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  Indefinite. Then she’d better be squirreling something away every month to live from when this job fell through. “I just have one more question,” she said.

  He smiled. “Somehow I think with you it will always be one more question.”

  She ignored that. “Why is it you’re willing to pay someone like me so much to do this simple work for you? I mean, you put on some music, lock a door, and set the table for dinner. Why can’t you do those things for yourself?”

  His expression was closed. “You can consider the generous payment a tip for not asking too many questions.”

  “I see,” she said. “Then I guess the only thing left to ask is, when do I start?”

  Chapter 10

  Teagan’s project for the next day was to find a suitable apartment to lay her head at night—one cheap enough she could make Sir’s cash stretch from one month to the next with still a little left over for other needs. The place she finally settled on was a tiny room on the first floor of a crumbling apartment house. It was crammed directly beneath a stairwell so she would have to listen to the echoing clank of people’s feet stomping up and down the stairs all day.

  Rather than a set of rooms, it was a single living-sleeping area with peeling olive wallpaper and a stained toilet set out openly in one corner of the room. But there was at least a thin curtain partitioning the toilet and shower off from the rest of the space, and some fairly sturdy pieces of furniture that came with the room. Teagan doubted someone spoiled to luxury like Sir would have thought this dingy little hole worth living in, with its crumbling ceiling plaster and broken light fixture. But to Teagan it was a sanctuary—a place where she was afforded a level of safety and privacy she hadn’t known in a long time. What was more important was that her rent here would be low enough to allow her to put some money back.

  As she sat on the edge of the creaky bed and surveyed her new home, Teagan felt a faint stirring of hope within her. It didn’t look like much, but this little room was going to be the start of a new life for her. She was going to keep a job, live under a roof, and eat regular meals like everybody else. No more sleeping along curbs and huddling under cardboard boxes to keep off the rain and the drifting snow.

  She decided a good way to kick off her new, civilized existence was to take a bath. Stripping off her mud-encrusted coat and grubby jeans and shirt, she wrinkled her nose at the strong odor emanating from her unwashed body. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d bathed, unless she counted soaking up rainwater as washing. The room’s last inhabitant—an elderly lady in her seventies, Teagan had been told—had left the shriveled remnants of a bar of rock hard soap in a dish atop the battered sink. Lacking anything better, she snatched this up as she stepped into the plastic shower.

  She tried to persuade herself the weird, orange stains underfoot were just rust marks from the metal pipes overhead. When she turned the single handle in the wall the showerhead sputtered a moment before blasting out a stream of icy water over her. It took a moment for the water to warm up, but when it did Teagan worked what lather she could out of the dried bar of soap and concentrated her efforts on her hair. Shampoo and washcloths were something she would have to pick up at a later time. The noisy pipes over the shower leaked a little, spraying sprinkles of rust-colored water over the floor, but that too was a problem for another day.

  When at last she had sluiced all the filth she could from her skin and rinsed her hair thoroughly, she twisted the shower handle hard to stop the last continuing dribble from the spigot and toweled herself off with a musty blanket from the bed. There was nothing else handy. With no hairbrush lying around, she combed her long hair out as best she could with her fingers, standing before a cracked mirror hanging over the back of the front door.

  She had no clean clothes to change into so she wrapped herself again in the old blanket before sitting on the bed to plan her next move. Sooner or later she was going to have to wash out her dirty clothes, hang them up from the ceiling fan to dry, and then drag them back on to wear to the nearest cheap department store. She would need to buy new clothes—particularly new underwear. Also, she needed soap, towels, food, and eating utensils to stock the cabinets with. The room came with a broken oven and a minifridge but it might be good to own a microwave.

  She felt exhausted just thinking of all she needed to buy. Already in her mind’s eye she saw that pile of cash from Sir shrinking as she delved into it again and again. She lay back on the bed for a brief rest and found herself instead drifting off to sleep.

  * * * *

  Teagan didn’t waste her time in the sort of fancy shops where she knew the clerks would look askance at her poor appearance and worn clothing. She didn’t have that kind of money to spend anyway. Sir had been generous but not that generous. So she concentrated on the kinds of places where she could afford to shop—consignment stores for the most part. But no one said just because your clothes were used they had to be ratty. She picked up some cute clothing she hoped had a trendy, vintage look to it—or possibly it just looked old. Either way, by the time she left the second store she was weighted down with bags. She also had significantly less money, but she wouldn’t think of that just yet.

  Now it was time she interrupted her shopping trip to deal with one important arrangement. She was unsure whether it was the winter chill or some warning sense of premonition that caused a cold wave to wash over her as she stepped into the nearest post office. The halls branching from the front entrance were long and shadowed, and even though strangers milled all around her, Teagan had the frightening sense of being utterly alone as she proceeded to the row of clerk’s desks in the distance. The voices and footsteps of the men and women rushing past on their busy errands seemed to echo up to the ceiling. Teagan did her best to ignore the chunk of ice that had settled in her belly as she thought of what she was about to do.

