Читать книгу Cusp of Night - Mae Clair - Страница 9

Chapter 2

May 1, 1897

“Hello. Have I come at a bad time?” A tall, thin man strode into Lucy Strick’s tent as if he were an invited guest.

“Who the hell are you?” She lurched from the stool in front of her small dressing table, knocking a pot of face paint to the floor. Damn. Where was Burt? The roughy was supposed to keep cretins away. May Day always brought a good take for the circus, but seedy folk showed up right along with the local farmers. Sodbusters, she could handle. Rubes in colors as drab as the earth they plowed, slow and simple as mules.

This man didn’t look anything like them—or the lechers who thought the entrance fee to her aerial act bought a free grope on the side. Put her visitor in an audience and he’d stand out like a sleek crow in a flock of cowbirds. Fancy frock coat, weathered face, hair and eyes as black as the coal her brothers dug from the Blind Boy Mine. Odd sort. He might have been as old as her pap or as young as Anton, the Strongman.

“You ain’t answered me.” She hadn’t liked people staring at her when she was a kid and wouldn’t tolerate it now. She wasn’t a freak, no matter what her kinfolk said. “Who are you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “A man who finds you extraordinary.”

“That so?” She snorted. Indelicately. “Well, that uppity accent don’t impress me none, so you best skedaddle ’fore I holler for Burt and have him bend you fifty ways backward. I ain’t unarmed, you know.” She groped through the silks, feathers, and tinted creams on her dressing table. “I got a knife.”

“I don’t. I’m not armed, dear lady.”

“Lady?” She’d never heard the word attached to the likes of her. Charmed, she shoved a curtain of black hair from her shoulder and eyed him openly. “You got a strange way of talking. I bet you’re a snoop, huh? This ain’t no fleece or racket joint, mister. Oliver’s Emporium and Traveling Show is on the up-and-up. Just ’cause we pull up stakes after a spell don’t mean—”

“You’re wasted here.”

She clamped her mouth shut. Even soaring through the air, the ground a death trap below, she remained in control. But this man threw her off balance with his bold comments. Dumb slug. Didn’t he realize what she was? Didn’t he have eyes?

“There ain’t nowheres else for me.” She’d known the truth every time her ma held her down and scrubbed her skin till it bled. Every time her pap cuffed her and called her Hades-spawned. When she was twelve, a preacher slathered her in whitewash while her pap watched stonily and her ma prayed for her deliverance. Lucy had run off that same night, stumbling over Ollie’s traveling circus two days later. She’d never regretted her decision in the eight years she’d called the carnival home.

Raising her chin, she stood her ground. “Ollie takes good care of me.”

“Yes. It must be gratifying to go from backwater town to backwater town, eking out a meager existence.” The man’s voice lowered, his cultured accent crisp with reproach. “Do you enjoy the way men leer at you? The barbs women toss behind your back, labeling you devil-witch and daughter of demons?”

Lucy stiffened. Pious folk were the worst. Hiding behind crosses and Bibles, as if the Good Lord loved her any less because of her appearance. Maybe Ollie traded on her unusual looks, but he treated her like family. Far more than her own blood kin.

“You need to leave.” She hated being reminded of what she was.

The man’s expression softened. “Child, I don’t see you as any of the ignoble names you have been called. I see you as special. Do not be ashamed of your exotic beauty.” Looming over her, he turned her fingers toward the light. The kindness in his voice almost made her believe she was attractive.

Until she looked at her hand and saw the same damning color that covered every inch of her body—blue.

Tears threatened her eyes. Crying was a weakness she hadn’t embraced in years.

“I see the pain on your face.” The man tightened his long fingers around her hand. “Memories of cruel taunts and unjust words. Leave here with me, and you will never be ashamed of your lovely blue skin again.”

Oh, to believe!

She stared into his eyes. There was something hypnotic about his gaze, the rich timbre of his voice. Even his touch spoke to her, his palm not smooth as she’d expected, but lined with calluses earned by a life on the road. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He smiled, his eyes flashing with lightning and promise.

“My name is Simon Glass. I want to make you famous.”

* * * *

Present Day

It was nearing eleven when Maya said good-bye to Ivy and headed home. Her brownstone wasn’t located that far from the Fiend Festival, and the night was perfect for a leisurely stroll. As always, the walk would do her good. By the time she left, the gathering was winding down. The big event—announcing the winner of the Fiend contest—had taken place shortly after the band finished their last set.

The winner more than deserved the victory, his period clothing impeccable, artful face paint worthy of a Hollywood makeup artist.

