Infinityglass (10 page)

“Neither was the timing of his death.”

The implications weighed heavily on me, and from the lines on Dad’s face, he felt them, too.

“Gerald and I talked about Liam Ballard and the Hourglass. He believed they were trustworthy. Then Liam confirmed Gerald’s claims that you were the Infinityglass. I guess your mother telling you reinforces it again.”

“And then you hired the Hourglass, and they sent you Dune.”

“He’s gone.” When Dad set his jaw, I knew I was in for a fight. “He wasn’t supposed to tell you anything. He broke our agreement.”

“Dad, you can’t. Things happened to us that blew his cover. It’s not like he just started spewing information.”

“Intentional or not, he still broke our agreement.”

“Our only other option for answers is Mom,” I argued. “Dune has information that you want and I need. He said he was working for you instead of Hourglass now.”

“He was supposed to be, but I’m not sure he’s competent.”

I thought about the way Dune had reacted so calmly to the rip, my sudden face change, and the possession. A lesser man would have pissed himself and then run like hell. Not only had he stuck, he’d helped me get home without making me feel needy.

And he really did have the sweetest eyes I’d ever seen. He smiled with his eyes as much as he blinked. He was solid. It was a gut feeling, and I always went with my gut feelings.

“He is.” I surprised myself with my own vehemence. “If you don’t believe it, give him a job to do, let him prove himself. He pulls it off; your faith is restored. Even better, give him a job that stretches him a little. One that requires him to put his Goody Two-shoes morality aside.”

“You’re talking about the Bourbon Orleans job.”

“Since Poe’s out of the picture, you don’t have anyone else to do it, and if I recall, the finder’s fee was hefty. It would be a shame to cancel it now.” I leaned over and gave him big, innocent eyes. “He won’t have to do much, and I’ll be perfectly safe. You
did
hire him to be a bodyguard.”

“He wasn’t supposed to ever leave the house with you.”

“He found me in the Quarter and brought me home, didn’t he?” I felt a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t given Dad the whole story about what happened outside Lafitte’s, but deciding what information to share and what to withhold from him was a constant struggle. It sucked to need leverage with your own father, but it was what it was.

“You drive a hard bargain, kid.” He shook his head. “You did learn from the best.”

“So you aren’t going to fire him?”

My father considered me for a long moment. “Why does this matter so much to you?”

“We’ve been walking around for days keeping a secret from each other that basically everyone knows. I’m the Infinityglass. Besides my waste-of-space mother, he’s my best chance for finding out exactly what that means. That’s why you hired him in the first place, right? Because he’s supposed to know the most?”

Dad nodded.

“There you go. Plus, I think that if his balls are big enough for him to show up at work tomorrow after he blew his cover tonight, he might be more of an asset than either one of us expects. Am I right?”

“I’d prefer not to hear you talk about his … balls.” Dad winced as he said it. “But you’re right. If he comes back, I’ll send him with you on the hotel job.”

“Thanks, Dad. And no more balls. Swear.”

“Go,” he said, pointing at the door.

But he was smiling.

Dune

Exercise had become a thing.

Since I’d discovered the Infinityglass was human, I’d read and reread every piece of information I could understand. I’d sorted it all into neat lists, spreadsheets, and folders on my desktop. I’d stared at it for so long I didn’t know what it said anymore.

Until I walked away.

The pounding of my feet on the pavement, the clanking of free weights landing in the rack, the swooshing sound of the elliptical—all of them made my mental calculations and deductions clearer. Connections flowed as freely as sweat, and the million-piece puzzle I had to solve became manageable.

My phone rang as I was leaving the apartment to go down to the gym.

“Dune! What’s up?” It was Michael, returning my call. I didn’t waste time on pleasantries.

“There’s some weird stuff happening here, and I wanted to see if you were experiencing it in Ivy Springs, too.” I opted for
the stairs instead of the elevator. “Have you guys noticed changes with the rips since I left?”

