Page 73 of There is No Devil

When I’ve finished and washed my hands, I almost collide with Gemma Zhang. I suspect she was waiting outside the bathroom to orchestrate just this sort of meeting.

“Mara Eldritch,” she says, holding out a freshly-manicured hand. “The woman of the hour.”

“Gemma, right?” I say, taking the hand and shaking it.

“Did Sonia warn you about me?” she smiles slyly. “She’s quite the guard dog for Cole Blackwell. Can’t take a step in his direction with Sonia barking at you.”

“She’s good at her job.”

I’m trying to decide how I feel about Gemma. She’s quite lovely, elegantly dressed in her silk jumpsuit, but there’s a wicked edge to her smile that doesn’t put me at ease.

“You must see a lot of Sonia,” Gemma muses. “While you’re seeing a lot of Cole. Living together already, aren’t you?”

There’s no point denying what everyone already knows.

“That’s right.”

“That was fast. Love at first sight?”

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Cole in love at all. Is this all part of the rivalry?”

“What do you mean?”

“My sources tell me that it was Alastor Shaw who took an interest in you first.”

“Your sources are wrong. I’ve barely spoken to Shaw.”

“But he did date your roommate …”

“I don’t want to talk about Erin,” I snap.

“Of course,” Gemma offers an expression of sympathy I don’t quite believe. “What an awful thing. I’m sure you heard about the girl they found down by Black Point … people are saying she was posed like a painting.”

“That’s what I heard,” I say stiffly.

“Can you imagine if an artist was doing all this?” Gemma pretends to look around us. “They could be here right now.”

“Are you writing about the murders?”

“Actually …” Gemma smiles brightly. “I’m writing about you. San Francisco’s newest rising star!”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Oh, it’s certain. Look at these paintings! Just stunning. Drawn from personal experience, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Why so many references to childhood?”

“Childhood shapes us all—the events we remember, and even those we don’t.”

“It’s shaped you as an artist?”

I shrug. “Remedios Varo learned to draw by copying construction blueprints her father brought home from work. Andy Warhol was a sickly child who spent his days drawing in bed, surrounded by celebrity posters and magazines. Our history always influences our aesthetic.”

“These don’t look like happy memories.”

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