She already planned to return to the festival the next night, looking forward to the local color. As she walked south on River Road, the noise of the fair faded behind her, blending with the hum of distant traffic crossing the North Bridge. The flow of the Chinkwe River over rock created a softer backdrop. Old-fashioned street lamps positioned every half block enhanced the ambient light of a sickle moon and scattershot stars. It wasn’t until the festival was several blocks behind that she grew unsettled by a growing sense of isolation.

With traffic rerouted from River Road for the fair, a void existed at the south end of town. Sometimes in the darkness, she relived that terrifying March night when her world changed—the fog and rain-slick road, oncoming headlights, the squeal of tires and the sickening crunch of metal. The other driver, an inexperienced teen, had crossed lanes. He’d walked away with a broken arm and bruised sternum. She’d suffered a punctured lung and internal injuries to her spleen and liver. In the long run, overcoming the physical limitations had been easier than the psychological ones. She had no memory of being treated at the scene or of being airlifted to the hospital.

But there were moments of darkness and light, of hovering somewhere in a world composed of shadows. She’d been impatient, eager to leave. But something held her tethered in place. Voices murmured in her ears, whispers without words, a sense of others gathered in the Aether. Later, she learned her heart had stopped beating. For two minutes and twenty-two seconds, she’d been clinically dead.

Now, surrounded by the eerie silence of an empty street, that creeping sense of unseen others returned. The prickling fear of something lurking in the shadows. Maybe it was nothing more than a night of watching cloaked figures in devil masks, but she quickened her pace, anxious to be home.

At least her path kept to the main road. Even if it did intersect with a few alleys, those cross points were brightened by three-globe street lamps. With the lack of traffic and city sounds, surrounded by old buildings and cobbled sidewalks, it was easy to imagine herself in Charlotte Hode’s era.

“Ugn…”

The groan prickled the hair on the back of her neck. She froze at the mouth of an alley, primed for flight. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

“Who’s there?”

The croak came again, sluggish and low, the unmistakable sound of someone in pain. Maybe it was some stupid kid playing a game.

“This isn’t funny.”

“H-h-help.”

Her stomach lurched to her throat. If someone really was hurt and she did nothing, she’d never forgive herself. It was a passing motorist who’d called for help when her car had careened off the road.

Cautious, she inched closer to the mouth of the cutaway. The illumination from the nearest street lamp only carried a few feet, barely edging into the dark maw. “Is someone there?” Slipping her hand into her pocket, she felt for her cell phone. One call to 911 would bring help or keep her safe if the situation deteriorated. A few steps more and she could discern a man slumped against the side of a building.

“Sir, are you hurt?” God help her if he was drunk. She kept a safe distance, and activated the flashlight on her phone.

The man shifted, angling toward her. He groaned. Something large loomed up behind him, a shadow rising from the ground. It took Maya a moment to realize the thing had been squatting there all along, silent in the nightscape—a monstrosity shrouded in black with a pulpy head and eyes that burned like white cinders.

She screamed.

The creature ran, deft as a whistle of air, swallowed by the bloated shadows of the alley. Trembling from head to foot, Maya tried to catch her breath. Her gaze sliced back to the man on the ground.

“Call for help.” His voice quavered with the effort of speech. “T-tell them Leland Hode has been attacked.”

* * * *

Maya glanced at her watch. Twenty-three minutes after midnight and she was far from exhausted. If it weren’t for Detective Gregg’s questions, she’d be pacing rather than sitting. When she finally made it home and the events of the night caught up with her, she planned to crash into bed and sleep until noon.

“Can I get you more coffee?” The detective’s voice jarred her back to the moment. Restless, she shifted in the wooden chair drawn close to his desk. The station was quiet, every available officer engaged in combing the streets for Leland Hode’s assailant. She didn’t have to be a cop to know there would be a media storm when word leaked of Hode’s attack.

“No, thanks.” The coffee had pumped her jittery adrenalin higher. Glancing down at the disposable cup in her hand, she felt her stomach sour. The dark liquid looked oily and cold, a few air bubbles clinging to the outer rim. “Do you know how badly he was hurt?”

The scene replayed in her head; the ambulance and police arrived almost simultaneously. By the time help arrived, Leland had passed out. A uniformed officer hustled her aside while two EMTs went to work. She didn’t remember the officer’s name, only that she’d relayed the circumstances as best she could. Through it all, she’d tried to see past his shoulder to Leland.

