Greywalker - Kat Richardson [90]
“I reached for him, and agony tore through my chest. I fell to the floor like an injured babe, unable to move or speak.
“‘I shall always be in your heart.’ He laughed again and left me.”
The touch of his telling began receding, draining me as he finished.
“I was awakened by the earthquake and the pealing of La Giralda’s bells as the tower shook. The sun had risen, shining through rents in the walls and ceiling. I crawled to a niche in the basement to hide from the overwhelming fury our spell, powered by their deaths and my blood, had poured into the earth. It was far more, far worse, than I had meant. It was a grandiose and pointless rage of destruction fit to Edward’s own spite.
“Lisbon collapsed beneath the earthquakes, flood, and fire that swept it. Sixty thousand of your kind and mine ceased.
“And all for naught. Those of our kind who remained in Lisbon left the city and Edward was king of nothing.
“He ripped the sweetness of their souls from me and used it for himself, bled me, then left me bound to die. The tip of his knife is still lodged in my heart. When I find a way to remove it, he will die those two dozen deaths for me. One by one.”
He stopped speaking and I lurched up. I stumbled forward. He didn’t touch me, but walked me to the shop door and to the edge of the street. He rolled his shoulders and settled back into his modern guise as he stood beside me.
“Feelin’ OK?” he inquired.
I choked on an answer, gulping in normality and trying not to throw up.
“You’re resting your hand on your belly and I can tell you’re not pregnant. Weak stomach?”
I stammered against the bile in my throat. “I’m not a horror-movie fan and I’ve got too good an imagination.”
“You asked. You’ll be all right?”
“Just peachy,” I gritted.
“Good. You need anything, call me. I want to watch him writhing in agony, the same way he left me.”
I stepped away and walked to the corner, crossing the street against the light. I wanted to rush, to run, but didn’t dare until I could no longer see Carlos.
I hurried to the Rover and crawled in, locking the door behind me. My belly clenched with cramps and nausea, my limbs shook and my headache shrieked.
Halfway across the bridge to home, the cramps began to ease, but the rest stayed with me.
Once in bed, I slept hard, but not restfully: first too deeply, then tumbled by nightmares. I got up once to vomit, then collapsed into bed again until eleven.
I felt only a little better when I finally got up. I showered for a long time under near-scalding water. Chaos looked into the tub, but chose not to join me. When I got out of the shower, she licked my feet and ankles dry while dancing around me. The water is always sweeter off of someone else’s feet, and I laughed at her antics, even though it made my abs and head hurt.
I finished dressing, feeling bruised, putting on a skirt when the restrictive touch of jeans reminded me of ropes and sweat-tight sheets. Chaos and I contested for my breakfast until I declared victory by putting her back into her cage before I left for my office.
Lenore Fabrette called at 3:12. She was waiting to drive onto a ferry in Bremerton and needed directions. I gave them and said I’d look forward to seeing her soon. She tapped on my door a few minutes before five.
She was a too-thin woman with straw hair, her shoulders hunched against routine cruelty.
I stood up and extended my hand. “Ms. Fabrette? I’m Harper Blaine. Please sit down.”
She sagged into the client chair. “Can we just get this over with? I’ve been arguing with the navy all day and I just want to get home.”
“Sure. Can I ask you a question?”
“Oh, sure. I guess.”
“Do you remember anything unusual about the organ?”
She pinched her lower lip with nicotine-stained fingers. “Aside from how ugly it was? Not much but that it was god-awful and it used to give my boy nightmares.”
“Nightmares? How old is your son?”
“He’s twelve now. He was six when we moved in. And I just hope that museum isn’t having any trouble with it. ’Cause I don’t want it back.” Fabrette picked at her lip. “So, do you want