Читать книгу The Dragon's Hunt - Jane Kindred - Страница 12

Chapter 5

In the morning, Rhea took her time getting ready. She wasn’t looking forward to getting the police involved if Leo was still there. By the time she finally made herself head into town, the midmorning sun was brilliant against a clear winter sky—crystalline blue, although the air was icy. The snow had stopped falling sometime in the night, leaving the red rocks of Sedona’s dramatic landscape striped and dotted with white, like a spice cake dusted with powdered sugar.

She parked in back, making a mental note to take care of the spray paint on the wall of the building. She couldn’t make out what it said. Probably just some stupid tags. So much for Leo being able to help her with the cleanup. To her relief, when she unlocked the door, the shop was empty.

There was no sign of any hanky-panky Leo might have gotten up to in the back room. No leather cuffs and no electronic locks. And speaking of locks, she was going to have to change hers. That was another hundred bucks she didn’t have.

The little bell on the door jingled, and Rhea went through the curtain, hoping someone finally wanted to make an appointment. Her jaw dropped when Leo turned from closing the door behind him and smiled as if showing up this morning were the most ordinary thing in the world.

His smile faltered at her expression. “Is something wrong?”

“Seriously? That’s how you’re going to handle this? Just act like nothing happened?”

Leo frowned. “Like...what happened?”

“I’m not in the mood for this.” Rhea held out her hand. “Just give me the key.”

He stood blinking at her, baby blues wide with innocence behind his glasses, and she thought he was going to keep playing dumb, but he sighed and fished the chain out of his shirt inside his coat and slid the key off.

“You were here last night, weren’t you?” Leo placed the key in her palm. “I had this vague idea I’d spoken to you. I was hoping it was a dream.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I kind of...blacked out last night. I should have told you about my problem.”

“What, that you’re a meth head?”

“I’m not a meth head.” Leo took off his hat and tousled his hair, which made him look even more like a meth head. “I...have a dissociative disorder. I usually lock myself in my room when I feel it coming on. It mostly happens around this time of year, after dark. That’s why I try not to be out late. It only lasts a few hours, so I came up with the idea of using timed padlocks.”

Rhea laughed sharply. “That’s the lamest story yet. You’ve gone from ‘a man came in the window’ to ‘I can’t help myself, it’s a mental disorder.’”

“It’s not a story.” Leo stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dopey plaid hunting jacket. “I said a man came in the window?”

“It’s from an old comic routine. Except the guy’s not funny anymore.”

“I see. What did I say?”

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember. I hope I wasn’t rude to you. But I can’t apologize properly if you don’t tell me what I said.”

Rhea curled her fist around the key. “You said you came back to get your hat and surprised a couple of thieves who’d broken in, and they shackled you to the chair.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.” She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to acknowledge the game he’d played with her.

“But I was still here this morning. You didn’t try to cut me loose?” Leo blushed. “I mean, not that I’m blaming you.”

“I didn’t believe you last night—and I don’t believe you now—so I left you to get out of your own mess. And it looks like you did, so I guess your dominatrix came back.”

“Dominatrix?” The slight pink in his cheeks went crimson. “I swear to you, that is absolutely not what happened. When I’m dissociating, I do a lot of weird things, say a lot of weird things. It’s like sleepwalking. That’s why I use the restraints. But there was no dominatrix. I just stayed out too late and didn’t think I’d make it back to the motel in time, so I slipped back in here after you left.”

“And you just happened to have restraints on you. You carry them around.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I can’t always afford to rent a motel room around the clock, so I usually check out in the morning and take all my belongings with me.” Leo sighed. “Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, and I’m really sorry for anything weird I said or did last night. I’ll have to find some other way to pay you back for the ink.” He went to the door. “But I will. You have my word.”

“Why don’t you just pay for it now?”

Leo paused in the doorway, looking back. “I really only have enough cash to cover the motel.”

“You can clean off the graffiti in the parking lot.”

She wasn’t sure why she wasn’t just letting him go and being glad to be rid of him, but something about his little sob story of not being able to afford the motel room around the clock rang true. She wasn’t buying the dissociative bit, but if he was essentially homeless, it didn’t feel right to toss him out on his ass in the snow. What had he really done, anyway? Used the key she’d given him willingly to let himself into her shop after hours and maybe got kinky with some crack whore in her tattoo chair? Yeah, okay. That was pretty bad. But he hadn’t done anything to her, and he hadn’t robbed her. So that was something. Sort of.

Leo was still staring at her, uncertain.

“I mean, if you want to prove you’re not some kind of creep, you can at least work off your debt.”

He nodded emphatically. “Sure. Absolutely. Just point me in the right direction.”