  Gripping the handles of her shopping bags with suddenly cold hands, she made her way to the nearest counter. Dropping the bags to the floor, she told the dour faced man behind it she wanted to rent a post office box. It wasn’t until the necessary forms had been filled that she remembered she lacked the implements she needed to finish her task.

  “Um, do you have a pen and paper?” she sheepishly asked the clerk. “I need to write a letter. Like, right now.”

  He had already turned away. “Ma’am, you can buy stationary products at the corner drugstore.”

  “I’m sorry, I know that, but I really need this to go out today. It’s urgent, and I’m afraid if I leave and come back later…”

  “All right, all right.” His disapproving frown said he didn’t consider her personal problems any concern of his, but she guessed he found it easier to comply with her request than to argue. “I have a notepad around here somewhere.”

  “Thank you so much.” She put on her most grateful smile as he dug around beneath his counter and produced a pen and a yellow notepad.

  She slid to the corner of the counter where she would be out of the way of the other customers and scooted her shopping bags along with her, before bending her head over the lined pad and starting to work. She bit her lip and tried to tune out the noise and motion going on around her, so that she could focus on what she needed to say.

  Dr. Green,

  It has come to my attention that you and I share a mutual enemy. I haven’t the time to go into the details of how I came to meet Mr. J. Rotham, or of how I happened to learn of the hatred between you. All I will say is that I share your dislike of the man. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be making you this offer.

  Her pen paused in moving across the page as she hesitated. Did she really want to go through with this? Suppose Sir found out he was being double-crossed? Besides, she had no reason to suppose Dr. Green was still revenge thirsty, and even if he was, who was to say he was willing to go to these kinds of lengths to see his desire realized?

  But then, as if to reassure her in her moment of wavering, snatches of the angry letter she had read from Dr.
Green floated before her mind. Those hadn’t been the threats of a man content to let his anger go. They were the words of a man who meant business. One who might be willing to pay generously to see that business conducted.

  She returned to her work.

  By a strange twist of fate, I have come to be in a trusted position close to this man we both have cause to despise. I will be blunt. My financial circumstances are difficult. If you have some plan for avenging yourself of Mr. Rotham and if somehow my own efforts could benefit this plan, I am ready and eager to take part in it. For a price, I will do anything you ask, will provide any information on this man or his movements you want. If my offer interests you, if there’s any way we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement, you may respond to the below address.

  She signed her name hastily, before she could change her mind, and printed the address of her new post office box at the bottom of the note. She had to buy a whole box of envelopes from the clerk before she could slip her letter into one, seal it, then scribble the address she had previously memorized across the front.

  Back out on the sidewalk, she hunched her shoulders against the blast of the icy wind as she hurried away from what she imaginatively dubbed the scene off her crime. She shuddered to think what might happen if Sir were to find out what she had just done. But then, why should he, she asked herself. The man might be many things, but all seeing he wasn’t.

  Despite the dreariness of the day around her and the faint unease she still felt at what she had done, another more sensible part of her was relieved. With this new direction she’d taken, she need no longer rely solely on the good graces of a man she had little cause to trust.

  She stopped by her room just long enough to drop off her bags and change into some of her new clothing. She took the crinkled roll of cash out of her pocket and put some of it into the new purse she had bought, stuffing the rest under the edge of a loose floor tile. In a neighborhood like this you didn’t take chances, even if you were someone who appeared to have little to steal.

  After that she was off again to purchase a whole avalanche of supplies. By the time her day had ended she had new sheets for the bed, new bathroom and kitchen necessities, and enough groceries to last her a week. She had even picked up a few personal supplies like a hairbrush and comb and a bottle of deodorant. She had no idea when she had last brushed her teeth, but she bought a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste too.

  As she finally sat down to eat a macaroni dinner cooked in her new microwave, she thought to herself that at last she was set. She hadn’t been so organized in ages. Now if she could only keep her job long enough to stay that way.

  * * * *

  It was approaching dusk the next evening when Teagan stepped off the glass elevator and into the middle of Sir’s living room. She could see the last glow of the fiery sun sinking down behind the skyscrapers in the distance. A glance at a digital clock on a low table told her she was exactly on time. She had just a few minutes until seven-thirty—the hour she had been instructed to begin her routine.

  Hanging her purse on the coatrack—it still felt strange carrying the unfamiliar accessory—she slipped off her new waist-length jacket and went into the den to retrieve the key from beneath the silver box. She was growing accustomed to the lavishness of these rooms now, and dressed in her new clothing, no longer felt as dirty and out of place as she once had.

  Her hair felt light and loose swishing around her shoulders as she moved. It hadn’t been free of that waist-length braid in years. Earlier that afternoon she had visited a hair salon and had it cut and styled to a tidier length so it now fell in soft waves to just below her shoulder blades. She still couldn’t help glancing at it admiringly every time she passed a mirror. The little square mirror set up atop Sir’s desk in the den was no exception, and it was while studying her reflection she heard the pendulum clock on the mantel chime the half hour. There was no more time to be wasted.