Stupid details stuck in her head. A squashed Coke can butted up against the curb. The scrape of the officer’s pencil across a notepad. The glimmer of lamplight trapped in his wedding ring as he’d scratched out her statement. The whole thing had seemed surreal, a nightmare of red emergency strobes and harsh radio chatter. Within minutes, Leland was whisked to a hospital, and she was passed from the officer to a man who arrived in an unmarked car. Detective David Gregg. The next thing she knew, she was at the police station giving an official account of the events.

“No word on Leland’s condition yet.” Gregg looked at her from across his desk.

He wasn’t unattractive, a fortyish man with rugged features and black hair generously favored with silver in the front. The gray appeared premature, contrasted by dark brows above amber eyes. She couldn’t tell if the scruff of beard lining his jaw was there by design or the result of long shifts.

He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger then refocused on the statement he’d taken, holding it in two hands. “You said you didn’t see the attack.”

“No. Just the…” She hesitated, recalling the nightmarish face in the alley. “Creature.”

“You mean the attacker?”

“Yes.”

Gregg set the paper down. He rested his forearm on his desk. “You saw him?”

“I did.” Edgy, she stood and paced behind him.

The station had an old quality to it, keeping with the integrity of the town. Heavy wooden desks and chairs, a beamed ceiling with squat pendant lighting rather than fluorescents, corner molding, and a brick-colored tile floor. The captain’s office—at least, Maya believed it belonged to someone of higher authority—was partitioned from the main room behind a wall of glass. Overhead lights revealed framed plaques and commendations, a bookcase stuffed with thick binders, and a whiteboard with scribbled notations. She studied the board, but it was the face in the alley she saw.

“The thing was just squatting there. Behind Mr. Hode. Like it was resting. I know that sounds crazy, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I didn’t even see it at first, it blended with the darkness so well.”

“You keep saying ‘it’.

“What?” She turned to face him. They were the only two people in the room. Occasionally, a door closed down the hall or a murmur of voices intruded as someone passed by.

“What makes you think it was a creature?” His voice was even, but his gaze challenged the idea. “You’d just come from a festival where over two dozen people were roaming around in Fiend get-ups.”

“That’s true. But this thing was so large.” How could anything of that bulk be human? Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I know it sounds silly. It makes sense someone would try to take advantage of the anonymity of a disguise—especially with the festival going on—but it felt real.”

“Of course it did. Dark alley. Isolated surroundings. Someone calling for help. Your take is normal, given the circumstances, but I think we can safely eliminate the subject of an urban legend.”

She wandered back to her chair. “Robbery?”

“Nothing was taken.”

“What if I interrupted the attempt?”

“Unlikely. You said the attacker was squatting behind Hode like he’d been there for a while.”

Releasing an exasperated breath, she sank back into the chair. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Sinclair.” Gregg slid her statement across the desk. “Do you want to read over this again before signing?”

She shook her head and took the pen he offered. She’d already read it twice. “I understand from a friend that Leland Hode has a few people who might wish him ill.” She scribbled her name at the bottom of the report and returned the paper. She knew little about Hode, but since gripping his hand as he’d slipped into unconsciousness, she’d become entangled in his welfare. “There was a man at the festival who was angry with Leland’s son.”

“I’m aware of that. Dante DeLuca.” Detective Gregg tossed the report into a tray on the corner of his desk. “I’ll be talking with Mr. DeLuca at the first opportunity tomorrow. Officer Anders, who was on duty at the festival, has already been in touch about what happened.”

She wished the officer were there to add his impression of what had taken place. Could DeLuca’s rant about Pin Oaks be tied to the attack on Leland? She felt like a failure, unable to recall details of the attacker, all because she’d been overcome by the hysteria of an archaic legend.

“I wonder what Leland was doing in that alley.”

“Yeah. I wonder, too.” Standing, he switched off his desk lamp. “It’s late. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thank you.” She hadn’t looked forward to the walk.

He took her coffee cup. “By the way, what’s your impression of your neighbor, Len Kovack?”

The abruptness of the question caught her off guard. “Who?”

“Len Kovack.”

The name sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. “I’m sorry. I just moved in two weeks ago. The only neighbor I know is the woman next door, Mrs. Bonnifer.”

“Formerly DeLuca.”

“What?”

His mouth tightened. “Imelda Bonnifer is Dante DeLuca’s aunt.”

