Page 22 of Thief of Night
As dawn glowed through the trees like a distant fire, Charlie sat on the edge of the road and summoned a Cosmic Cab, one of the Valley’s quirkier alternatives to Uber or Lyft. Watching Red out of the corner of her eye as she gave her home address, she had the uncomfortable feeling that if she looked away, she’d find him returned to shadow.
“Don’t go,” she said as she put the phone away.
Red furrowed his brow as though not sure what she meant.
“I mean, you don’t have to disappear all the time,” she went on. “Though I understand why you might want to. I wish I could disappear sometimes too.”
He moved to sit beside her in the icy grass.
Maybe they couldn’t have anything more than friendship, but she needed to find her way to that with him. “You could talk to me more too,” she said, with a yawn. “I mean, obviously. Sorry, I’m tired.”
“I never used to sleep,” he volunteered, watching her closely. “But I do now. For a few hours, every night. Isn’t that strange?”
“Do you dream?” she asked, although she knew. He’d spoken in his sleep once, calling Adeline’s name.
“I think I always dreamed,” he told her, appearing surprised by his own answer.
She smiled up at him. “Can I lean against your shoulder?”
“Youcan,” he said, as though surely she would think better of it. But right then, she was willing to take any comfort she could get. Like this, it was easy to imagine it was Vince who she was pillowing her head on—Vince, who cleaned their gutters and went grocery shopping even when it wasn’t his turn, who paid his part of the rent punctually and without complaint. Vince, who’d seemed so stable he was an enigma.
The wool of Red’s coat was soft and carried the scent of cologne, somethingexpensive, with clove and smoke in it. Vince had smelled like bleach and the cheap soap she bought for the shower. He had tried to make her believe he wasn’t anything special. But even back then, some part of her had known: she might have him, but she couldn’t keep him.
And it had turned out that he wasn’t real.
Red was the hidden face of the man she’d loved, one she’d occasionally provoke him into showing. Those glimpses had made her feel as though they had a wicked, shared secret. Now that he showed that face to everyone, all the time, and maybe didn’t even like her, her feelings were a painful jumble of want and shame.
Vince had been the kind of person you were supposed to grow old and comfortable with. Red was a monster. You didn’t grow old with a monster. You set the world on fire together and burned up in the blaze.
Still, she pressed her cheek against Red’s upper arm and closed her eyes. Typical Charlie Hall, ignoring every warning. “Wake me when the car comes.”
She didn’t sleep. But she did listen to the morning calls of birds and felt the warmth of the sun cut through the chill night air. Let herself be comforted by his arm over her shoulder, as solid as if it were made of flesh.
Mr. Punch had given her an opportunity, so long as she didn’t fumble it. She’d need to figure out what he was trying to hide from the other two Cabal leaders. And she’d need to find the murderer, although she didn’t know how to do that—especially since a Blight could return to shadow and presumably stay there.
When she heard the crunch of tires on gravel, she opened her eyes.
True to its Cosmic company name, the Mitsubishi Mirage had been tricked out, obviously on the cheap: spray paint covered the body, pink and dark blue swirls obscuring a few dents and scrapes and creating something that looked vaguely galactic.
Charlie opened the door to the pounding rhythm of Eurodance music and a pink fur cover on the back seat. The ceiling had silver fabric glued to it, the whole thing studded with LED lights in changing rainbow colors. If you were high, this would not be a car to get into lightly.
She slid over, making room for Vince, and told the driver her address. The kid—probably a college student—dutifully typed it into the map app on his phone.
“Can you go through a Dunkin’ drive-through on your way?” she asked.
The kid perked up. “For sure.”
With that, Charlie rested her head against Red’s shoulder again. This timethe hum of the engine and the spreading warmth of the heater lulled her away from planning. Moments later, despite the music, she slept.
In dreams, she found herself in the library of Salt’s house, lying on the rug. She was no child, though, as she had been then, waking up in a sticky mess of vomit, poison, and fake blood. Instead, she was her adult self, in the red suit she’d worn the last time she was there, and Rand sat in a leather club chair, looking down at her between puffs on a cigar.
Rand, her mentor in con artistry when she was too young to know better and he was too old to become better. Rand, whom she’d hated almost as much as she’d loved, and missed terribly ever since Salt murdered him.
“Cuban cigar,” Rand said, taking a deep drag and then pursing his lips to make smoke rings. “Nothing but the best for Lionel Salt.”
“What are you doing here?” Charlie asked, pushing to her feet. “Shouldn’t you be dead?”
Rand grinned fondly. “You know me, always sneaking into places I’m not allowed. Anyway, I came to warn you.”