“There’s a bucket of cleaning supplies in the bathroom. I’ve had to do this a few times already. These damn kids keep coming back and tagging things.”

Leo nodded, looking like an eager pup, and fetched the supplies.

“The lot’s down the back stairs. Paint’s on the wall next to the red MINI. You’ll see it.”

“Got it. I’ll take care of it.” Leo paused once more in the doorway as he headed out. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

Leo shrugged. “For not calling the cops on me, I guess. For giving me another chance.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow. “It’s early yet. Don’t make me regret it. And no more weirdness.”

Even though she was still glaring at him, his face broke into an unexpected and disarming smile. “You won’t regret it. No more weirdness. Cross my heart.” He made the quaint gesture, finger making an X over his heart, before heading downstairs. If he was a meth head, he was a damn adorable one. Rhea sighed and set up her tablet and got to work.

* * *

Leo stopped at the bottom of the stairs and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. How the hell had he been so stupid and careless? He should never have stayed for the tattoo touch-up that close to twilight. He was usually good for a stretch of time after the sun initially set—he had an app on his phone to determine when civil and nautical twilight began and ended so he wouldn’t get caught out like he had. Because after full dark, all bets were off. Sometimes he recalled the transitional time—what he referred to as his own personal twilight—but more often than not, it was like drinking to excess, with only fuzzy memories of the time leading up to the episode. And the headache he had in the morning only emphasized the similarities. Christ. He might as well be a meth head.

He pushed away from the wall, rubbing at the serpent tattoo through his sleeve as he went down to the back of the touristy little shopping complex. Jörmungandr was the last of the marks, the one he knew a little something about, even if he still couldn’t remember getting it. He couldn’t even say how he knew, but something told him the symbolism of the Midgard Serpent contained the destructive energy of his illness. The part that would be unleashed if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t follow the rules he’d set for himself. And last night he’d played fast and loose with the rules because of Rhea Carlisle’s touch.

Something had happened when she touched his skin. Not just the little tingle of pleasure at the softness of it or the desire to be near her, but a connection that made him feel as if he could almost remember whatever it was he’d forgotten about the marks and his episodes and his entire life. Little silent movies had played for an instant in his head as she’d worked the ink. And he was certain Rhea had seen those featurettes, too. Her reaction, that little shock of stillness, echoed his own. Snow kicked up by the hooves of horses—the sturdy, stocky horses of war. The smell and creak of leather and mail. The tang of blood and ice on his tongue. But wars weren’t fought on horseback in leather and chain mail. Not anymore.

Leo stopped in the parking lot to catch his breath, the familiar muscle spasm tugging at his ribs, as if someone had thrust a knife under them. Then it was gone and forgotten. There was Rhea’s red MINI, and there was the graffiti. Leo’s brows drew together as he contemplated the tags. This wasn’t gang graffiti. These were runes.

He set down the bucket and got to work. A brush and some paint thinner took out some of the color, but the paint had set into the wood—probably done while Leo was still tied up upstairs raving like a lunatic. When he’d done all he could with the thinner, he started on the sandpaper-backed sponge. As he scrubbed the runes from the wall, the shapes gave up their meaning. Soiled...impure. Throw—no, cast out. The impure shall be cast out. He pieced the rest together. And the pure shall inherit the land.

Leo set down his sanding sponge and wiped his brow. Something about this made him really angry. Murderously angry. And, as with so many things that similarly affected him, he had no idea why. Or even why he could read the symbols in the first place. Odder still was why some shiftless punk would be spray-painting Norse runes on the walls of an outdoor shopping mall in the middle of Northern Arizona. Because these were definitely Norse.

Leo’s spine twitched, as though someone had walked on his grave, and he rolled his shoulders. Under his right sleeve, Jörmungandr was prickling against his skin. The ink irritated him more in winter. Probably from going from the cold and damp to the dry air of heated interiors. He could feel the outline of the tattoo through the sleeve as he rubbed at it, slightly raised, the skin inflamed.

But it wasn’t dry skin. It was these runes. They were a message for him. Somehow, he was certain of that. And the mark was responding to the message as though to a threat. He pondered the faded symbols on the wall as he sanded out the last of them. Leo straightened and frowned. That little spidery shape at the end—that wasn’t part of the runes. He’d thought it was messy punctuation or maybe a stray mark, but now... Another shudder traveled down his spine, this time one of revulsion. It was a crudely drawn swastika.

It brought new meaning to the words spelled out by the runes. It wasn’t the first time some nasty little vermin had tried to drag him into their racist bullshit. And nothing made him angrier than being mistaken for one of them. They’d appropriated his heritage, sullied the beauty of his ancestors’ mythology, twisting it to their own purposes. He wanted to find the little shits and crack their skulls.

