Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(80)

“We haven’t exactly. It’s complicated. Sort of a Sleepless in Seattle thing.”

She raised a brow dubiously. “Johnny’s never shown any sign of being interested in humans that way.”

“I’m not your average human.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?” she said, still rummaging gently through the objects on the shelves.

My phone chose that moment to ring. It was an unknown number, but I hadn’t set up voice mail, and I didn’t want to lose someone important. “Hang on,” I said. “It could be David.” I answered the phone in my best casual, not-trespassing sort of voice.

“Oh, hey,” said the voice on the other end of the line. Young, male, not Teo. “Is this Millie?”

“It is,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“I dunno. You left your number at my work. This is Jeff.”

“Ah! From the sushi place!” The guy Claybriar had apparently interrogated about Rivenholt. I mouthed “Sorry” at Linda and held up a finger. Her frown deepened. I was aware that I was already walking on thin ice, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever catch this guy again, and I really wanted to know exactly what Claybriar thought Rivenholt had done.

“So what’s up?” Jeff said.

“You remember that cop who came in asking about John Riven?” I said, making no effort to keep Linda from hearing. Her irritation quickly turned to intense interest, and I met her eyes, giving her a slow nod.

“Yeah,” said Jeff.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about him, about what he asked you or what he was accusing Mr. Riven of?”

“Nah, sorry. I just remember he had a goatee, asked a bunch of questions about the guy, then ordered an orange soda and sat there taking notes in this big notepad thing for a while.”

“Taking notes on what?” I said.

“I dunno. The two guys making out in the corner, from the look of it.”

The floor under me seemed to tilt a half degree to the left. “Drawing them?”

“Could have been, I guess.”

Claybriar was the artist. God damn.

Johnny had never seen me. Johnny hadn’t painted the walls. Johnny was a nobleman, and noblemen didn’t go around making cheap paper charms.

My hands went cold and sweaty. I remembered the napkin Claybriar had written on at the coffee shop, and the nagging sense of familiarity the COLD IRON drawing had given me. Was it the handwriting? Had he used the same pen?

“Thank you, Jeff,” I said. “You’ve been . . . very helpful.” I ended the call and stuck the phone back in my pocket.

“What’s the matter?” said Linda sharply.

I just looked at her. What was I supposed to say? I came here expecting to meet my soul mate, but instead of the handsome movie star, it’s a surly, thieving, goat-legged agent of the Seelie Queen who got his head bashed to pieces on a railroad track and might be dead now.

“Millie?” said Linda. “Is everything all right?”

“It . . . it really isn’t,” I said. “I need to make another phone call.”

“Don’t,” she said, reaching into the box nearest her to pull out a handgun. She pointed it at me. “I’m sorry,” she said.





37


I dropped my cane in shock and pressed my palms back against the wall where Linda’s younger self smiled brightly with her cleavage hanging out. “Linda,” I said breathlessly. “What the hell.”

“If they kill Johnny,” she said, “I’ll be a widow within a week. And I swear to God I will hunt down every last person responsible and murder you with my own hands.”

“I am not Johnny’s enemy,” I said in my most soothing tone. “Just tell me where he took Claybriar, the faun who was after him. If you do, I promise I will leave Johnny alone, and I’m almost positive I can get Claybriar to do the same. No one from the Project knows that Johnny’s staying here, and I won’t tell anyone, I swear on my life.”

“Your life?” She gave a strange laugh. “Just how much does that mean to you, anyway?”

“Here I am, panicking at the sight of a gun.”

Linda shook her head. “I can’t tell you where he is.”

“Why not?”

She clamped her mouth shut.

“Linda,” I pleaded, “I think Claybriar might be my Echo. If something happens to him, I’ll never know.”

The gun in her hand dropped slightly, then steadied on me again. “Johnny and David have been together almost fifty years. You can’t know what that means.”

“I want the chance to find out,” I said. “Please, Linda. If I have an Echo, I need him.” I felt tears start to my eyes. “I need him; I’m a mess.”

Linda’s gun wavered again. “I know,” she said, and exhaled. “Christ, David and his little projects.”

We both jumped as, through the open door behind Linda, we heard someone slam through the house’s front entrance.

“Linda?” came David’s voice from the same direction.

“We’re in the garage,” Linda called over her shoulder.

Berenbaum appeared in the doorway and hurried toward her, effortlessly taking the gun. “Linda, what the hell is going on here?” He added with a quick glance to me, “It’s a prop, not even loaded.”