* * * *

It was after ten the next morning when Maya finally wandered downstairs to make a cup of coffee. She’d slept restlessly, awakened now and again by a strange creaking sound she couldn’t place, but too exhausted to investigate. Her dreams had been plagued by a hulking creature who materialized from the fog on a rain-slick road and sent her car spiraling out of control. She’d dreamed of the Aether, the place where she’d lingered between the worlds of the living and the dead after her accident. The nightmares left her tired, feeling despondent. She’d splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and dragged a brush through her hair, but had bothered with little else. The circles beneath her eyes were nearly as black as the loose waves of hair brushing her shoulders.

In the front parlor, she settled into a low-backed chair with a view of the Chinkwe. The water looked darker this morning, tinged with brown as if a storm had chased mud downstream. She must have slept through the rain. Or maybe it had wormed into her dreams, at fault for conjuring the wet, foggy road of her nightmares.

Sipping her coffee, Maya surfed through the e-mail on her cell phone—a recipe she’d wanted from her sister, a notice her bank statement was available online, and promotional offers from various stores and retailers. The final message was from Ivy.

Thought you’d like to see these. A few photos were attached.

Maya grinned at several selfies of them with arms looped around each other, beaming up at the eye in Ivy’s cell phone. The night had been fun. Too bad it ended with Leland Hode in an ambulance.

Clicking off the phone, she headed down a narrow hallway to the kitchen. A peninsula snack bar separated the cupboards and appliances from the breakfast area where she’d added a small dinette table. The formal dining room, facing the front of the house, was currently empty but for an assortment of boxes. Ivy was due around noon to help her sort through them. Maybe she’d been foolish to rent such a large home when all she really needed was a living room, office, kitchen, and place to sleep.

Pouring the remnants of her coffee down the sink, she glanced out the window in time to see Mrs. Bonnifer stroll down Chicory Street.

Dante DeLuca’s aunt.

Imelda had introduced herself two days after Maya moved in, showing up at her door with a platter of homemade cookies.

“It might be old-fashioned, welcoming someone with baked goods,” the woman had said as she’d stood on the stoop, the plate balanced on her open palm. “But there are only six of us at this end of town, and I make it a point to know my neighbors. Especially anyone who moves in next door.”

Maya had invited her in, and they’d chatted for ten or fifteen minutes. Imelda plied her with questions—Where was she from? Did she have family in the area? Where was she working?—all asked discreetly, but with enough finesse to make an investigative reporter proud.

In return, Maya had learned little from Mrs. Bonnifer. Her husband passed away several years ago. She owned an antique store in downtown Hode’s Hill—Maya later bought an old rocker from her—and she enjoyed gardening. Other than those minor tidbits, Imelda Bonnifer remained a mystery.

She certainly hadn’t seemed like someone who was overly wealthy, if what Maya had heard about the DeLuca family was true. She’d shown up dressed comfortably in casual capris and a flowered blouse. The only jewelry Maya noticed was a plain gold wedding ring. She thought it touching Imelda still wore the band in memory of her husband.

Turning away from the sink, she recalled her neighbor’s odd parting. Imelda had stood inside the front door, her gaze roaming the high ceiling and ornate crown molding as she prepared to leave. “Be careful here. This place has history.”

“Excuse me?” Maya’s words came with a short breath of laughter.

Imelda tugged open the door. “You need to learn more about Hode’s Hill if you’re going to make it your home.”

Maya had waved good-bye, confused by the comment. Now, looking back on the discussion, she began to dissect the warning. Be careful here. This place has history.

Had Imelda really been talking about the town—or the brownstone?

The rent wasn’t cheap, but the property had stood empty for over eight months according to Ivy. Was that why Hode Development had renegotiated terms when she’d balked about signing the lease? She’d been disappointed by the high rent and had started looking for another rental when she’d received a call a day later saying the landlord had agreed to drop the monthly fee by two hundred dollars. That put the brownstone more in her ballpark. Still a stretch, but affordable.

She never did learn the identity of the landlord. As the management firm for the owner, Hode Development was an intermediary, the entity she’d pay on the first of each month. Was there something about the house she didn’t know, or had the owner simply decided a reduced rent was better than no rent?

She’d have to ask Ivy. Her friend was the one who’d initially told her the property was vacant. She also needed to share what had happened last night on her way home from the Fiend Festival.

Maya got her chance shortly after noon when Ivy showed as promised, ready to tackle boxes. They started with those in the dining room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, tall glasses of iced tea within easy reach, they unpacked books, photos, and a variety of knickknacks.

“I like these.” Ivy unwrapped two plum pillar candles in glass jars. The middle of each was wrapped with an inch of twine overlaid by a thin strand of pearls tipped in gold.

