The Rouje Kith, page 14
“At this hour?” But she did edge into the room a little further, obviously curious about the view from his window. “You have a bottle in here?”
“Maybe some Scotch somewhere. I’d have to look.” Jack decided he could do without if she didn’t like it, though. “If it bothers you—”
“Not really. Always good to know where the closest stash is.” Laughter ran under her words, and she tucked a curl behind her ear. Her earrings were long twisted silver drops—a gift from Dad, and it was good to see her wearing them. “Just in case I want to raid it.”
Now he had to lay in a supply, just in case. “Try the closet first. If I haven’t hidden something in there Mac—that’s McKenna, you’ll meet him eventually—probably has.”
“You mention him a lot. Is that where we’re going?”
Christ, no. If he tries to flirt with you I’ll have to eviscerate him. It was an irrational response, but knowing as much didn’t help. “Nope. It’s almost Christmas, and I talked Dad out of doing the whole Advent calendar. So we’re going shopping.” He glanced sidelong at her, buckling the selected watch with thoughtless, habitual speed. “Don’t worry, I’ve already handled your present for him.” As promised. Ask me for something difficult.
She nodded, and the easing of her expression was another gift, in and of itself. “He probably has a million cufflinks.”
“But none from you,” Jack repeated. They were traditional, silver with the family crest, and getting them engraved at short notice was well worth the hassle. Seeing her relief when he agreed to handle something as a demi should was at once gratifying and maddening. “And today you might see something else to get him.”
“That would be nice.” She peeked out the window, her hands clasped politely behind her back. It wasn’t as aesthetic as her garden view, but the geometric shape of the paved walk and the bulk of the west wing rising on the other side was comforting and there was enough sun for a plant, if he’d ever felt like taking care of any living creature other than his missing demie. “I still feel weird about it. The, you know. The cards.”
The next step was to get her comfortable with using Pride resources, including funds. “All the more reason to get it over with.” He slipped his wallet in the proper pocket, and though he didn’t like the prospect, it was best to go unarmed for a little while. She was extraordinarily sensitive, and might draw an errant conclusion or two if he was carrying; a Kith analyst didn’t need much in the way of firepower anyway. “Dad’ll worry if you don’t. He’ll start adding more, thinking it isn’t enough.”
“Sounds gruesome,” she agreed, cheerfully. “Maybe I should hold off a little longer.“
Not only was she relaxing, but also testing him with small jokes. “If you do, let me know.” Jack thought it very likely her sense of humor was far sharper than she’d ever let on, and couldn’t wait to hear its real contours. Sooner or later, when she trusted him, the edges would show. “I’ll provoke him.”
Her eyes all but sparkled. “Is that wise?”
“Trust me. I’m a professional.” One last glance to make sure every button was properly done, as Amelia would say, and he was ready except for his black knee-length wool coat. “You’re going to need a jacket, Zo.” And a hat, not to mention gloves. The custom ones to fit over her signet were due any time now. “It’s cold.”
“I have the one Amelia gave me.” She paused, standing next to the bright rectangle of the window; the bench seat there was hard polished wood, bare of any ornamentation. Not like hers. Jack didn’t like cushioning; he wanted every edge and plane right where he could see it. “Are you sure about this?”
I could let you stay here forever, but…“Of course. We’ll visit Traleski’s, then go to a couple stores, have lunch at Pannore. It’ll be fun, even.” Janine Traleski was jäger, her control almost as absolute as a shaman’s; she and her lieutenants would keep their cool even with an untrained bearer of the Gene at close quarters. “I’ll be right with you the entire time.”
“I know.” But Zoe’s smile said she liked to hear it anyway. On the one hand, handling her so well was great. On the other, he was keyed-up, wondering when he was going to put a foot wrong and have to coax her out again—or, Moon and God both forbid, frighten her. “After all, I might decide to book a flight to London and stay at the Ritz.”
