When he appeared in my line of sight, I focused on the odd swirling pattern embedded into the fake leather booth directly in front of me. He perched on the edge of the seat across the way, much like he had the night he’d intercepted me. When I didn’t look at him, he sorted through the books he held in hand.
Sweet baby Jesus. Just go away!
“You said Bront? was a favorite, right?”
As he passed the novel over, I noticed it was indeed a Bront? work, but not a personal favorite. I accepted the copy of Wuthering Heights with a jerky nod and an unladylike grunt, keeping my face forward.
“That’s not the right one, is it?” He didn’t seem insulted, his abnormally husky voice tinged with amusement. When I didn’t respond, his fingers snaked around my left wrist. “Come on. I’ll take you back inside and you can pick your poison. We don’t travel to this area often, and I can’t promise we’ll be back anytime soon.”
I almost told him I was illiterate but found myself shrieking, “That’s okay,” when he tried to pull me from the seat. I leaned back in the opposite direction. “This works.”
“No, it doesn’t. Come on. Last chance.”
Carter pulled me from the seat and guided me from the bus. I fell in line as he led me up the stairs to the library. What else could I do? I couldn’t fight him and I couldn’t run. I was stuck in a shitty predicament.
It was creepy as we walked past the non-secured door and climbed stairs that were covered with a mild slathering of mildew and dust. I’d never seen the place empty. Carter didn’t release his grip on my arm until we neared the third floor. Then he let go and allowed me to hobble on my own as we entered the McGraw Rotunda.
My favorite ghost, Zippo, wasn’t in her normal place in front of the Moses mural. Instead, I saw her wandering aimlessly along the hallway. Her brown skirt was just as neat as I remembered, her white top drifting with her movements. She turned as we neared and stared in our direction. She’d noticed the intrusion. She’d known I was there because I was a necromancer.
Spirits were nothing if not routine.
I pointed down the hall, in the direction of the ladies’ room. “I need to take five. Is that possible?”
Carter grinned, and the effect it had was incredible.
Shit.
He was boyishly charming when relaxed, bordering on hocking adorable. Warning bells in my head insisted I depart immediately, so I did. I swiveled on my heel and made a hasty break for the bathroom. I was curious about the electricity that continued to work throughout the building, which was only interrupted by random flickers and spurts, but my questions could wait.
The time for answers would come later.
After I figured out what in the hell I was going to do.
Only a few fluorescent bulbs had withstood the test of time in the lavatory and even then, the bathroom was dimly lit. I went to the sink and tested the knobs. I released a sigh of bliss when clean and clear water sputtered from the faucet. I cupped my hands and collected the cool liquid in my palms. I splashed my face repeatedly, finding comfort with each handful of chilled water. I tried to calm my rattled nerves.
Still, my skin bristled as I remembered the looks I’d been receiving from Carter.
Apparently blood wasn’t the only rarity in this Tales from the Crypt version of the demented future—so were women. I thought back to the random faces at the Prospect Village—Carter’s fortress of doom. There had been females throughout and most of them had bodies like Jackson, built Ford Tough. Yet the ratio of men to women residents had definitely been one-sided. I was willing to wager that the entire two women to every man equation had taken a back seat in recent years.
You’ll sort this out. Take a deep breath and think.
Lifting my head and opening my eyes, I peered into the mirror.
“Rhiannon Murphy.” Zagan’s androgynous face sneered at me through the glass as the edges of the mirror distorted and rippled. “We meet again.”