FOURTEEN
“IT DOESN’T LOOK LIKE IT’S OPEN.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Byleth said softly, staring up at the three-story Victorian building. The memory of darkness had left a grimy patina over the red bricks—a discoloration any eyes but hers would assume had been left by modern pollution. Well, the yellow-brown stains eating away at old mortar had been left by modern pollution, as had the patches of filthy, crumbling paint on the pale green trim, the white streaks from acid rain on the old copper roof, and the rather amazing amount of rust on every exposed piece of iron. She sighed and wondered why darkness even bothered.
“Maybe I should go in with you.”
“Maybe you should mind your own friggin’ business.” She unlocked the seat belt and shoved open the door with the same angry motion, uncertain of just who she was angry at. I ought to suggest that he put it in gear and then drive into something solid, but why waste such a cool car. She considered telling him to park by the lake and walk out until he found a break in the ice. Or to jump off the top of a building. Or to take in a Britney Spears concert. Well, she might not be able to touch enough of the darkness to manage that last one, but all the rest were perfectly feasible. Standing on the road, still holding the car door, she examined her options.
Leslie/Deter ducked down far enough to see her face. “Be careful.”
“Whatever.” No point in wasting diminishing resources on such a loser, not when there was a world of dark potential at her back. Muscles straining, she pulled at the heavy door and was astonished to hear her own voice just as it closed. “Thanks. You know, for the ride.”
Gratitude?
Eww.
Spitting wasn’t enough to take the taste out of her mouth. This was so the last time she was manifesting in Canada.
Clutching her open coat more tightly around her, Byleth waited until the car disappeared around the corner before turning toward the house. The God-pimp was just the kind of guy who’d hang around to make sure she was all right. “As though he could do anything about it if I wasn’t,” she sneered, climbing over a ridge of snow and up the nine uneven steps to the porch. There was a door down an equal number of steps in the area, but a teenager breaking into the basement of a guesthouse might be noticed by the neighbors while a customer, even a young customer, approaching the front door would not— knowledge not from the dark end of the possibilities but overheard last night in the mission dorm. If things went her way over the next couple of hours, there were a few other bits of overheard information Byleth looked forward to trying out—although she wasn’t entirely certain what a funchi, key caz star boi was.
The door was unlocked.
The old-fashioned brass knob turned silently.
There’d be a Cousin inside. A Cousin who’d have been able to sense her since this morning when that idiot angel had so unexpectedly changed. A Cousin who had to know she was close. Who could be waiting, ready for her, just inside.
I can take a Cousin.
Palms suddenly damp, she hesitated, wondering why she was leaking. She could take a Cousin. Couldn’t she? At the precise moment she made form out of darkness, she could definitely have taken a Cousin, but for every moment after that, she’d been changing. Or, more precisely, the body had been changing her. Into what? That was the question. Suddenly racked with very undemonic insecurity, she froze.
I don’t even know who I am anymore. This was such a stupid idea.
It took a cold wind blowing in from the lake to get her moving again. Freezing was fine as a metaphor, she decided, pushing open the door, but in the real world it sucked big time. So maybe she couldn’t beat a prepared Cousin—no matter how pointless the whole stupid thing ended up being, it was infinitely preferable to spending another moment feeling like imps were jabbing icicles into her ears. She got enough of that back home.
It wasn’t significantly warmer inside the guesthouse.
The lobby and the tiny office behind the long wooden counter were empty of everything except a rather pitiful looking desk and an old rotary dial phone. Either the Cousin whose presence permeated the building had set a trap closer to the memory of Hell, or he hadn’t thought her much of a threat.
Byleth’s fingers curled into fists and her mood flipped a hundred and eighty degrees, insecurity trumped by insulted pride. That’s just fine, she snarled silently. If you want a threat, I’ll give you a threat.
Tossing a disdainful glance at the hunter-green walls—so yesterday’s color—she moved quietly down the hall, allowing instinct to guide her. After it guided her to the kitchen, which decidedly had never held a hole to Hell in spite of a rather eldritch pattern of grape jelly spilled on the counter, she started opening doors.
The basement wasn’t that difficult to find.
Given the history of the place, Byleth could think of only one reason for the large metal door across from the washer and dryer, although reasons for it to have been painted turquoise escaped her. A few steps closer and she saw that it was ajar.
This, then, was where the Cousin had set his trap.
“Where to?”
Setting the squirming backpack carefully on the floor behind the driver’s seat, Diana dropped into the cab and slammed the door. “The Elysian Fields Guest House, Lower Union just off King Street.”
“That’s downtown, by the waterfront?”
“Last time I checked.” Given the building in question, that wasn’t entirely a facetious statement.
“The Elysian Fields Guest House?” the cabby repeated thoughtfully, easing his car into the line of traffic leaving the train station’s parking lot. “Bet that’s a name that doesn’t draw a lot of business. Might as well call it the Vestibule of Hell.”
Diana smiled grimly at his reflection in