“Huh.” He didn’t think she was serious, but his beast didn’t like any hint of her withdrawal or fear. Jack concurred; it took plenty of control to keep his tone light. “Maybe we should? If Dad’s the only one here for Christmas Amelia will stuff him like a goose.”
Zoe dissolved into giggles, cupping her hand over her mouth as if she expected someone to scold her. Her eyes sparkled, and Jack almost lost his breath. He was content to stand still, letting her amusement wash over him in warm waves. Each time their gazes met his another cascade of laughter shook her and he knew he was smiling like a complete dolt.
“Maybe the Savoy instead,” he continued, when her merriment faded. “We can spend a few days in the museums, too. Visit the Royal Ballet.”
“One thing at a time.” She straightened self-consciously; with her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright she was a completely different girl than the skinny, terrified waif fleeing a second-rate grocery store. She’d gained some weight, now vividly and visibly Kith from lucid skin to fluid grace. “You’re all dressed up. Should I wear a skirt or something?”
It was only a day suit, but he was still pleased that she liked it. And the thought of her in a pencil skirt, or schoolgirl plaid, was incredibly intriguing. “If you want to change, go ahead. I think you’re fine the way you are.” Not to mention Janine likes to see you comfortable before she starts buying. “If you’re ready, grab your coat.” He’d been hoping she’d leave her hair down, and was rewarded now; it just begged for fingertips to untangle heavy rippling silk.
Another reward was her almost-dash for the door, a marvel of coordinated Kith motion. She was forgetting to impersonate a skin; by the time he stepped into the hall she had nipped into her own suite, reappearing with the smaller leather bag Hermann had made and the coat Amelia had fretted over—what if it doesn’t fit?
The housekeeper expected a pampered Pride princess, not an anxious, polite girl who took every offering with dutiful enthusiasm. Fortunately, Jack could break or bend etiquette as necessary to smooth any incident, and he’d be doing a lot of that as his demie integrated with the Pride.
It was a pleasant prospect.
“Perfect timing.” He’d missed the pleasure of holding her coat, but she didn’t have the habit of letting him perform the small courtesies yet. She fell into step beside him as if they’d never been separated. “Got your gloves? Good. You should have a hat—fine.” He caved, of course, when she made a face. “Now, rules.” Begin as you mean to go on was almost always the best strategy. “I’m going to drive because I’m a control freak, and you’re going to let me.”
“I am?” She all but bounced, forgetting her usual watchfulness for a few precious moments.
“In this weather, and especially since we’re going somewhere you’ve never been? Yes.” Besides, he wanted her used to being chauffeured. It was the absolute least she deserved.
“Point taken.”
Having his demie agree with something, no matter how small, was extremely satisfying. Did she feel the same comfort? “You’re going to work on the letting-me-open-doors thing. It’s expected.”
“It’s medieval.” She thrust her hands in the coat’s pockets; it was slightly too large, the hem all the way at her ankles. Still, his demie made it charming, a kid playing dress-up, and it was a smaller copy of his own overcoat. The boots fit her perfectly, thank God; his eye for sizes was still good.
“More Renaissance, since I’m leaving the chainmail and spiked mace at home.” Now came the important bit, as they hit the stairs at the end of the hall. She knew enough to let him precede her here, and hopefully would handle elevators well too. “Let me take care of introductions. You don’t shake hands, unless you absolutely want to. All right?”
“Why not?” She sobered, visibly regretting the question. She’d relaxed so much, but the waters were by no means clear. Any shred of irritation or impatience made her withdraw in a hurry, hiding behind a shield of reticence and genteel etiquette Angelina had schooled her in, probably harshly.
So Jack took care not to display a single whiff of anything resembling pique or vexation. It was good practice. “It’s just not what we do, Zoe.” Shamans, let alone demie, were too precious to be handled willy-nilly. And while he was fairly certain his control would hold if a dumb skin or a Pride male touched his twin without her consent, he didn’t want the crucial test happening during their very first foray outside the house. “Will you try, at least?”
