Crown of Shadows - C. S. Friedman [116]
He clearly thought otherwise, but he pushed the door closed for a moment, undid the chain, and then opened it wide. Whatever Tarrant had done to keep her calm and cooperative, it had clearly not worked on him. “Hell of an hour,” he muttered, as they stepped into the small, neat living room. He radiated hostility.
Memories. They rose up about Damien as the lamplight flickered, picking out details of a room that was painfully familiar. Here, on that chair, he had waited to see Ciani. There, in the room beyond, she had lain in a state near death. There, in that place, the demon Karril had started them on a journey more terrible than any could predict....
He forced his awareness back to the present time, and to the matter at hand. Allesha’s new boyfriend was regarding them with the kind of hostility a wolf would exhibit upon finding that another wolf had pissed in its den. He was a thick-set man, heavy with muscle, and Damien suspected that he harbored a violent temper. A dark man, bearded, who was the opposite of Senzei Reese in every way. Again the priest felt a sense of acute mourning for the loss of his friend, and the manner in which this house had been so thoroughly cleansed of his presence.
“My name is Gerald Tarrant,” the Hunter said, focusing his attention on Allesha. “I was a companion of Senzei Reese during his recent travels, as was Reverend Vryce.”
She nodded slightly to Damien. “Yes. I remember you.”
“I’m sorry to bring up what must be painful memories, Mes Huyding, but we have great need of some notes that were in your fiancé’s possession. I was wondering if you could tell us what became of his things.”
“What the hell is this?” her new boyfriend sputtered. “Can’t it wait until morning? Who the hell are you, to show up on our doorstep at this hour and—”
“It’s all right,” she told him. To Damien’s surprise, the words seemed to quiet him. “I don’t mind. You go back to sleep if you want. I’ll be there as soon as we’re finished.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to bed while you—”
Tarrant caught his eyes then. And held them. Something passed between them that Damien could sense, an invisible power that soothed, smothered, silenced.
“Yes,” he said quietly. His eyes were half-lidded, as if sleep were already reclaiming him. “I’ll do that.”
They were silent as he turned and left, walking as slowly as if he had never awakened. At last, when he was safely behind the bedroom door and well out of hearing, Allesha said softly, “I’m sorry. He’s protective, that’s all.”
“We understand,” Damien assured her.
“The truth is, I didn’t really know what to do with Zen’s things when he died. He didn’t have any family that I knew of, and as for friends ... he was close to Ciani. You know that. But there weren’t many other people in his life.” She picked up a lamp from a nearby table and lit it with her own; the flickering light picked out warm shadows amidst the furniture. “I kept the things that looked important, notes and such, and a few valuables. They’re upstairs.” She handed the second lamp to Damien and gestured toward the staircase. “This way.”
The two men followed her up into the attic, into a room that brought back painful memories to Damien. There was the rug Senzei had knelt on while they planned their trip to the rakhlands; there was a box of Ciani’s papers he had rescued from the Fae Shoppe fire. The rest was stacked in boxes in a comer of the room, books and notebooks and papers and charms that filled their wooden crates to overflowing. “There’s no order to it, really.” She sounded apologetic. “I didn’t know what to do with it all—”
“You did fine,” Damien assured her.
“I wouldn’t know where to look for anything. I—”
“It’s fine,” Tarrant said. The power behind his words was musical, compelling. “Everything’s fine. Leave us here, and go back to sleep. We’ll lock the house behind us when we go.”
For a moment it seemed as if she might make some protest, but then the fae that Tarrant had conjured took hold at last and she nodded. Wraithlike, silent, she made her way downstairs again.