Maya smiled. “Alana made those for me as a housewarming gift. I thought they’d look great in the parlor.”

“They’re beautiful.” Ivy set the candles aside with care. “Your sister is so talented with arts and crafts. I bet she and Brook would get along great.”

“Maybe.” Maya tried to imagine her quiet older sister passing an afternoon with the free-spirited librarian. “Except I can’t see Alana being interested in essential oils or planet alignments.”

“True, but Brook loves all that natural DIY stuff. If she sees these candles, she’ll want to make her own.”

Standing, Maya pressed her hands to the small of her back.

“Are you okay?” Ivy immediately sent her a worried look. Her friend knew about her accident and had even driven out to visit several times while Maya was in the hospital.

“Fine, but let’s take a break. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Ivy’s brows veed into her hair. “Oh? Sounds ominous.” Her tone was light, but a thread of concern colored her eyes.

“I met Leland Hode after the Fiend Festival last night.”

Ivy drew back. “Not possible.”

“Not under the best of circumstances.” Maya grabbed her half-empty glass from the floor. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I could use more tea.”

Once situated at the table in the breakfast area, Maya relayed what happened on her walk home.

Ivy’s eyes grew rounder with each detail. “Wow,” she said once Maya had finished. “Maybe Leland has a mistress. What else would he be doing in an alley?”

Maya hadn’t considered that. “I’m worried about him. He passed out before the ambulance got there. And you didn’t see the creature. It was huge.”

“Probably a leftover from the festival.”

“That’s what Detective Gregg thought.” Maya still wasn’t certain. “Either that, or someone taking advantage of the festival as cover.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

How could she explain without sounding like an idiot? “It’s just that…” Dropping her gaze, she cupped her glass between her hands and conjured a mental image of the previous night. The nest of shadows in the alley, Leland slumped against the building like a discarded rag doll, the dark form beside him swelling in size. “It seemed too big to be human.”

Ivy blew out a breath. “What are you saying? That you saw the Fiend?” A look of incredulity crossed her face. “We’re not going to see you on one of those Bigfoot reality shows, are we?”

Maya laughed. “I’m not that crazy.” She swiped her thumb over the glass, collecting condensation. “But something attacked Leland.”

“You mean someone.” Ivy leaned forward and rested her forearms on the table, her expression a blend of common sense and concern. “Leland has a lot of enemies, Maya. Kovack, DeLuca, and who knows how many people connected to Pin Oaks.”

Detective Gregg’s mention of Len Kovack abruptly clicked in Maya’s head. So, the painting contractor was one of her neighbors. Toss in the DeLuca connection through Imelda, and her home was nested in a hotbed of contention.

“Leland can afford the best care.” Ivy’s voice brought Maya back to the present. “I’m more worried about you. Whoever was in the alley…did they get a good look at you?”

“Oh.” Maya flinched, sensing where Ivy was headed. “I…I don’t know. But why should that matter? I couldn’t ID the person. They were in a costume, if I’m to believe you and Detective Gregg.” The thought of someone wanting to silence her made her uneasy, but the alternative was worse—that the thing she’d seen truly was a nightmarish creature of lore. For her own sanity, she needed to learn more about the Fiend of Hode’s Hill. Not just rumors and myth, or even the oft-repeated urban legend, but actual accounts. Something had attacked Charlotte Hode and several others at the turn of the century. There had to be newspaper reports. She’d research the tale through the library archives rather than let herself be influenced by local retellings.

“I’m probably worrying about nothing.” She wanted to change the topic. “At this point, my only concern is for Mr. Hode.”

“Well, if the guy was as big as you say, it probably wasn’t Kovack or DeLuca.” Frowning in concentration, Ivy sat back in her chair. “Dante has the money to hire whoever he wants, but I don’t think he’d go to that extreme. He can be a loose cannon, but his grandmother would never condone violence, and he loves her too much to go against her wishes.”

“You didn’t tell me his aunt is my next-door neighbor.”

Ivy blinked. “You mean Imelda Bonnifer? They don’t talk.”

Interesting. “Why is that?”

“I’m not sure, really. The rumor is she didn’t get along with her mother or Dante’s dad—Salvador—so she doesn’t have a connection to Dante.”

Maya scrambled to follow the logic. “What happened to Dante’s mom?”

“She died a couple months after he was born from some kind of bone disease. His grandmother basically raised him. That’s why they’re so close.”

No wonder he was upset about her being displaced from Pin Oaks. “What about his dad?”