“It’s actually what I prefer.” Her sunshine returned, muted at first. If the flinches were maddening, the glimpses of vulnerable sweetness between were doubly so, in a wholly different way. She was starved for any approval at all, and grateful for much less than would satisfy many others—what might she have been, if Angelina hadn’t stolen her? “I hate handshakes.”
“I don’t doubt it.” With her sensitivity, the contact was probably excruciating. “So no worries, you never have to do it again.”
“But you do?”
“I don’t mind.” An analyst could gain valuable feedback from the contact along with a much finer pheromonal picture of an opponent. Plus, getting close enough to shake was close enough to take a throat out with little ado. “Makes me feel useful.”
She hesitated only once, passing the kitchen. Amelia hummed an old lullaby and something sizzled; the Christmas baking and candymaking were proceeding at a furious pace. “Should we tell her we’re leaving?”
“Pretend we’re sneaking out,” Jack mock-whispered, caught her hand, and pulled her along. The jolt of skin contact up his arm, the sudden relaxation of his beast, her delighted, muffled laugh—he’d fantasized about his demie’s return, and he had to say, he was a little disappointed in his own imagination.
There was simply no comparison. His wildest wishes were handily outstripped by the bright, overwhelming reality. She glanced over the smaller garage, her eyes going round, and he could have laughed at her surprise. The black SUV, her chariot for the day, wasn’t flashy at all despite its under-hood modifications. It was heavy, and safe, and dependable—just the thing for a town trip. And she let him handle her door, carefully shutting something precious in a metal cocoon.
He had to hurry on his way to the driver’s side, fighting the irrational fear that she might vanish. Maybe the panic would fade, in time—but the relief when he found her buckling up, the leather purse cradled in her lap, was intense enough to blot out every anxiety once again.
“You’re going to like Janine,” he predicted.
And if she didn’t, he would whisk her away.
24
UNCHARITABLE THOUGHTS
The roads were scraped, sanded, and salted; the fresh snow was dazzling. There was an extra pair of sunglasses in the central console, but they were comically big on her.
“You look like a movie star,” Jack said, and even though he couldn’t have meant it she still laughed, secretly pleased, and kept them on. Hiding behind shades seemed an excellent idea now that they were out of the house’s warm nestlike embrace.
You couldn’t stay in a paradise forever, after all. Zoe didn’t really think Jack would drive her out into the countryside and leave her in the cold wasteland, laughing while he sped away—but still, she hugged the purse on her lap and paid attention to every turning and landmark.
Such as they were, under all the snow.
The SUV’s radio was tuned to a classical station; whoever was in this car last probably liked it. So did she. Every damn retail place she’d ever worked in played Muzak or anemic oldies, the thumping bass at Royal’s club hurt her ears, Bea’s evangelical pop grated the same four chords over and over. But when Zoe was young Mama liked classical music and public radio while driving, and the announcers’ slow, soothing voices were friendly. Jack didn’t even mess with the volume. He just drove, a faint line between his goldendark eyebrows and his mouth set.
Fences thickened to walls before both vanished entirely; the houses lost their protective fields, drawing closer together and swelling with self-importance. A scattering of smaller, less pristinely maintained domiciles trundled by, and all of a sudden there was a town snuggled amid wooded hills.
It was the sort of small, polished place Mama would sigh at, knowing there would be nothing a faded single mother exiled from her rightful queendom could afford to rent. And Zoe would shrink in the car seat each time, knowing she was the anchor her mother couldn’t loosen.
This type of town had anti-littering signs without graffiti responses as well as quaint, freshly painted trash receptacles all up and down Main Street. The shops were tiny, full of bright, overpriced luxuries, and the supermarket at one end of the main shopping strip was the kind of high-end organic wholeness place they didn’t let you work at if you didn’t fit the aesthetic, so Zo had never bothered.
A Kroger, Piggly Wiggly, or Greenfield was more her speed. But with the clothes they’d given her, not to mention Amelia’s skincare regimen, maybe she’d be able to get a job here.
It sounded intriguing, though she suspected working at high-end places was just as bad as anywhere else. But maybe, just maybe, she could even get an apartment of her own?
