A Local Habitation
Page 33

“Does that go for the ones that have run out on you?”
“Maybe they ran, but that just means they had something to live for. It doesn’t mean they betrayed us. If you want to find a killer, look outside. Or don’t bother, and die here with the rest of us.” She picked up her fork, jabbing it into a piece of cantaloupe. “Send the kid home if you decide to do that. Dying would mess up his hair.”
Quentin glared at her, but focused on his chips. Good boy. I picked up my coffee, saying, “You’re a little pessimistic.”
“Am I? Wow, I’m sorry. Try having all your friends die or run and see how cheery you are.” Her eyes narrowed. “You come down here with your little pureblood squire and say you want to ‘help.’ Yeah, right. That won’t last. In the end, you’ll run scared like the others.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I shrugged. “And he’s not my squire, just my friend.”
“Funny taste in friends.” Gordan stood, tucking her notebook under her arm. “I hope you’re a better judge of murder scenes than you are of people.” She turned and stalked away, not bothering to say good-bye.
“That’s not fair,” Quentin said. “She’s the one insulting us, and she gets to walk away?”
“Dramatic exits are the last refuge of the infantile personality,” I said. “Now drink your soda and help me think of nasty names to call her next time she shows up.”
“All right.” Not even being insulted could make him lose his appetite: he was eating his chips with astonishing speed and was starting to filch pieces of fruit cocktail off Gordan’s abandoned tray. Good for him.
“Told you that you were hungry,” I said, earning an amused snort from Quentin. I ignored my lunch in favor of propping my chin on my knuckles and sipping my coffee. Gordan disliked Quentin on sight. She might just be prejudiced—some changelings really hate purebloods—but that didn’t explain how she justified working for Jan.
Alex reached the table, pushing Gordan’s now-empty tray aside to make room for his own. “Whoa!” he said, spotting our expressions. “Was the coffee that bad?”
“We just had a nice talk with Gordan,” I said.
“Gordan, huh?” Alex sighed, brushing his bangs back with one hand. They immediately flopped back over his eyes. “I’m sorry. She’s always been a little . . .”
“Nasty?” Quentin said.
“I was going to say ‘sharp,’ but if you want to go with nasty, we can work with that. It’s not her fault.”
“So whose fault is it?” I asked. “The Tooth Fairy?”
Alex shook his head. “No, I mean it—it’s not her fault. Barbara was her best friend. Losing her . . . I’m surprised Gordan’s holding up as well as she is. That’s all.”
Some information has the effect of making me feel like a total jerk. “Oh,” I said.
Alex’s statement didn’t seem to hit Quentin the same way. He scowled, asking, “Why does that make it okay for her to act like I’m the bad guy?”
“She was a little harsh,” I said. “If she didn’t work for Jan, I’d assume she was racist.”
“She is, a little,” Alex said. “Being a Coblynau kid isn’t easy. She got knocked around a lot before she hooked up with Barbara, and I think she holds a few grudges. I mean, she was working here for over a year before she stopped being nasty to the purebloods on staff.”
“So why . . .”
“Because she’s good, and because she was the only Coblynau who needed the work. Jan needed somebody who could handle iron, at least until we got all the systems fully working. By the time her first contract was finished, she was hooked, and she stayed.” He shrugged. “She’s the one who convinced Jannie to hire Barbara.
So, I mean, she does settle down.”
“Well, if she listens to you, you might try telling her we’re just doing our jobs.”
“We want to help,” Quentin added, wounded pride overcoming his dislike of Alex. I was sure that would be temporary.
Alex sighed. “I know you’re coming into this cold. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“You’ve been a lot of help so far,” I said.
“It’s not a problem,” he said. “We’ve been milling around like a flock of sheep—it’s nice to have something to do. And I’m really, really sorry I couldn’t say anything earlier.”
“Right,” I said.
“What I’m saying is that if you need help, go ahead and ask me.” Alex grinned. I grinned back, at least until Quentin “accidentally” kicked me in the ankle. I shot him a warning glare. He smiled angelically.
“. . . and besides,” Alex said, “if I have actual work to do, I can always leave it for Terrie.”
Quentin brightened. “When does Terrie get here?”
“Good question,” I said, more slowly. “When does she get in?”
“What?” Alex blinked.
“Your sister?” I said. He was a lot less attractive when he looked that confused. “When does she come on shift?”
“Oh. Uh . . .” He looked at his watch, then at the window. The gesture looked habitual, like he wasn’t sure he could trust the time. “She usually shows up a little past eight.”
Quentin asked, “Does she come find you, or what?”
“Oh, no. I’m gone by the time she gets here.”
“It must be hard, never seeing your sister,” I said.
“What?” He looked nervous—he didn’t like us asking about Terrie. I hoped it didn’t mean anything. I was really starting to like him. “Oh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean . . . we’re not close.”
“Okay.” I changed the subject, watching his expression. “What can you tell us about the people here?”
Quentin looked like he was going to protest the change of topic, and I took great pleasure in “accidentally” kicking him in the ankle. “Ow!”
“What was that, Quentin?” I asked sweetly.
“Nothing,” he said, glaring. He wasn’t going to question me in front of Alex, and we both knew it. Knowing the weaknesses of your friends matters as much as knowing the weaknesses of your enemies.