Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(91)

“There are a dozen of them,” Inaya said, “and I don’t have those keys.”

I thought for a moment. “Crap,” I said.

“What is it?”

“There’s a really easy way to do this, but it’s also the hard way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m about to eat so much crow I’ll be stopping up toilets with feathers for a week.”

? ? ?

I waited until dinnertime, when Caryl was most likely to be at the Residence. I paid the cabdriver extra and told him to leave if I wasn’t back in fifteen minutes; my reasoning was that Caryl would either welcome me back or kick me off the property right away.

I knocked on the door, praying that the person to answer would be someone likely to let me in. When I saw Tjuan push aside the curtain, I sighed and turned back toward the cab. Just as I was heading for the porch steps, I heard the bolt come off the door. Tjuan opened it a foot or so and stood in the doorway, much as I had once stood to block Ellis.

“You have got balls of brass,” he said in a way that made my palms sweat.

I kept a smile on. “Actually, that’s one of the few metal bits they did not install when they were putting me back together.”

He discharged a short sound that might have been a laugh.

“Can I come in?” I said. “I’ve pretty much solved this Riven-holt business for Caryl, and I want to tell her what I found.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s the truth, I swear on my Echo’s life. Which is, by the way, being made unimaginably horrible in an interdimensional prison while we’re standing here chatting.”

“Also bullshit.”

“At this point, wouldn’t it be easier just to slam the door in my face?”

“I’m trying to find out what it is you’re really after so I know whether I should beat you to death with your own leg first.”

I looked at him for a long time and came to the tentative conclusion that this was humor. God but I hoped so.

I said, “How can I decrease my chances of such an outcome?”

“By laying off the bullshit and telling me what you really want. Think before you answer.”

I battled righteous irritation for a moment. How was I supposed to convince Mr. Paranoid that something other than the truth was the truth, when the truth itself hadn’t convinced him?

Then I realized he hadn’t asked me why I’d come. He had asked me what I wanted. I cast around in my mind for the simplest answer, and when I found it a lump came to my throat.

“There we go,” Tjuan said. “Spit it out.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I said. “I won’t get it.”

“That don’t mean I won’t enjoy hearing you ask. Make it good and I might let you in.”

I stood on a precipice with only the dimmest idea of how important it was: not just to the case, but to myself as a human being. I felt the kind of fear I should have felt a year ago, looking down from a seven-story building. But this time I had to step forward. Some part of me had grown enough to know I wouldn’t shatter, even if it felt like I would.

“I want forgiveness,” I said.

I’m not sure who was more shocked, Tjuan by my answer, or me by his look of shock. I could have pushed him over with two fingers and walked into the house.

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“Hell if I know,” he said. “Something in that suitcase of yours.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Forgiveness is the name of the romance novel I was reading. I’m dying to know how it ends.”

“Get your ass in here,” he said, stepping back and opening the door wider. “But if you want forgiveness, bark up some other tree.”

“Why is that?” I said warily.

“’Cause I never really gave a shit,” he said, and then disappeared into the dining room. I stood near the front door, listening to the sounds of eating and chatter, and wondered if Tjuan was about to announce my presence. I couldn’t bring myself to go charging into the idyllic meal in progress. Damn it smelled good, though. My brain picked that moment to dredge up the look on Teo’s face the last time I’d seen him.

Monty appeared from around the corner of the couch, arching his back in a tippy-toe stretch and eyeing me coyly.

“Hey, handsome,” I said. “Missed you.” He came over and butted his head against both of my prosthetics to declare me his property, then sauntered off with his crooked tail in the air.

After a few minutes I felt a familiar tingling shock as Elliott collided forcefully with my chest. I tried blindly to catch him, but by the time my hands moved, I could already feel him on my shoulder. I made a soothing sound, then saw Caryl leaning against the cased opening that led to the dining room.

“What brings you here?” she said, tugging on the cuff of one of her gloves. “I hardly give credit to Tjuan’s enigmatic pronouncements about absolution.”

“Vivian’s having Berenbaum and Rivenholt construct a Gate somewhere on the new studio property in Manhattan Beach.”

Elliot tumbled off my shoulder. “Go on,” said Caryl.

“Probably on one of the soundstages, but it will take fey glasses to find out which one has been warded.”