He tossed the sanding sponge into the bucket and went around to the front stairs and checked to make sure his bag was still safe underneath them. Of course, the cat, so to speak, was out of the bag. He might as well take it upstairs. The army surplus duffel bag contained a change of clothing, the restraints and locks, and his beard trimmer. Everything he owned in the world. Leo slung the bag over his shoulder and mounted the stairs.

* * *

Rhea made a face at the spreadsheet on her tablet. Numbers were so not her thing, much less this annoying program. Theia was the one who had always been good with calculations. They’d talked about owning a shop together for years. Not a tattoo shop, of course. Coffee and books had ranked among the top five. They’d both liked the idea of a cat café. But in every iteration of that idle dream since high school, cats or no cats, Theia had been the one doing the books and the finances while Rhea was the artist and the public face of the business. Now she was stuck doing everything herself. Which wasn’t exactly Theia’s fault—she wouldn’t have been interested in opening a tattoo shop, but it still rankled that Rhea couldn’t even count on her for emotional support.

True to Theia’s pattern, as soon as Rhea started stewing about her, a text notification chimed on her phone. In addition to having prophetic dreams, one of Theia’s gifts was an uncanny—and annoying—sense of knowing when someone was thinking about her.

Thinking about you, Moonpie. Also an irritating gift for synchronicity. And for coming up with cutesy names.

Rhea switched the screen off and glanced up as Leo came in. “How’d it go?”

Leo rubbed absently at his right biceps. “I think I got most of it. Did you happen to see what it was?”

“It looked like scribbling to me. I thought maybe it was gang symbols. Why?”

“It was in the runic alphabet. Norse runes, specifically.” His expression said this was significant.

Rhea set down the tablet. “Were you able to read it?”

“It was a message about racial purity. Have they done anything like this before?”

“No, just stupid gang tags. At least, I thought they were gang tags.” Rhea tried to remember if she’d ever seen anything overtly racist. “You’re sure the message was about racial purity?”

“There was also a swastika.”

Rhea’s stomach clenched. “Fuck. I guess that’s pretty unambiguous.”

Leo’s eyes were hard. “The next time you catch them at it, you should call the cops.”

“I’m not a big fan of calling the cops on kids, but I’ve never actually caught them.” Rhea considered. “To be honest, I’m not even sure they’re kids. I just assumed.”

“Does anybody around here have a security camera pointed on the lot?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You should get one. Or a security guard. These groups usually escalate.”

“I can’t even afford to pay someone to clean up graffiti. How would I pay for a security guard?” Rhea noticed the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “What’s in the bag?”

Leo glanced down as though he’d forgotten it. “My stuff. I was keeping it under the stairs so you wouldn’t think I was squatting here. Which I guess I kind of was. Sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

“So you really are homeless.”

“I’m not an addict or anything. I just move around a lot during the winter. It’s hard to hold down a job and an apartment when you have to spend dusk to dawn restrained. People kind of frown on it when they find out.”

Rhea fiddled with the edge of the counter. Maybe she’d misjudged him. She liked to think she was open-minded about mental health issues. She wasn’t exactly the poster girl for neurotypicality. She was probably going to regret this, but that had never stopped her before.

“Why don’t you sleep here, then? You could keep an eye on the place.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Are you messing with me?”

“I need a security guard, you don’t have anywhere to stay... It seems like a natural solution.”

Leo still looked skeptical. “You got the part where I’m not in my right mind and I have to be restrained until dawn, right?”

“But the vandals wouldn’t know that. If they see a light on, they’ll be less likely to try anything. And you can always call me—you have a cell phone?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a phone.”

“So if you see something, you could give me a call to alert me, and I could come by and catch them in the act. Assuming they stuck around that long.”

“You’re also assuming I’d be levelheaded enough to remember to call you—or to care. I don’t really know what goes on when I’m ‘out.’”

“Well, I do. I was here talking to you. You seemed perfectly lucid, just—kind of an ass.”

Leo laughed, that genuine laughter of surprise that made his whole face light up. “A lucid ass, huh? You know, I’ve never had anybody tell me what I’m like in that state. It might be useful to have an observer to document it. I mean—I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than babysit my lucid ass personality. But if you wanted to stick around to verify that I’m not doing drugs or calling pro-dommes to spank me in your back room, you’d be welcome to.” He grinned, running his fingers through his hair in a gesture that belied the easy self-deprecation.

Rhea pondered the idea. She’d be a fool to completely take him at his word. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him and see if he was putting her on.

“Why not?”

Leo cocked his head, studying her. “You’re serious. You’d let me sleep here—or not sleep, as the case may be.”

“Let’s just try it out for one night.” Rhea gave him her patented half smirk. “I’ll let you know what I think in the morning.”