  It all felt familiar as she began the routine. Sir had left her a little note near the silver box with a list of instructions penned in what she thought was a rather ironic tone. She suspected he was mocking her rule against face-to-face meetings, but she didn’t care. As long as he paid her on time and kept far away from the apartment while she was here, he could say or do anything he pleased. The note detailed her tasks in much the same way she had performed them last.

  Setting it down, she slid the silver box aside and retrieved the hidden key. At least she felt no temptation this time to crack the ornate silver lid. She had been through that adventure before. Proceeding to the living room, she inserted the key in the latch of the study door, turned it, and slid it back out. She hardly even felt a twinge of curiosity this time about what lay on the other side of the door. After her good fortune in gaining this job it seemed foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Returning the key to its usual hiding place, she started the CD player, which had already been cued, and moved on to the kitchen. The wine was stored in the same part of the refrigerator she remembered and everything she needed for the table’s place setting was where it should be. It was only a matter of a few minutes to finish the arrangements and then she stood back studying her work. She wondered what all of this meant. Sir wasn’t here to enjoy a meal, even had there been any food on his plate. No one but her was listening to the music blaring deafeningly out over the speakers. There wasn’t even anyone here to know whether or not she had locked the study door. Was Sir really expecting some sort of late night guest to drop by, and if so who?

  It occurred to her he might have a girlfriend. He had never spoken of one and she hadn’t come across any photos of a woman during the time she had spent in his room yesterday, but then she hadn’t exactly been looking for that sort of thing. For that matter, where did he go on these evening outings? He hadn’t been here when she had arrived and, if his word held good, didn’t meant to be here when she returned to undo all her work of tonight. Didn’t he have to work in the mornings? Surely even a man with all his money and apparent appreciation for alcohol couldn’t party all night long every night. Yes, the more she thought about it the more likely the idea of his having a girlfriend seemed. He was rich, powerful… What man in his position couldn’t have any woman he wanted?

  She gave her head a shake. It wasn’t like his personal life was any interest of hers. So long as he kept the money coming in and stuck to the rules of their bargain she wouldn’t pry. Retrieving her purse and slipping back into her jacket, she gave the room a final glance. She didn’t think she’d forgotten anything. Certainly she didn’t want to risk another scene like the last one by failing to follow every one of Sir’s orders to the letter.

  But no, everything seemed in place. The CD player was repeating the same eerie classical piece for its third time through. She wondered how much he paid the management around here to turn a deaf ear to his late-night racket. The study door stood closed and at the far side of the room a single tidy place setting and full goblet of wine waited for whoever would be the next person to enter this room. Teagan had the unsettling feeling the next human visitor would be her and then thrust aside the thought. What scenario was her imagination concocting now? Ghosts?

  Sir’s voice came back to her, reminding her of how he had called her over-imaginative and immature. The peeved mood that put her in helped her forget any notions of inhuman visitors and bizarre rituals. Stepping into the elevator, she hit the button and was carried down to the first floor. She would have to get straight to bed when she got home if she was to return here early the next morning.

  Chapter 11

  That night was a long and restless one. Head cradled atop a soft pillow and body curled up in a real bed for the first time in a long time, she ought to have slept like the dead. Instead she tossed and turned, unaccustomed for so long to the feel of a squishy mattress beneath her and a warm blanket drawn up to her chin. This new life was going to take some getting used to. At some point after midnight she finally dropped off
for a few hours only to be tortured by wild nightmares about fanged beasts chasing her through the shadows and invisible guests sitting at lonely tables draining goblets of red wine. More disturbing than any of the rest was the sense of Sir, hovering as a vague presence in the background. She felt his accusing eyes following her every movement, and she knew in his hands he held something…a letter with her signature at the bottom.

  On waking from that nightmare, she didn’t try to fall back asleep. It seemed best to stay up and fill her mind with ordinary everyday things until the after-effects of the bad dreams faded away. At times like this, she thought, sitting up in bed and staring at a stained bit of wallpaper on the far wall, it would be nice to have a TV. That at least might help her mind escape this weird rut in which it couldn’t seem to think about anything not involving the mysterious Sir, even in her sleep.

  Unfortunately she had no television and didn’t even own so much as a book or a magazine. Maybe tomorrow she’d go out early and get a paper from one of those machines outside the nearest coffee shop. She couldn’t afford their coffee but a paper she could splurge on. Yawning, she propped her pillow behind her back and let her eyes trace the maze of faded, scrolling designs flowing down the old wallpaper.

  Of their own accord, her thoughts worked their way back to Sir. She played with a new theory that had struck her sometime yesterday evening as she completed his list of chores. It was just a suspicion and she wasn’t sure how much sense it made, but it was an idea she couldn’t quite get out of her head. Suppose Sir’s weird ritual was all just an act—a pretense to hide something much bigger? What if all those weird tasks he had set her were just decoys, invented to distract her from whatever his real purpose was? She tried to work out what motivation he could have for coming up with a lot of weird, useless nonsense for her to carry out.