty shade more suited to a charnel house than a house of fashion.

Her mohawked companion was small, buff. She was dressed in a floor-length black leather coat that dwarfed her. Pink-tinted heart-shaped glasses and silver-frosted lipstick completed the ensemble.

Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Again, I had the impression that I knew her from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place her. In any case, it was the blonde who held the floor.

“We’re looking for Gus,” she announced, propping one hand on one skinny hip and tossing her two-toned hair over her shoulder in what was obviously one of her top ten poses.

“He’s not here.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes fastened on me. “Well, like, when will he be back?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Her lip curled. “Bullshit. You must know.”

I raised my brows. “Why must I?”

“He works for you.”

Here was the born dupe of a yet-to-be-promoted micromanager.

“He’s on his own time now.”

“Are you saying you, like, fired him?”

I grinned. I don’t know why, but that belligerent mix of Valley Girl and Wicked Witch struck me as sort of funny.

“I’m not saying anything, kiddo, other than that he’s not here, and I have no idea when he’s coming back.” She opened her mouth, but I added, “I’m thinking that if Angus wanted you to know where he was, he’d have left word with you.”

She glared ferociously with those Alice Cooper eyes. I studied her. We seemed to have reached an impasse.

“I want to know where Gus is!” She was louder now. Maybe she thought we didn’t speak the same language.

“I can’t help you.”

Her skinny chest rose and fell. “Can’t or won’t?”

This kind of stunt was not good for business. I was lucky a customer hadn’t strolled in yet. I said, to conciliate, “Can’t, if it makes you feel better.”

“I’ll tell you what will make me feel better!”

I waited politely while she trembled with rage. Belatedly, I wondered whether she was on something. Her eyes did look stoned. My gaze slid to her faithful companion who stood there wordlessly waiting for…whatever. Behind the pink heart-shaped specs, her eyes met mine, slid away.

Snowden’s class, I thought abruptly. That’s where I’ve seen you.

I still didn’t think I had a problem. I mean, I was confident I could take Wicked, if it came down to that. I wasn’t quite sure about the stocky brunette. I was fairly sure that two healthy, adult-sized, and aggressive femmes would be a handful, even for a guy who didn’t have a tricky heart. But I honestly didn’t think this was going anywhere I couldn’t handle.

The blonde jerked her head to her trusty sidekick. The dark-haired girl turned toward the front door, moving to shut it.

Now that, I admit, caught me off guard. I remembered Jake saying once that half the people who wound up victims simply took too long to assess potential danger or ignored their own instincts.

As the leather munchkin flipped the “Open” sign over to “Closed,” I started considering my options.

The blonde turned back to me. “Did you, like, want to change your mind?” she drawled.

“Like, what about?” Now she had me doing it.

I figured if I reached for the phone I would wind up in a wrestling match with her, and I wanted to avoid that. It wasn’t solely fear of being beaten up by girls; it was the thought that they could scream rape or God knows what, and they might be believed. Being gay wouldn’t necessarily protect me. There are lunatics out there who believe that a gay man is capable of anything. Even lusting after college co-eds.

She made this minute sound of impatience and fury and shoved the stack of paperbacks on the counter to the floor.

The situation was fast morphing from farce to felony.

I could always run upstairs, lock myself in my flat, and call the cops. Or I could grab the antique poker from in front of the fake fireplace and start whaling away with it, but… I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t rational, but I had a real reluctance to start crunching skulls and breaking bones. Nor was I about to leave the shop to their mercy.

She advanced on me. “Listen, queer bait, we want an answer!”

Queer bait?

I contemplated shoving the nearest bookshelf over on her, but that was liable to kill her. I ducked back, putting the counter between us.

“Why don’t you ask your Ouija board?”

As Jake has frequently pointed out, I have a tendency to shoot my mouth off at the wrong time. She tried to jump across the counter top to scratch me. I backed out of range of her ink-tipped claws.

“For fuck’s sake!” observed the brunette.

So now I knew the name of their mysterious deity.

Sabrina the Teenage Bitch wriggled forward on the polished mahogany and spilled none too gracefully over the other side with sales receipts and assorted invoices. I slipped around the end of the counter, keeping one eye on the lady with the mohawk.

Sabrina rose, shook her blonde mane out of her face. “I can make you so sorry,” she whispered. My nostrils twitched as I got a whiff of cinnamon gum and overpowering perfume. Obsession? Shalimar? Brimstone?

“Likewise,” I said evenly. “And what a waste of both of our time, since I don’t have the information you need.”

“Kinsey,” exclaimed the second one, nodding at the window facing the street. To my astonishment I saw Jake striding along the sidewalk clearly making straight for Cloak and Dagger Books.

The cavalry when I least expected it. I said, “Kinsey, don’t look now, but there’s a house with your name on it.”

