Chapter 21
Someone was banging on the door. I opened my eyes to a room filled with soft, indirect sunlight. The curtains in here weren't nearly as thick as the ones in the bedroom. Which was why I was out here and Jean-Claude was in there.
I struggled into the jeans I'd left on the floor and yelled, "I'm coming."
The banging stopped, then it sounded like they kicked the door. Was this a federal wake-up call? I went to the door with the Browning in my hand. Somehow I didn't think the FBI would be so rude. I stood to the side of the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"It's Dorcas Bouvier." She kicked the door again. "Open this damn door."
I peeked through the little peephole. It was Dorcas Bouvier, or her evil twin. She didn't have a weapon in sight. I was probably safe. I put the Browning under the t-shirt in the waistband of my pants. The t-shirt was a large and fell to mid-thigh. It hid the gun and then some.
I unlocked the door and stood to one side. Dorcas shoved the door open, leaving it swinging open behind her. I closed and locked the door, leaning against it watching her.
Dorcas stalked through the room like some sort of exotic cat. Her waist-length, chestnut hair swung like a curtain as she moved. She finally turned and glared at me with those sea-green eyes that were a mirror of her brother's. The pupil had spiraled downward to a pinpoint, leaving the irises floating and making her look almost blind.
"Where is he?"
"Where's who?" I asked.
She glared at me and went for the bedroom door. I couldn't get there in time to stop her, and I wasn't willing to shoot her yet.
When I came up behind her she was two steps into the bedroom, back rigid, staring at the bed. It was worth staring at.
Jean-Claude lay on his back with the wine-dark sheets pulled up to mid-chest. One shoulder and a pale, pale arm were stretched across the dark sheets. In the semidarkness his hair blended with the pillow to leave his face white and nearly ethereal.
Jason lay on his stomach. The only things under the sheet were one leg and, barely, his buttocks. If he was wearing clothes, I couldn't tell. He raised up on his elbows and turned to us. His yellow hair had fallen into his face, and he blinked like he'd been deeply asleep. He smiled when he saw Dorcas Bouvier.
"It isn't Magnus," she said.
"No," I said, "it isn't. You want to talk outside?"
"Don't go on my account," Jason said. He rolled onto one elbow. The silken sheet slid across his hips as he moved.
Dorcas Bouvier turned on her heel and marched out of the room. I closed the door to the sound of Jason's laughter.
Dorcas looked shaken, embarrassed even. Good to see. I was embarrassed, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Trying to explain your way out of situations like this never works. People are always willing to believe the worst of you. So I didn't try. I just stood there looking at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
After a nice uncomfortable silence that caused heat to wash up her face, she said, "I don't know what to say. I thought my brother was in there. I..." She met my eyes finally. She was already regaining her composure, her surety of purpose. You could watch it solidify in her eyes. She was here for more than rousting her brother out of my bed.
"Why in the world would you think Magnus was here?"
"May I sit down?"
I motioned her to a seat. She sat in one of the chairs, spine very straight, perfect posture. My stepmother, Judith, would have been proud. I leaned on the arm of the couch because I couldn't sit down with the Browning down my pants. I wasn't sure how she'd take me being armed, so I didn't want to show the gun. Some people freeze up around firearms. Go figure.
"I know Magnus was with you last night."
"With me?" I said.
"I don't mean..." Heat crept up her face again. "I don't mean with you. I mean I know you saw him last night."
"He tell you that?"
She shook her head, making her hair slide like fur over her shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of Magnus. "I saw you together."
I studied her face, trying to read past the embarrassment. "You weren't there last night."
"Where?" she asked.
I frowned at her. "How did you see us?"
"You admit you saw him last night, then," she said. Her eagerness came back in a rush.
"What I want to know is how you saw us together."
She took a deep breath. "That's my business."
"Magnus said his sister was better at visions than he was. Is that true?"
"What didn't he tell you?" she asked. She was angry again. Her emotions seemed to collide, spinning too fast over her face and voice.
"He didn't tell me why he ran from the police."