Adam’s voice came from the other room. “Yeah, I bet six hundred. You swear this thing’s fixed?”
She heard the click and flare of a lighter. Scented the catch of the cigarette. Felt the strain of crouching like she was already, her fingers on the edge of the tub to steady herself, a corner of Knight Singh’s book jabbing her in the stomach.
“Yeah, box exacta on Vantablack and Wild Mars Rover.” His voice changed, suddenly deferential. “No, I’m not doubting you. Of course not.”
Charlie tried to stop breathing so she could be sure to hear what he was saying.
“When I make fourteen grand, the book’s yours. Going to go home to my girl a hero.”
That would have been a much sweeter sentiment if he hadn’t ditched Doreen and their kid for days, and stolen her ring to boot. At least now Charlie understood what he needed it for. Someone had offered him a gambling tip for the book.
Knight had been a member of the Cabal, a local governing body for gloamists. On his own, he had a small organization with its hands in a lot of things, including art theft and political manipulation. He mainly employed puppeteers.
With him gone, there might be a power vacuum at the top. Knight’s accumulated knowledge would help anyone make a play for the leadership role. Another puppeteer, using their shadow to mess with the world. Slow a punch in boxing. Jerk a hand on a wheel while coming around a turn. Or trip a horse on a track. Another puppeteer, with a lot of ambition and not a lot of cash.
She supposed it could be a decent deal, but it was definitely a bootleg deal. Adam really must have wanted to move the book fast.
“I got it off Raven,” he said from the other room. She heard the springs of the bed groan. “I don’t know if she read it.”
Charlie’s legs shook from holding her position. She could risk sitting, which would be bad if she had to get up quickly. Or she could stay like she was and hope that her muscles didn’t cramp, which would make her even slower and less able to run, if it came to that.
She frowned at her shadow, dark against the white tile, another thing that might give her away.
The cat had bitten her that afternoon. Could that have been enough blood to finish its quickening? A shadowy form coming toward Adam could chase him straight into the hall. He’d probably continue on to the lobby, shouting at the top of his lungs, imagining it was an angry gloamist after him.
Move, she told her shadow. Do something.
Her shadow remained just where it was.
Oh, come on, she thought. Be magic.
Inert.
You’d do it for blood, wouldn’t you? If I tossed a napkin soaked with it, like a stick for a dog.
Or like a napkin soaked with blood for a dog, she supposed.
Please. But nothing happened. And her legs only hurt worse. What good are you then?
Taking a chance, putting her hand on the tile, she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She could stand for a lot longer, but if he came into the bathroom, he’d be sure to see her.
She hadn’t heard him throw the dead bolt. If she could hop out of the shower, get across the room fast enough, she could be out the door before he got up off the bed. Except that it would be almost impossible to get out of the shower without making some sound. If he just turned on the television, she might be tempted to try.
In the other room, Adam was on a second call. “Yeah, I’m just going to take a quick shower and then I’ll meet you at the bar.”
She had to get out of the room, immediately.
Slowly and carefully, she pulled her cell from her pocket.
He’d already found a way to move the book, so Amber would hold no appeal, even if he hadn’t blocked her. Charlie could use her regular phone—send him a text, pretending to be a stolen credit card alert, or the hotel manager. But if he called back, it wasn’t like she could answer from his bathtub.
Charlie flipped a mental list of people she knew, plus the things she might be able to convince them to say. Maybe she could convince Barb to call and tell him there was a delivery for Adam that he needed to go down and sign for. Maybe she could get Posey to call and tell him that his car was on fire.
Then she thought of the one person who could definitely get him up and out of the room. Doreen.
From the other room, she could hear him rummaging through his drawers.
Fucker sold your gram’s ring, Charlie wrote.
For a moment there was no response and Charlie started to sweat.
Then Doreen’s text came: Asshole. I’m going to kill him. Where is he?
Charlie smiled. She typed as fast as she could. MGM hotel, Room 455. He’s there right now, if you want to give him a piece of your mind.