Madhouse (Cal Leandros, #3)(30)

I still wanted to know what had led to the peculiar animosity on Robin's side versus the vexed watchfulness on Ishiah's, but now wasn't the time. "Targeted?" The museum. "He was attacked two days ago by a sirrush. We thought it was a random thing. Shit." I grabbed my cell phone. "You don't know anything? Who's behind it? Why?"

"No. Nothing. It's the flimsiest of hearsay, the source of which I can't determine." His jaw set as his eyes narrowed. "And I've made the effort." His hand clenched into a fist. "An extensive effort."

Damn. If Ishiah couldn't get to the bottom of it, it was going to be a hard nut to crack. Goodfellow's answering machine picked up and I swore again. "I've got to go." I ripped off the apron as I came around the bar and tossed it on the counter.

"Make sure the son of a bitch watches his back," he commanded.

"I'll do one better," I responded as I hit the door. "I'll watch it for him."



When I arrived, I was sweaty and breathing hard from my run up twenty-five flights. I didn't take elevators. A good fight was about defense and offense. It was hard to get a good defense going in a steel box—a giant mousetrap, for all intents and purposes. And I wasn't fond of anything with the word "trap" in it.

After I'd pounded my fist against the door, Seraglio opened it and looked up at me with disapproval. "You most surely are a loud young man."

"Sorry, ma'am. I need to talk to Rob." I felt as if I were six and asking if my friend could come out and play.

Smelling of cinnamon and honey, she pursed full lips painted a glossy burgundy and shook her head. Her long, cascading silver earrings rang like church bells. "He's not here." But she stepped aside to let me in. "He may be at work or he may be out debauching the innocent. Lord above, I cannot keep up with that man's schedule."

"Who can?" I muttered. Robin had kept his nonhuman origins from the woman, but there was no way he could conceal his sexual and alcoholic exploits. He didn't even try. Hell, why would he? He was as proud as if there were a Nobel category for high living and he was up for consideration. Seducing, swilling and just proud to be nominated. I tried his cell again. Nothing. "Do you know his office number?"

Clucking her tongue, she went to the kitchen and opened a drawer to pull out a leather notebook. She then pointed out a number with a long nail the same color as her lipstick. It was amazingly pristine for her profession, I thought as I called the provided digits. He wasn't there either. "Goddamn it."

Fathomless black eyes pinned me disapprovingly as those startlingly immaculate nails tapped against the counter. "Sorry, ma'am," I said again. In the past year I'd fought against an army of Auphe and a massive two-headed werewolf and yet this woman had me bobbing and weaving. "I just need to find Rob." I remembered to use his "human" name with ease. What Sophia hadn't taught us about lying and dissembling, a life on the run had filled in.

The trouble was I couldn't tell her that I was worried about him. She would ask why and Robin wasn't here to come up with one of the brilliant and utterly false stories he was so good at spinning. I tended to go with the "What's it to you, *?" response to questions I didn't want to answer. And I could only picture which of the household appliances around us would be inserted in me if I used that line with Seraglio.

Her eyes were still marked with maternal disappointment at my poor etiquette, but she relented enough to say, "I can't help you, sugar. I am not psychic, and, in this house, thank the heavens above for that."

No, she wasn't, but I knew someone who was. This "goddamn it" I kept silent and within.



George didn't carry a cell phone, so I needed to show up with the rest of the supplicants at the ice cream shop near Pier 17 on the East River. As usual, I was fresh out of cash for cab fare and it took two trains and a hike to make it there from Robin's place.

George used to hold court at the ice cream shop after school. Once she had graduated, she kept the same schedule. People needed to be able to find her, to depend on her, she said. She hadn't yet decided whether college was for her or not. Service to others came first. Of course, if she'd look into her own future, she'd know if college was there. But she didn't look and she wouldn't. That would be cheating and George didn't cheat. Things happened as they were meant to, and while the little events could be changed, the big ones never could. Trying would be not only a waste of time, but also an insult to existence itself. She could tell those who came to her the small things and keep to herself the unchangeable, but she didn't see any reason to tempt herself by looking past the distant turnings of her own path. Besides, she'd once said with cheeky smile and earnest heart, it would ruin the surprise.

The ice cream shop was run by a partially blind, mostly deaf codger whose name I remembered only half the time. George kept him in business. She didn't take anything from the people who came to her, but she did gently suggest people buy an ice-cream cone or soda as thanks for having a place out of the weather. I'd yet to see a person say no to her.

Except for me.

I didn't have time to mess with ice cream and I slapped a few bucks on the counter. "Treat the next couple of kids," I ordered to the old guy half dozing behind it on a high-backed stool, and headed for George's table. She sat serenely, hands folded on Formica. The Oracle of Pearl Street. Brown eyes warm, wide mouth softly curved, she was crimson, gold, and garnet…just like my dream, just like I knew she would be. "Cal." She reached out as I sat opposite her and took my hand as easily as if she'd done it a hundred times before. "Mr. Geever has missed you."