Kinsey and the Poison Dwarf gaped, taken aback by what they seemed to believe were my psychic powers — or maybe they really thought a house was blowing their way.

Jake looked like the house had hit him first. There was a discreet square of white over his brow. One side of his face looked bruised. He was casually dressed, jeans and a leather jacket, so he wasn’t working.

“This isn’t over,” Kinsey warned me, backing away. Her foot slid on a sheaf of papers, and she reached out to steady herself.

“Snap out of it,” I told her. “The guy’s a cop. And a friend. D’you —”

But they freaked at the word “cop.” The dark-haired girl fumbled the front door open, and they went hurtling through it, nearly knocking down Jake, who had paused at the sight of the closed door.

As the glass door settled into place, I heard his muffled curse, one arm cradling what were apparently sore ribs. Instinctively, he turned to go after them. From my vantage point I saw him check. He turned back, shoved open the door, and leaned inside the doorway. I waved my arm to signal that I was okay — and to go after them — but it took him a moment to pinpoint me in the relative gloom of the shop’s interior.

Then he was gone.

Through the front window, I watched him sprint down the busy sidewalk in pursuit. One arm was clamped to his side as though to brace himself. He didn’t know what he was pursuing; it was the same reflex that makes a dog chase a car down the street.

I knelt, gathered the fallen papers and books. My heart was kicking hard with a rush of adrenaline and tension. I was irritated that my hands weren’t quite steady. I still wasn’t convinced the whole incident wasn’t mostly ridiculous.

Jake was back in under five minutes. “So…did they see your prices? What was that about?” Despite the wisecrack, his face was glazed with sweat, and beneath the tan, pale. He moved like he hurt.

“I take it they got away?”

He glared at me, still breathing hard.

“They came in asking for Angus. They didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know where he was.”

“Maybe you weren’t convincing.”

“Jake,” I said hotly. “I don’t know where he is.”

He let that go. “So what happened? They threatened you? What?”

“Yeah. Sort of.” I felt like an idiot. I couldn’t picture Jake letting a pair of girls chase him around a room. “They got here a couple of minutes ahead of you. Nothing actually happened.”

Jake scowled. “The goddamn door was shut, Adrien, with a closed sign on it. Something sure as shit was going down in here. I know guilt when I see it. Those two were guilty as hell. Did you get a name? Did you recognize either of them?”

“One of them, the blonde, was named ‘Kinsey.’ I recognized the dark-haired girl from Guy Snowden’s class last Monday.”

All business, he sat on the fat arm of one of the faded, comfy chairs, and took out a notebook to jot down my information. By the time we finished, his color was better. He had caught his breath again.

Flipping the notebook shut, he straightened and came over to the counter where I stood.

“I think I’ll have another word with Professor Snowden,” he said. I didn’t like his smile. I wondered what the first word had been and decided I’d be happier not knowing.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked. “How are you feeling?”

Our public greetings were always awkward. Occasionally, he’d actually kiss me hello, if we were well and truly on our own, but generally any physical display of affection had to wait till we were behind closed — and locked and bolted — doors. Today, in particular there seemed to be a force field around him.

I didn’t care; I was happy that he was alive and in one piece. And that he’d come to see me so soon after getting released from the hospital. So, I settled with gripping his arm as it rested on the counter, giving him a friendly shake. “Nice to see you.”

A weird expression crossed his features. His hazel gaze met mine, swerved away.

“Kate’s pregnant,” he said.

“Oh?” For a second I actually couldn’t think who Kate was. Then it registered. Kate. The red-haired woman in the hospital. Kate Keegan. The woman he slept with when he wasn’t sleeping with me.

“Kind of a surprise,” I said neutrally. He seemed shaken, but not upset. Had it been planned? Was he glad? Was she trying to manipulate him? Trap him?

“Yeah.” He smiled, a goofy smile.

So he was happy about it.

“She’s keeping it — the baby — then?”

He nodded. His eyes met mine. Fell away. “Yeah. That much we’re agreed on.”

“What do you not agree on?”

He wasn’t looking at me. He said carefully, “We’ve talked about getting married, but this would kind of escalate things.”

I blinked. “Sure.”

“We’re both in a pretty good position financially and with our careers.” He glanced my way. “But it’s not like we planned for it. It would mean a lot of…adjustments.”

“Right.”

He took a deep breath, then let it out. “Anyway, I thought I’d better tell you.” He looked at his watch and said with relief, “I’m late. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

He grabbed me around the neck in a quick bear hug and banged his cheek against mine. Or that was his intention. In fact, he knocked both our heads together kind of hard, which felt symbolic. He grunted, and I grunted. He let loose and was gone. I watched him go through the little birdies circling my head.