cat leapt onto the railings, swishing its long tail. Quicksilver didn’t seem to notice the animal and flicked on the lights just inside the door. When he slowly held out a hand to the animal, it bristled and leapt down.
“Leave it alone!” She swung around to face him, her eyes hard, her hands fisted at her sides.
“Sorry. I s that your cat?”
She looked over the railing and then shoved past him, her body rigid with anger. “No. But there was no reason to scare it away.”
“I didn’t realize it was that skittish.” He studied the alleyway. The cat stared back from a precarious seat on the edge of a metal dumpster.
Sutton must have left, at least temporarily, for the animal to be willing to sit there in the open, flicking its tail.
Feeling unwelcomed and on edge, he followed Quicksilver inside. Ironically, the more irritated she got, the more he wanted to remain with her, as if he could shield her from the consequences of her anger.
To ensure her safety or something else? What was he really doing here?
S he flicked on another light in the living room, her breath huffing over her lips with impatience. Ignoring her, he looked around. A deeply disturbing sadness settled over him at the starkness of her quarters. The room revealed more about her than she realized.
The living space was just one large room . A narrow, squared-off section protruded from the wall in the far corner announcing the location of a tiny bathroom. It represented the only private area in the barren, open space.
On his right ran a long counter, interrupted by a stove and sink, comprising the kitchen. An old, white refrigerator, missing the chrome strips at its base, stood in the corner at the end of the white Formica counter. Next to that, a small round table with one wooden chair leaned drunkenly toward the wall.
He took a few steps past the counter and noticed a narrow, single bed with an iron frame midway down the far wall. Next to the bed was a plain, wooden nightstand.
He’d never seen a more Spartan or depressing apartment. Loneliness and a determination to stay that way saturated the place. She had made no attempt to add any welcoming decoration, any family pictures, or even sufficient furniture to accommodate a guest.
A single, cushy chair with a large, square footrest stood near the center of the room, turned so she could watch an old television on a metal stand shoved against the opposite wall. From that chair, she could see the door, raising the permeating sense of paranoia to a new level.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors paneled the entire back wall, cut in half by a ballet dancer’s bar at waist height. The mirrors reflected back the entire room, making Kethan and Quicksilver seem small, insignificant, in a vast space. He turned away, disliking the illusion. The apartment was small and they were large, the opposite of what its cold echo of reality displayed.
Then he realized its usefulness for a woman who hunted vampires. Anyone who entered would be reflected in its silvery surface, unless he or she was a vampire. The test would be quick and effective.
The air in the room smelled of soap with a light undercurrent of chlorine, and he sniffed, the astringent odor tickled his nose. He rubbed it absently. Even the scents were no-nonsense, practical without any effort to make the atmosphere more pleasant by plugging in an air freshener with the scent of freshly baked pie or cookies to recreate the sense of coming home.
Two dark windows , covered with pale green drapes, broke up the far wall. A matching set of double windows graced the wall above the kitchen sink. The heavy, unattractive drapes shut out the streetlights and any gleam of life from passing cars.
“I told you not to come up.” Despite the defiance in her stance, her voice was soft, sad. She glanced around once and then stared down at the counter in the kitchen, refusing to look at him. “I don’t have room for guests.”
“You have room . Lots of room. You just
“Leave it alone!” She swung around to face him, her eyes hard, her hands fisted at her sides.
“Sorry. I s that your cat?”
She looked over the railing and then shoved past him, her body rigid with anger. “No. But there was no reason to scare it away.”
“I didn’t realize it was that skittish.” He studied the alleyway. The cat stared back from a precarious seat on the edge of a metal dumpster.
Sutton must have left, at least temporarily, for the animal to be willing to sit there in the open, flicking its tail.
Feeling unwelcomed and on edge, he followed Quicksilver inside. Ironically, the more irritated she got, the more he wanted to remain with her, as if he could shield her from the consequences of her anger.
To ensure her safety or something else? What was he really doing here?
S he flicked on another light in the living room, her breath huffing over her lips with impatience. Ignoring her, he looked around. A deeply disturbing sadness settled over him at the starkness of her quarters. The room revealed more about her than she realized.
The living space was just one large room . A narrow, squared-off section protruded from the wall in the far corner announcing the location of a tiny bathroom. It represented the only private area in the barren, open space.
On his right ran a long counter, interrupted by a stove and sink, comprising the kitchen. An old, white refrigerator, missing the chrome strips at its base, stood in the corner at the end of the white Formica counter. Next to that, a small round table with one wooden chair leaned drunkenly toward the wall.
He took a few steps past the counter and noticed a narrow, single bed with an iron frame midway down the far wall. Next to the bed was a plain, wooden nightstand.
He’d never seen a more Spartan or depressing apartment. Loneliness and a determination to stay that way saturated the place. She had made no attempt to add any welcoming decoration, any family pictures, or even sufficient furniture to accommodate a guest.
A single, cushy chair with a large, square footrest stood near the center of the room, turned so she could watch an old television on a metal stand shoved against the opposite wall. From that chair, she could see the door, raising the permeating sense of paranoia to a new level.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors paneled the entire back wall, cut in half by a ballet dancer’s bar at waist height. The mirrors reflected back the entire room, making Kethan and Quicksilver seem small, insignificant, in a vast space. He turned away, disliking the illusion. The apartment was small and they were large, the opposite of what its cold echo of reality displayed.
Then he realized its usefulness for a woman who hunted vampires. Anyone who entered would be reflected in its silvery surface, unless he or she was a vampire. The test would be quick and effective.
The air in the room smelled of soap with a light undercurrent of chlorine, and he sniffed, the astringent odor tickled his nose. He rubbed it absently. Even the scents were no-nonsense, practical without any effort to make the atmosphere more pleasant by plugging in an air freshener with the scent of freshly baked pie or cookies to recreate the sense of coming home.
Two dark windows , covered with pale green drapes, broke up the far wall. A matching set of double windows graced the wall above the kitchen sink. The heavy, unattractive drapes shut out the streetlights and any gleam of life from passing cars.
“I told you not to come up.” Despite the defiance in her stance, her voice was soft, sad. She glanced around once and then stared down at the counter in the kitchen, refusing to look at him. “I don’t have room for guests.”
“You have room . Lots of room. You just
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