It was dizzying to have an actual shot at not just survival, but something actively better. Her downward spiral had been arrested, but the vertigo kept turning her stomach over at random moments.
Antique stores, two bookstores, an art gallery, assorted small tourist shops, an old City Hall-type building with a local museum on one floor and various offices on others, a well-clipped isosceles of a fir tree on its quadrangle of public park decorated for the season with weatherproof lights and tinsel—it was beautiful as only a stage set could be.
The fir tree might even be offended at the thought that a homeless person might need shelter under its boughs. There was nary a manger nor an unhoused person in sight. The residential section crowding on the shopping area was full of cheerful, slightly seedy pseudo-Victorians and colonials, all aggressively quirky, their gingerbread painted contrasting colors and their postage-stamp yards full of decorative bric-a-brac mounding the snow in strange shapes.
There had to be a smaller, poorer townlet nearby to do all the landscaping and janitorial service for its rich neighbor. Zoe eyed the bundled-up pedestrians and was deeply, miserably aware of her own foreignness. Everyone here had money, except for whoever emptied the trashcans.
The big beautiful house and her new luxurious life were soap bubbles. If she even breathed wrong, everything could vanish.
“You’re worrying again.” Jack eased the car into yet another right turn, tires grinding on screamed and salted pavement. He was circling, as far as she could tell. “It’ll get easier, I swear. And that’s why we’re doing this first.”
I could just hide under the bed. “So this Janine’s what, exactly? A teacher?” You had to be careful to blend in with rich people; Mama’s manners were clearly from this strata and she’d raised Zo to not be an embarrassment.
Well, at least not more of one. Even in exile Angelina was regal, and very conscious of her fallen state. Her daughter couldn’t hope to be otherwise, especially since she’d never measure up.
You had to be born into this, and raised with it too.
“Sort of.” Jack checked traffic, his thumb moving slightly with the rhythm of a Schumann piece. At least, the radio’s display said it was good ol’ Schu, and that was confirmation enough. “Lifestyle consultant is what she calls it. You’re undergoing a transition, you’re in a new world. Of course you’ll need a little help adjusting.”
“Yeah.” It would be the same as everywhere else, but with money you could avoid a few of the worst parts of life. It would be even better if Zo could find a more-than-minimum job—she didn’t for a moment think the prohibition on working was real, just something polite to say—but using her new ID felt strange and illegal in a way the fake ones never had. “So she’s kind of like charm school? Tutoring?”
“Charm school.” Laughter bubbled under the words. “That’s a good one, I’ll have to tell her. Think of Janine like a cross between a personal shopper and a dotty old aunt who knows all the gossip. Here we are.” He cut the wheel, and the SUV slipped neatly into a just-vacated parking spot. “Good to see my instincts are still sharp. Don’t touch the door, all right?”
Yes sir, white knight. “I might forget in the time it takes you to walk around the car.” Teasing him was fast becoming second nature, and he seemed to like it.
“Try not to,” Jack mock-growled in return, and opened his door.
It was easy to forget he was bigger than her, had been here all along, and knew everything. He was more like one of the nonthreatening boys at school or a good coworker, one with steady hands and no management sympathies. The small, still voice of her survival instincts kept insisting he was safe.
The feeling had never led her wrong before, and if it stopped working she was dead in the water. But it was so strange not to fear a male, not to flinch when he offered a hand to help her out of the car or stepped into her personal space—and very, very strange to wake from a nightmare to his calm.
It’s fine, she repeated for the umpteenth time, her own personal mantra right next to apologies. This will all be okay. I’ll do whatever I have to, just let me stay.
At least the coat was the right kind to help her blend in here, and so were the boots. The skin stuff and haircare Amelia stocked were incredibly expensive, and by golly did they work wonders. She might get away with this, if she didn’t talk. Or touch anything. Or—
Jack’s hand closed around her elbow as she stepped up on the curb, an efficient steadying. “Where are your gloves?”
