Shades of Grey by Clea Simon

now there was blue-eyed Bruce in the picture, a muscle-man with dimples. And Stacia’s news had been a bit of a bombshell. Dirty pictures of the All-American Alana?
    ‘No, it was actually pretty fun.’ Dulcie had called Suze as soon as she’d gotten off the T. ‘Those people weren’t all half bad.’ She waited. Nothing. ‘Oh, all right. Susan Laurel Rubenstein, you were right.’ The silence on the line made Dulcie wonder for a moment if her cell service had dropped out. More likely, Suze was multitasking – they both tended to do that – and had been distracted by an email. ‘Suze?’
    ‘Sorry, Dulce. That was just the strangest thing.’ Suze sounded disturbed. Maybe she’d lost something on her computer?
    ‘What?’ Dulcie stopped. She was half a block away from her building, but she didn’t want to risk losing reception again.
    ‘I don’t know. Maybe it was another network. It just sounded . . . creepy.’
    Suze was freaking her out now. What made matters worse was that she could see her own front stoop. On it, just as on the night when Tim had been killed, was a long-haired grey cat. He was staring straight at her.
    Please be careful, Dulcie. Trust, like faith, can weave spells.
    She heard the voice in her head, calm and warm, but with an overtone of urgency. ‘Trust can weave spells,’ she repeated.
    ‘That’s it! That’s what I heard just now. Did you hear it, too?’ Suze was talking, but her voice barely registered. What did that mean anyway?
    The cat on the steps had flicked its tail once, blinked its green eyes, and disappeared.

Nine
    ‘Hangover? Must have been a good party, then.’ Joanie’s voice sounded unnaturally loud in Dulcie’s cubicle. But despite the throbbing headache, Dulcie wasn’t complaining.
    ‘Margaritas,’ she said as explanation, both to her office mate, who today had traded her customary black for a virulent purple, and to herself. Better the odd apparition should have been alcohol induced. Please be careful . The words came back to her. Who had she trusted? Why did cats have to be so enigmatic? She’d flirted with Bruce, sure. But that was it. She hadn’t even given him her number.
    Still muzzy-headed as the office day wound to a close, she decided to go directly to the library from Priority. Not that she’d get much work done in this state, but maybe the air-conditioning would clear away the fog.
    But once she’d climbed out of the T and hiked across the Yard, she began to have second thoughts. The broad stone steps up to the library entrance seemed particularly steep this evening, the marble foyer somehow chilling. It was better than going home, particularly after another sweatbox day, but the familiar comfort was lacking. As she swiped her student ID through the entrance turnstile, she found herself thinking about that feline vision once again. Was she losing her mind? Last night’s apparition had been disturbing, rather than comforting, appearing with a warning and then gone in a flash. And Mr Grey, no matter how much she missed him, was dead and gone. She had held his still body herself.
    She shook her head to clear it. That didn’t help the headache, but as she rummaged through her bag for yet another dose of aspirin, she realized the obvious. Dulcie Schwartz specialized in research. Why not look into what was bugging her? She’d given up the other day at work, but she was on her own turf now – and Widener was research central.
    A quick detour to the water fountain and she fairly bounced up the steps to the reading room, the huge, hushed heart of the library. Unlike the stacks, the reading room was never even close to empty. With its high, arched ceiling and skylights, the long hall felt like a cathedral, and here in its nave supplicants were always ready to worship. Passing by the great wooden tables, where summer school students had spread out their books and papers, she made her way to one of the computer terminals set against the paneled