seems to.
Vanity (snuggled up in my bed, for warmth) I had hoped would keep me awake, talking. But she did not know tonight was the night, and I dared not tell her.
Also, she was not kept in doubt, tormented by hopes, and by fears that those hopes were false. Victor had only kissed that horrible Lilac girl to get her disc player, right? He didn't really like her. But on the other hand, what kind of coldhearted cad would toy with a girl like that? I knew how she would feel if she learned he had played her false; it was how I felt now.
Vanity slept soundly, little sighs from pleasant dreams escaping her soft lips.
I also thought of things I might have done, or done better. I did not know for sure that Mrs. Wren was curled up around a bottle of booze, singing Christmas carols, and love songs popular fifty years ago, while she huddled beneath three quilt blankets in her rocking chair, rocking herself to sleep and oblivion. I wished I had been able to get a bottle of something strong into her hands.
I did not know whether Miss Daw, seeing us all, plain as paper cutouts on a chessboard, move and leave our rooms, would turn in the alarm. I wished I had spoken to her again, to stiffen her resolve, if not to betray Boggin, then, at least, not to aid him.
I was not sure where Grendel Glum was tonight. I wished I had made a point of checking. I could have spoken to Lelaps the dog, who seemed friendly, and arranged some sort of signal-bark when his master slept.
And I wished I had checked more clearly which windows were where. Through the wall, through my higher senses, I could see a splash of light from the window of another building reflected from a snowy oak tree. But the building itself was too far away (through the murk and heaviness of higher space) for me to see whose window it was. Was Boggin up late? Was ap Cymru?
At one o'clock, the light was still on. It might have been the porch light I was seeing.
At two o'clock, it was still on. I was not willing to wait longer. Boggin, no matter how fine his hearing, no matter what alarms and charms of watching he had on us, still must sleep. Two in the morning on Christmas Day was one time he certainly must be asleep, unless he was still trimming the tree, which I doubt.
I shook Vanity by the shoulder to wake her. She mumbled and tried to turn over. I shook her more and whispered in her ear: 'Merry Christmas! Today is the day! The day we escape and get away!'
She raised her sleepy head, her red hair all tousled, her sleepy eyes half-lidded. 'Sun's not up yet…' And she flopped back down onto the pillow.
I yanked the covers off her, exposing her to the cold air. She curled up slightly, sticking her bottom in the air, but pouted and did not open her eyes or stir.
I then saw what the appeal was for Boggin and Colin and so on. I put one hand over her mouth so she wouldn't yelp, and swatted her bottom with the other.
She jumped, and tried to bite my hand, but did not make noise beyond a shrill
I hissed, 'It's time! Time! D-Day! Zero hour!'
In my mind's eye, I pictured a stopwatch beginning to tick. I had spoken the words aloud. If there was a mechanism, a spirit or a spell listening to us, it had heard. It was only a matter of time till pursuit came.
'You didn't have to hit me! This leader stuff has gone to your head, Melly.'
'By dawn we'll be aboard your silver boat. By dusk we'll be anywhere in the world we like! Will you get up?'
'Okay, I'm up. I'm up! But I still say you've gone mad with power.'
'I'll retire in an hour, and go join Cincinnatus on his farm, okay? I want you to touch the door and see if you can feel anything odd about it.'
'You woke me up to feel a door?' But she padded over to the dark iron-bound panels.
'Well?'
'I feel something!'
'What?'
'The door is really damn cold, Amelia.'
'Come on! Be serious!'
'What if I don't feel serious?'
'Dictatrix Amelia knows how to deal with recalcitrant subjects. I'll get Colin to spank you.'
'Hmm. I might like that.'
'Vanity! You like Quentin!'
'Quentin the Quiet… ? Mr. Ignore-me, you mean. I'd like him fine if he'd grow up and do something.
He's never done anything like the act Colin pulled in church. Colin is annoying, but that took guts.' Vanity closed her eyes and listened at the door.
I thought to myself that it was true. No matter what they had erased out of Colin's conscious mind, a certain strength of character was present that had not been there before. He no longer feared them. For a grown man, the penalties that can be inflicted on a boy at school are not really that frightening.
But it seemed grotesquely unfair. Quentin had faced the Lamia, and even under threat of immediate and bloody death, he had not flinched. He did not remember that trial; did that mean he lost the virtue that harsh tempering had given him? Or was it merely hidden, quietly beneath his mild surface, where Vanity did not see?
Vanity opened her eyes. 'There is something watching the door. It doesn't blink or get distracted, so it is not a living thing. It doesn't listen when we talk, so it is deaf, or looking through a camera, or something.
