Maybe he could make it as an actor.
“Miss Avery, I believe that even an actress accustomed to dealing in the world of fantasy should have grasped this situation by now. I don’t know—”
“Stop! Both of you!”
Clara knew, before she turned, who was speaking. An eerie sensation snaked up the length of her spine and radiated throughout her.
She’s here again. Amelia Carson.
But she stood there for just one moment, looking at the two of them pleadingly.
Then the officer who had been in the hall was at Clara’s side, shaking his head. “Miss... Agent Erikson? Is something wrong?”
Before either of them could answer him, it seemed that a crowd had formed; Clara realized that she’d been all but shouting when she’d spoken to Agent Erikson.
They appeared like a very strange Greek chorus. Ralph, Simon and Larry bundled in the Alaska Hut robes, the cops in uniform, a very sleepy Agent Aklaq still in rumpled plain clothes and then the film crew—Nate, Becca and Thomas—coming up from the other hallway. Magda and Justin Crowley were there, looking very grumpy in their own robes.
Obviously they’d been sleeping just fine until the commotion in the kitchen had wakened them.
Clara realized that Jackson was there, as well, alert—ready to come to her defense if necessary.
“What? What? What’s going on?” Mike demanded.
Thor Erikson looked at Clara as if she had just caused the roof to collapse.
“I believe Miss Avery is having trouble sleeping,” he said.
“Miss Avery! Oh, my dear Miss Avery!”
Marc Kimball had joined them—his dressing gown was more elegant than the rest, made of an exceptionally fine fabric. And, of course, the minute he was out, his little assistant, Emmy, came running out as well, and more state police seemed to materialize from nowhere.
Clara felt like a deer caught in blinding headlights.
Marc Kimball broke through to set his hands sympathetically on her shoulders. “I’m so sorry. What can I do to help you through this ghastly night?”
She tried desperately to think quickly, wishing that sensations and emotions were not racing through her like wildfire. The image of Amelia Carson had just disappeared again—right when the state cop had come to stand exactly where she had been.
It might have been a projected image?
She lowered her head—also feeling clammy and almost dirty somehow because Marc Kimball was touching her, because it seemed that she breathed in something that wasn’t evil, but...
Slimy.
“Clara,” Jackson said, coming through the crowd. “I guess we’re all having trouble trying to get some sleep. Perhaps, since you’re awake, you wouldn’t mind coming into the office? I think you might be able to give me a hand with something—a timetable?”
She had lost her mind for a few minutes there. No way in hell would Jackson Crow be involved in such a farce and no way in hell would he chance anything ridiculous for his precious Krewe of Hunters.
She swallowed hard, wanting to scream and shake off Marc Kimball’s touch. Thor Erikson had risen and done so in such a way that he forced Marc Kimball back.
She didn’t particularly want to feel she owed the man in any way, but at that moment, she was eternally grateful.
“I’m so sorry—I had no idea I was speaking so loudly,” she said to everyone. “Forgive me. Please, try to get back to sleep. Jackson, of course I’ll help,” she added, looking over at him.
“Come on, folks, break it all up!” Mike Aklaq said.
They all began to disperse.
“Really, Miss Avery, if there’s anything...” Marc Kimball said.
“Thank you. Thank you so much,” she told him. And she fled toward Jackson. She realized that her three friends—Simon, Ralph and Larry—looked at her with grave concern.
“I’m all right, I swear!” she whispered to Larry as she passed him.
Following Jackson to the office, she heard Becca speaking with one of the policemen. “Please, this is rough. If you’ll really keep an eye on my door...”
“Of course, Miss Marle,” one of the officers assured her.
Then Clara found herself in the office with Jackson—and Thor Erikson and Mike Aklaq. She wound up seated on the sofa that faced the desk; the three men were perched on the edge of it, arms folded over their chests, looking at her with grave expressions.
“Clara, what happened?” Jackson asked her.
“I think maybe the, uh, the film crew is still at it somehow,” Clara managed. “I saw Amelia—I saw Amelia Carson in the kitchen. Twice. And she was...she was in one piece. I’m sorry. I guess I freaked out. I assumed that maybe all of you were in on it.”
“She thought I was a stripper!” Thor said indignantly.
“There are many legitimate places where people work,” Clara said, cringing inwardly.
Jackson and Mike both laughed. “Stripper!” Mike repeated, grinning. “Hey, there, Magic Mike!”
Thor looked at him, a brow hiked.
“I’m sorry!” Clara said again.