crock. I'd gotten Harry's text message no problem. She certainly had no trouble calling my cell phone at Shaw's Fist. I managed to get Chapel on the line with no issues. That should have been a red flag. Stupid, Marnie, verrrrry stupid.
Her story about the elder revenant, feeling him moving in his room. Another clue that should have tipped me off, if I'd been thinking of anything other than Hardass Batten. Sherlock was a clairvoyant, a Witness, not a Feeler. Besides, even empaths didn't feel things over long distances. She could see things, no doubt, if she'd still had her power. Which she didn't, except for “tiny flickers”…
The eyeballs. I'd been mucking about with that damn jar, a baker's dozen of perfect, tiny newt eyeballs on and off all day. She'd plucked that scene out of my office, hadn't she, with her “flickers”? That's why she'd used the story about an eyeball-collecting DaySitter. Stealing eyeballs didn't sound too far-fetched to someone who had a whole jar of them.
Harry had gone home to check the cabin. Chapel and the sheriff were already there. There was a warrant out for Danika Sherlock's arrest, attempted murder. There were two bored plain clothes cops from the Boulder PD outside the door to the ward, and Batten had now settled into a sturdy plastic chair in the corner of my room, looking like he planned to stay there all night.
I took a deep breath. “So the wedding should be nice. June's popular for weddings. I've always thought I'd pick April Fool's Day. Seems like that kind of monkey business would be cosmic good luck.”
He stared at me, his face unreadable. “What wedding are we talking about?”
I sucked my teeth. “Yours, jackass.”
“My wedding,” he clarified.
“Yeah, and hey, thanks for telling me you had a fiancée before we got naked. If I'd found out afterwards that might have been real awkward for me.” I grit my molars together.
“I'm not getting married.”
“Well, I guess not now, considering she's a nutbag. So when are you going to break it off with Sherlock? After sentencing?” I reached for my ice water and the movement yanked a staple in my stomach. I pressed my other hand to the wound, refusing to wince aloud. He must have seen something on my face regardless.
“You all right?”
“If you so much as reach a hand out to help me,” I warned, “I'll beat you like a rented mule.”
He steepled his fingers in silent consideration of my attitude, did his watching-crazy-person-until-he-was-sure-it-was-safe thing. Sadly, it was a look I was used to getting.
“Why would you think I'm engaged to Danika Sherlock?” he finally said.
“You're not?”
“No.”
“Were you ever?”
“No.”
I boggled, flabbergasted. “Then she's absolutely bat-shit crazy. Did you date her?”
He shook his head no. “Who told you we were engaged?” He leaned forward. “Was it Harry?”
“Harry never lies to me. Never,” I said absolutely. “Danika said it. In Buffalo, after the shooting, at the hospital.”
“That was seven, eight weeks ago?”
“Six weeks, two days.”
“I just met her. Mid-November. Three weeks ago.”
There was a confused twinge scrunching up the front of my brain. I put my ice water to my forehead and let the coolness from the plastic cup spread into my skin. “Okay, hold on. I'm missing something.”
“What happened in the hospital?”
“She brought me yellow roses. Told me she was your fiancée. Said she hoped I felt better soon. She went to the vending machine for me and got me a Dr. Pepper. I remember it distinctly because she wouldn't let me pay her for it.”
“How did she know you were in the hospital?”
I smiled at him sourly. “You mean if she didn't see it on TV or hear it at the office? She is, or was, a second degree clairvoyant. Retrocognition. She can perceive past events, people, places, objects from a distance. If she wanted to know where I was, all she had to do was meditate on it.”
“Why did she make up
Her story about the elder revenant, feeling him moving in his room. Another clue that should have tipped me off, if I'd been thinking of anything other than Hardass Batten. Sherlock was a clairvoyant, a Witness, not a Feeler. Besides, even empaths didn't feel things over long distances. She could see things, no doubt, if she'd still had her power. Which she didn't, except for “tiny flickers”…
The eyeballs. I'd been mucking about with that damn jar, a baker's dozen of perfect, tiny newt eyeballs on and off all day. She'd plucked that scene out of my office, hadn't she, with her “flickers”? That's why she'd used the story about an eyeball-collecting DaySitter. Stealing eyeballs didn't sound too far-fetched to someone who had a whole jar of them.
Harry had gone home to check the cabin. Chapel and the sheriff were already there. There was a warrant out for Danika Sherlock's arrest, attempted murder. There were two bored plain clothes cops from the Boulder PD outside the door to the ward, and Batten had now settled into a sturdy plastic chair in the corner of my room, looking like he planned to stay there all night.
I took a deep breath. “So the wedding should be nice. June's popular for weddings. I've always thought I'd pick April Fool's Day. Seems like that kind of monkey business would be cosmic good luck.”
He stared at me, his face unreadable. “What wedding are we talking about?”
I sucked my teeth. “Yours, jackass.”
“My wedding,” he clarified.
“Yeah, and hey, thanks for telling me you had a fiancée before we got naked. If I'd found out afterwards that might have been real awkward for me.” I grit my molars together.
“I'm not getting married.”
“Well, I guess not now, considering she's a nutbag. So when are you going to break it off with Sherlock? After sentencing?” I reached for my ice water and the movement yanked a staple in my stomach. I pressed my other hand to the wound, refusing to wince aloud. He must have seen something on my face regardless.
“You all right?”
“If you so much as reach a hand out to help me,” I warned, “I'll beat you like a rented mule.”
He steepled his fingers in silent consideration of my attitude, did his watching-crazy-person-until-he-was-sure-it-was-safe thing. Sadly, it was a look I was used to getting.
“Why would you think I'm engaged to Danika Sherlock?” he finally said.
“You're not?”
“No.”
“Were you ever?”
“No.”
I boggled, flabbergasted. “Then she's absolutely bat-shit crazy. Did you date her?”
He shook his head no. “Who told you we were engaged?” He leaned forward. “Was it Harry?”
“Harry never lies to me. Never,” I said absolutely. “Danika said it. In Buffalo, after the shooting, at the hospital.”
“That was seven, eight weeks ago?”
“Six weeks, two days.”
“I just met her. Mid-November. Three weeks ago.”
There was a confused twinge scrunching up the front of my brain. I put my ice water to my forehead and let the coolness from the plastic cup spread into my skin. “Okay, hold on. I'm missing something.”
“What happened in the hospital?”
“She brought me yellow roses. Told me she was your fiancée. Said she hoped I felt better soon. She went to the vending machine for me and got me a Dr. Pepper. I remember it distinctly because she wouldn't let me pay her for it.”
“How did she know you were in the hospital?”
I smiled at him sourly. “You mean if she didn't see it on TV or hear it at the office? She is, or was, a second degree clairvoyant. Retrocognition. She can perceive past events, people, places, objects from a distance. If she wanted to know where I was, all she had to do was meditate on it.”
“Why did she make up
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