“Corinne, no,” Ada said. “I am not—”
“Then go tune your violin or something, Ada,” Corinne snapped. “Don’t we have bigger things to worry about than your hurt feelings?”
She regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. The damage was written all over Ada’s face as she stiffened. Ada shoved past Corinne and left.
Corinne kicked Johnny’s coat rack and cursed.
“Shut up,” she said preemptively to Gabriel. “Stay here while I find Saint.”
Gabriel lifted his hands in mute surrender. Corinne crossed the common room and banged on Saint’s door until he answered. He was wearing his smock, and his fingertips were smudged with paint. A single gash of blue sliced across his forehead, brilliant against his pale skin.
“What?” he asked, peering suspiciously past her, as if expecting an ambush.
“In case you haven’t noticed, all hell has broken loose. Get your sketchbook and come on.”
Saint didn’t move.
“Don’t worry,” Corinne said. “Ada’s not there.”
He considered her for a few moments, then slipped off his smock. He took up a pencil and a pad of paper and followed her to Johnny’s office. When she introduced him, Gabriel shook his hand, not giving any indication that he knew about Saint’s transgressions. Corinne was oddly grateful for that. Saint seemed more relaxed once she shut the office door, which was good. His art suffered when he was pressured or upset.
Corinne explained what she needed him to do, and he nodded.
“I’ve done it before for Johnny,” he said, and looked at Gabriel. “I’ll just ask some questions and make some sketches, and you tell me what looks right.”
He pulled the chair around to sit beside him and they started working. Corinne paced again, thinking that she should go and find Ada but still unsure how to make amends. She hadn’t entirely meant what she’d said, but then she hadn’t necessarily not meant it either. Corinne didn’t like apologizing for things that weren’t her fault.
In the end, she didn’t leave the office, reasoning that Ada would come around eventually. Their fights never lasted long. It took almost an hour before Gabriel agreed that the likeness Saint had created was the man who had shot at him. He was a middle-aged white man, round-faced, with a meaty nose and drooping ears.
“I don’t recognize him,” Corinne said, frowning at the portrait. “Do you?”
Saint shook his head. “Johnny probably will,” he said. “Ask him when he gets back.”
Corinne scowled at the thought of waiting, but she knew that the others were right. They couldn’t leave tonight, after Johnny had expressly forbidden it. Maybe this was some sort of misunderstanding, and he would smooth it out by morning. Even as the thought occurred to her, she inwardly berated herself. Misunderstandings didn’t end in two men dead. Whatever had happened tonight, it wasn’t going to end quietly.
Normally Ada was the motherly one, but since she was still missing, Corinne found a room with a cot that Gabriel could use for the night. It was technically a closet with a cot stored inside, but she figured it was homey enough, considering there weren’t any obvious spiders or rats.
“I can probably find some spare blankets around here,” she said as Gabriel eased himself onto the cot and leaned his back against the wall.
“I’m fine.”
Corinne hesitated in the doorway. “I can get your coat.”
“I’m fine,” he repeated. He had closed his eyes.
Corinne was already feeling the chill in the tiny room, but she wasn’t entirely sure where his coat was, and she didn’t particularly want to search for it.
She was debating whether or not to say good night, and whether or not she had already lingered too long in his doorway like an idiot, when he spoke again.
“Do your parents know about you?” he asked. “I mean, that you’re a hemopath?”
Corinne was caught off guard by the question but shook her head. Then she realized his eyes were still closed. “No,” she said.
“Do you ever wonder what they would say? What they would do?” His words were growing soft and slurred.
“No,” Corinne said, even though she did. Her brother would disown her and possibly call the police. Her father would start contacting hospitals and universities in search of a cure. And her mother would melt into hysterics of the collapsing-on-floors, begging-God-to-take-her-now variety.
Gabriel was obviously falling asleep, still propped against the wall. Corinne glanced behind her, but the common room was deserted. She maneuvered past a mop and bucket into the room and put her hand on his shoulder. He jerked awake, his dark eyes wide for a second before he focused on her face.
“You need to lie down,” she said. “Or you’re going to fall over and rip your stitches.”
“I’ll go to sleep when Johnny gets back,” he said.