A Local Habitation

“Yes—I’ll send them with April after I’ve checked with Jan and arranged for the flowers. What are you doing?”


“Checking the office,” I said, and closed the desk drawers, moving to the drafting table. Elliot stared at me, dismayed. I sighed. “We’ve searched the offices of all the other victims, Elliot. I’m sorry about Yui, I really am, but we still need to do our jobs.”

“I . . . understand,” he said slowly, and leaned against the wall, tugging his beard. “Please, continue.”

“We’ll be as quick as we can,” I promised, and pointed to the prints on the walls. Quentin nodded, moving to start taking them down and checking the backs for hidden papers. I concentrated first on the drafting table, then on the computer and the cushions on the floor around it, turning things over and looking beneath them, hoping for another find like Barbara’s office, and half-dreading it at the same time—I did not want to be the one to tell Elliot that his fiancée had sold them out.

Fortunately for my sanity, I didn’t have to. We searched for twenty minutes and found nothing but a stack of half-completed projects, some technical manuals, and a book of handwritten sonnets that we surrendered to Elliot without thinking twice. Eventually, we admitted defeat, and I moved toward the door.

“There’s nothing here. Quentin, come on.”

“Can you find your way back without me?” Elliot asked. I could hear the promise of tears in his voice.

I didn’t want to leave him alone. I didn’t want anyone to be alone in this death trap of a company. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t deny him the right to grieve. “Sure,” I said.

Elliot nodded once. “I’ll meet you there.” He turned to exit the office, shoulders bowed. We watched him go, silent. What was there for us to say? I couldn’t promise justice. If there’d been justice in the world, I could have given him Yui back. As it was, all I could do was try to avenge her.

He was barely past the doorway when April appeared, her arrival sending the smell of ozone and electrical fire washing over the office. Elliot stopped, turning back to face her, but her attention was focused on me.

“Are you available to receive a message?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Are you available to receive a message?” she repeated, tone exactly the same.

“That means you’re being paged,” said Elliot. “Yes, April, we’re available.”

“There is a visitor at the front gate.”

I glanced to Quentin. “Sounds like your ride’s here. April, who is it?”

“Identity presented as Connor O’Dell. Purpose presented as ‘beat Toby’s ass until she agrees to get the hell out of this death trap.’ ” April’s neutral expression didn’t flicker. “He is currently held at the front gate. Shall I permit him to enter?”

“Please. Quentin, come on.” I grinned, unabashedly relieved. “We’re getting you out of here.”





EIGHTEEN



“WHAT MADE YOU THINK you should come without a car?” I stared at Connor, aghast.

He shrugged, spreading his hands in apology. “I thought you’d let us take yours.”

“Ignoring the part where you just assumed you could commandeer my only means of transport, is there a reason you didn’t ask the cab to wait until you’d checked with me?”

Connor shrugged again, looking helpless. “I didn’t think you’d let me in if I had a mortal cabbie with me.”

“He’s right,” Jan said, looking between us. “We wouldn’t have.”