Page 21 of King Among the Dead

“A sad story,” Kay said, and patted her shoulder. “Come help me with the fresh sheets.”

Why are the portraits mislabeled?she wanted to ask, but didn’t. Kay hadn’t mentioned that they were. Did she know? Maybe she’d thought it an unimportant detail. Maybe, given the state of the rest of the room, she’d thought it obvious that Beck didn’t hold any great care for his personal suite.

She glanced over the vast expanse of bed as she and Kay tucked the fitted sheet in up at the headboard, trying to gauge the other woman, to see if she could sense whether or not she was hiding something. But Kay looked as maternally disgruntled as she had the whole time, so that was–

Her hand bumped something hard and cool.

She squatted down on her haunches and managed to lift the corner of the mattress up a fraction; enough to slide her hand deeper, feel for the object, grip it and draw it out.

A gun. Matte black, heavy in her hand. Loaded.

“…Rose. Rose?”

She didn’t know how many times Kay had said her name, only that she’d zoned out. She snapped out of it as Kay’s slippered footfalls came around the end of the bed. Rose stood, gun still in her hand, wishing she’d just shoved it back where she’d found it, but caught now, uncertain.

“Oh.” Kay’s brows gave a big jump up above the rims of her glasses when she saw what she held. “It’s okay.” She closed the distance between them and held out her own hand. “He’s got all sorts of things tucked away. We’ll put it back.”

Rose…didn’t hand it over right away.

“It’s okay,” Kay said again. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

“I’m not.” And that was the funny thing: she wasn’t.

Rose didn’t hand over the gun. She knelt again and replaced it. When she stood, and faced Kay, she was surprised to find the woman giving her a strange look, her brow furrowed, mouth pressed flat. Worry.

“He wouldn’t – I mean, you know Beck’s not the sort to – he doesn’t–” She’d never struggled for her words, and Rose felt a swell of sympathy for her.

“I know.” It was her turn to say, “It’s okay.”

Kay huffed out a breath, looking frustrated with herself.

“I’ve seen the knife he keeps up his coat sleeve,” Rose said. Kay’s hand was still outstretched, trembling faintly, and Rose took it between both of hers, squeezing in what she hoped was a comforting way – she’d never done this for anyone before, but she liked when Beck did it for her. “I’ve seen his holsters. It’s not shocking that he has a gun.” Kay looked very small; her hand felt bony and fragile. “I’m not afraid of him,” Rose said, hearing the warmth in her voice.

Kay looked up at her, still brimming with worry, and studied her face. Finally, her brow smoothed, and she nodded sharply, once. Pulled away and went back around to the other side of the bed, pointing Rose back to her own corner.

They got the fitted sheet squared away in silence, and shook the flat one out between them; it bellied up, full of air, throwing off the scent of lavender and clean cotton, fluttering the gold tassels on the bed hangings. Then it settled and they began smoothing it with broad swipes of their palms.

“When did you see his holsters?” Kay asked. Her voice had lost some of its usual shine. Was instead flat. Guarded, Rose thought. “The night he got Tabby?”

“No. It was a few weeks ago. I accidently stayed up late reading in the library, and I was still there when he got home.”

“Oh.” She paused, hands braced on the mattress until Rose met her gaze. Hers was narrow, and dark, and totally foreign. “What did he say?”

Rose replayed it in her mind, each little detail plucking her nerves with pleasant shivers. The way he’d gripped his whiskey glass; the shadows on his cheeks when he took his first drag; the tension in his throat; and his eyes, always his eyes.

A portrait she found herself wanting to hold close. Something just for her, and no one else. She said, “I was readingJane Eyre. We discussed Rochester.”

Kay stared at her – stared her down. Searching for a crack, waiting for her to flinch. Rose wanted to rewind time, to leave the gun where she’d found it and pretend she’d never noticed it. But, given that wasn’t possible, she wasn’t going to flinch. She’d known Kay long enough now to regret this sudden, oily tension spilled between them, but also to know that, while the woman doubtless had her own secrets and dangerous qualities, Rose wasn’t afraid of her. Not of her or Beck.

Finally, the hard look melted, and Kay let out a reluctant chuckle. “Damn, honey. You ain’t no meek mouse, are you? My mistake.” She went back to smoothing the sheet, and her next question was asked with her usual blend of casual curiosity. “He tell you where he’d been?”

“No, and I didn’t ask.”

“Smart girl.”

She hadn’t asked, but she’d run possibilities through her head. She’d lived in the Bends most of her life, had gone to school for years with other Bends kids – kids whose parents and older siblings and even some of the kids themselves had worked in the even seedier parts of town. She knew the sorts of places a man might go when he left the house after ten p.m. The drug dens, the strip clubs, the sex clubs. Places to pay for an hour of a woman’s time; places to bet on bare-knuckle fights. Places to stick a needle in your arm and make the whole world go away.

She’d seen junkies, though, and Beck wasn’t one – if he dabbled in that arena, it was only dabbling, and he played it off well. He’d had a cigarette that night, though, and a drink. He’d saidafter. After what? She imagined a woman raking her nails down his black-clad chest, playing with his holster straps, and she wanted to bare her teeth.

---