time. “We’re just kind of talking about getting serious.”
“That would be wonderful,” her mother said after a pause. “If you’re sure it’s what you want.” Margrit cast her gaze to the top of the building across the street, trying not to laugh with frustration.
“I thought you liked Tony, Mom.”
“I do. It’s just…”
“That he’s Italian-American? He can’t help being white, Mom, and besides, he’s really more of a nice golden-brown color all over,” Margrit said, straight-faced.
“Margrit!”
Laughter won, breaking free briefly before Margrit rested her head gently against the wall. “Mom, this is a relationship, not a political statement.”
“Everything’s a political statement, sweetheart.”
“Then my politics in this case are that I like the guy, all right?” The laughter fled, leaving frustration in its place again. “It shouldn’t matter.”
“It shouldn’t,” her mother agreed, a follow-up but it does left unspoken.
Margrit sighed. “Mama, what do you want me to do? I like Tony. He’s a good guy. If I end up with him it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate my heritage, you know? And it’s not like there’s only one branch to our background. I mean, I hate to break it to you, but we’re not exactly the products of a hundred generations of pure African breeding. There’s plenty of cream in the coffee.”
“Margrit, this isn’t an appropriate discussion.”
Margrit bit her teeth together to keep from pointing out that her mother had begun it. Then she exhaled slowly, letting frustration go. “Okay. New topic. I met Eliseo Daisani yesterday, and he said to tell you hello. You know him?”
She could all but hear her mother’s inhalation. “Why did you meet with Eliseo?” The name was spoken carefully, as if it hadn’t passed her lips in a long time, but she was afraid speaking it might betray something.
“I’m taking a case against him. Where do you know him from, Mom? I can’t believe you know the richest guy on the East Coast and never told me.”
“I knew him a long time ago, sweetheart. Back when he was only the richest man in New York. Margrit, be very careful. Eliseo is accustomed to getting what he wants. I know you’re very capable, but he’s a bad enemy to make.”
“People keep telling me that. Mom, if you know him you could give me all kinds of insight into his psyche. It could be really helpfu-”
“Not tonight, Margrit. If you’re certain you’re all right, I’ll let you go. Don’t work too hard, sweetheart.”
Margrit pulled the phone from her ear to look at it in disbelief before bringing it back, a grin staining her face. “Okay, Mom. I love you and I’ll try to come see you next weekend. Tell Daddy I love him, too, and that I’m fine, really.” They hung up, and Margrit shed blankets to return to the kitchen, still grinning.
Cole looked up from his dinner preparations in surprise. “No rescue necessary tonight?”
“I’ve found the magic phrase to get her off the phone. It turns out to be ‘Eliseo Daisani said hi.’”
“Seriously?” Cam’s attention focused like a bloodhound on the scent. “Your mom knows Eliseo Daisani? The Eliseo Daisani? Do you think they had a thing?”
“Oh, my God. I don’t even want to think that.” Margrit laughed and shucked her coat. “It’d take all the wind out of her sails about Tony, that’s for sure. The way she talks you’d think she never thought a white guy was cute in her life.”
“Wait. How’d we get from Daisani to Tony?”
“We got-” The phone in Margrit’s hand shrilled, making her start. “We got a phone call, apparently,” she muttered, and thumbed it on. “Hello?” Cole turned to watch her, eyebrows elevated as he waited to see who it was for.
“Margrit?”
Her stomach felt suddenly empty, and an unexpected wave of cold washed over her forearms and calves. Trusting her poker face to have not betrayed her, she waved the phone at Cole. “It’s for me.” She pulled her coat back on and stepped onto the balcony again, closing the door behind her and crouching against it, her gaze fixed on the ground five stories below. “Alban?”
He exhaled. “Do you know how many M. Knights there are in the phone book?”
“No.” She could feel her shoulders pulling back with tension, as if a dagger had been stuffed between them.
“Thirty-four. And none of them with your address listed. This was not an easy number to find,” he said with a plaintive note.
“You know my address? ” Margrit’s voice shot up.
Alban was silent a few moments. “I apologize. I’ve been watching you.”
“Jesus motherfucking Christ.” Margrit hung up the phone and stared at the receiver in her hand. Disappointment at not seeing Alban in the park didn’t, it seemed, equate to being delighted at him calling or knowing her address. Consistency was the hobgoblin of small minds.
The phone rang again. Margrit let it ring, staring at it, until Cole called, “Grit? You gonna get that?” from the kitchen.
“No.” She thumbed the receiver on anyway, willing her heartbeat to slow down. It stuck in her throat instead, making the emptiness in her stomach bubble.
“I’m sorry,” Alban said.
“ Sorry? You’re creepy! How long have you been watching me?”
He was silent again, long enough to make Margrit shiver with discomfort and fear. “Perhaps three years,” he finally said. “I’ve watched you running in the park. I…am concerned for your safety.”
“Oh good.” Margrit’s voice rose to a high register. “So to protect me from stalkers you thought you’d stalk me a little? For years? Jesus Christ!”
“Not stalk.” Alban spoke in a low, apologetic rumble. “Protect, Margrit. It’s in my nature.”
“Yeah, well, calling the freaking cops on you is in mine!”
There was another silence, even longer, before he murmured, “You haven’t hung up.”
Margrit closed her eyes. She couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Her stomach churned with nerves, but a buzz of excitement made her hands cold and her breathing short. Even if the gargoyle knew where she lived, she felt safe here. Continuing the conversation felt like walking a tightrope, the safety net far below, but still in place.
“Margrit?” he asked after a few moments. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.” Stupid, she whispered to herself, but she didn’t hang up. “I didn’t think you knew how to use a phone.”
There was a perplexed silence. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Margrit glanced back toward the kitchen, where Cole and Cameron bantered, then dropped her chin to her chest, closing her eyes. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like your style.”
“You know so much about my style?” Alban sounded amused.
“No! Look, what do you want? Why’d you come up to me in the park? If you didn’t kill that girl-those girls, more than one is dead now-then just go talk to the cops. You’re wanted for questioning, not murder.” Not yet, anyway, she amended silently. “Who did kill them?” Anger and determination prodded her even more than the pulse-racing stimulation of fear.
“I cannot go to the police.” Alban’s voice dropped, quiet determination filling it. “My…condition,” he said carefully, “forbids it. If I should be kept in custody past dawn-no.”
“Your condition, ” Margrit mimicked. “Why are you even worried about-about what people like us think, anyway?”
“My life is already lived in shadows,” he said. “To spend every night hiding my face until these murders are solved or until those who would pursue it die is too much. Margrit, listen to me. Talking to you in the park the same night that girl died was an unspeakably bad coincidence. It was the first time I had the nerve to do it. I never intended to speak to you again. I only wanted to hear your voice.”
Margrit shuddered. “That’s incredibly freaky.”
“I suppose it is. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I…wouldn’t. But I’d intended to leave you alone after that.” He