Ivy tore the top off a packet of artificial sweetener. “He was a scientist. Dante used to say he had government connections, but I think he was putting us on. His dad worked at Wickham and would disappear for weeks at a time.”

“What’s Wickham?”

Ivy swirled the sweetener into her tea. “Head east, about twenty miles out of town, and you’ll come across a plain red brick building on private ground.”

“Wickham?”

“More or less. The place never had a name. People in town started calling it Wickham because it’s located off Wickham Road, a rural route. Back in the ’70s it was a veterinary practice, but that went out of business, and the place sat vacant until the early ’90s. When we were kids, we thought it was a top-secret government lab—mostly because of what Dante told us. We used to make up stories about monsters and UFOs.”

“Wouldn’t Dante have known what his father did?” Maya found it hard to overlook Ivy’s use of past tense when referring to the facility.

“Not really. His dad didn’t talk about his job, but it appeared to pay very well.” She paused, briefly. “One day, Dante’s grandmother showed up at school with two cops, and we knew something terrible had happened. We found out later his dad had been involved in an accident at Wickham and was killed. The details have always been sketchy, but Sonia and Dante received a large cash settlement. At least, that was the rumor. I think Dante was fifteen. His family was always fairly well off, but the money set him up for life.” Ivy shrugged as if the concept was foreign to her. “Wickham mostly fizzled. I think a few people still work there. Doing agricultural research, or something like that.”

“What about Dante?”

Ivy sipped her tea, her expression thoughtful. “He got weird after his dad died. Up until that point, he was friendly with me and Graham. A few other kids, too. He was always artistic, but after his dad died, his work got freaky. He started drawing monsters.”

“You mean like the Fiend?”

“No. Distorted things. Abnormal.” Ivy frowned. “I don’t know how else to describe it.”

The more Maya learned about Dante DeLuca, the more complex he seemed. “Maybe he was having a hard time.”

“It could be.” Ivy didn’t sound entirely convinced. “His dad left him a mansion on the west side of town, but he spends most of his time in an apartment near Pin Oaks.”

To be near his grandmother. It was a sad tale, but it made no sense that a man with that kind of money would let his grandmother—his beloved grandmother—languish in a nursing home.

“Why doesn’t he hire someone to care for his grandmother so she can live at home?”

“According to Dante, he’s tried. He even pleaded with her, but she likes being with people her own age. She says the house is too big and empty.”

“He could buy something smaller.”

“He tried that, too. Sonia DeLuca is a stubborn woman. And as much as I think he’s messed up, even if his grandmother moved from Pin Oaks, Dante would still lash out at Hode Development on behalf of the other residents.” A trace of grudging respect lingered in her voice. “He can be an idiot, but he stands by his principles.”

Maya thought back to the man she’d seen at the Fiend Festival. If she’d encountered him on the street, she would have thought he was a vagabond based on his shabby appearance. There were plenty of wealthy people who came off as eccentric. Apparently, Dante DeLuca had decided to embrace that stereotype.

Ivy’s phone chimed with a text message before she could press further.

“Crap. It’s Graham asking for a ride.” Ivy thumbed through the message. “I told you we’re like brother and sister. I gave him a lift home after he dropped his car off for inspection this morning. Looks like he’s ready to pick it up. I’m going to have to leave. At least for a while.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Maya had lost her motivation for unpacking. “I want to take my time sorting through what I have left, anyway. Do you still want to go to the Fiend Festival tonight?”

“Sure.” Ivy drained the remainder of her tea, then carried her glass into the kitchen and set it in the sink. “Why don’t we catch dinner someplace first instead of eating pizza again? There’s a café on Arch Street that does great salads and wraps.”

“That sounds good. How about around six?”

“Perfect.” Ivy grinned. “I can pick you up. It’s too far to walk, and there’s no sense in taking two cars.”

“I thought the roads were blocked at this end of town.” Maya stood and pushed in her chair.

“Only on the first day of the festival. After that, they open the back route through Chicory.”

“Then I won’t argue. I’m still learning my way around the city.” A sudden spot of frigid air bloomed around her. She glanced toward the ceiling, expecting to see an air conditioning vent, but the surface was solid. “That’s odd.”

“What?” Ivy hesitated at the mouth of the hallway.

Turning to the window behind her, Maya pressed her hand to the sill. The wood was warm beneath her touch, the outside temperature in the upper seventies. “I felt a blast of cold air.”

“Check the A/C,” Ivy suggested. “If it’s malfunctioning, call Hode Development. Leland owes you his life. He can surely spring for a repair.”