“They’re more complex. Bigger.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “I feel like the tear in time used to bleed like a paper cut, and now we’re at full hemorrhage. What about there?”

“Same. But …” I paused, tried to figure out how to phrase my next question. “Have any of the rips tried to take over?”

“Take over how?” He sounded as grave as I felt.

“People. Possession.”

He proceeded to say more curse words in fifteen seconds than I’d heard him say in the past five years. “What the hell happened?”

“It was Hallie. I’ve never seen anything like it or read anything about it. Her face, her voice took on different characteristics. The rip … moved in.” I stopped walking and lowered my voice. “She relived a murder.”

“You need to tell Liam.”

“Not yet. Give me a couple of days. It could’ve been a fluke thing or an Infinityglass-specific thing, and I want to know for sure.” I started back down the stairs. “Let’s see if it happens to anyone else first.”

“I defer to your wisdom,” Michael said. “But you know I’m a phone call away.”

“Ditto, brother.”

I hung up and pushed open the door to the gym to find Poe climbing off the treadmill. There was a towel hanging over the security camera.

“How’s the rehab going?” I asked.

“Slow.” He pulled another towel off the stand beside the water dispenser and wiped his face. “Want to spot me?”

I laughed. “You want to pop your stitches?”

“I’ll spot you instead.” Poe pointed to the weight stack as I got into position on the bench. “Four hundred?”

“Three.” Silently, I hoped that much wouldn’t kill me.

He loaded three forty-five pound weights on each side. Three-fifteen, including the bar. I was going to end up with a hernia.

“When I choke to death on this bar and you have to spot me, how is that going to help your liver heal?” I asked.

“It won’t. So don’t drop the weight.”

The first five were easy. The next four were brutal. Poe almost had to spot me on ten, and by the time I lowered the bar, my arms felt like stretched-out gummy bears.

“I need to talk to you about Hallie,” I said, sitting up.

“Upstairs. I need a fix.” He grabbed the towel covering the camera as he teleported out, and I took the normal route to the apartment, using the elevator this time. I found him in the kitchen digging a giant box of Popsicles out of the freezer. “You want?”

“I’m good,” I said, leaning back against the counter as he took out four and put the rest away. “Hungry?”

“I’m trying to come off the pain meds. I feed my sugar addiction instead. What’s up?”

Now that I’d broached the subject, I hesitated. I knew there had been something between Hallie and him once, but I also
sensed that the friendship that replaced it was stronger.

“It was a simple question.” Poe pulled a Popsicle from a wrapper. Grape. He bit off the end. “Don’t blow a brain gasket.”

“I’m just standing here trying to figure out if I can trust you.”

“I know where you sleep. If I wanted to cause you harm, it would already be a reality, yeah?”

“Glad you’ve thought about it.”

Poe smiled.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Something happened last night. I blew my cover. She figured out I work for the Hourglass, or that I used to, anyway.”

“She’s too smart for her own good.” He slid the wrapper off another Popsicle. “Then what?”

I told him how the ripple had absorbed Hallie and taken her over, the way the veil seemed to zip closed behind her.

“Damn it.” Poe slammed his fist down onto the counter. “I should never have agreed not to call her, but I wanted to keep her out of it. Was she okay?”

“Yeah, she was. Shaken, but okay.”

“I need to help.” The pleading in his eyes was honest.

“I don’t know.…”

“Please. I have to do something. I’ve watched every episode of
Doctor Who
. Ever. Exhausted every series of everything I can find online. My next stop is reality TV, and, Dune, I just can’t go there. We’re talking about Hallie. She’s my best friend.”

“I’ve spent so much time with the Skroll that I don’t know
what’s up or down anymore.” I put one arm behind my head and stretched out my biceps, then moved to my triceps, watching him. And then I relented. “Ever since that night, I’ve thought about giving you a crack at it.”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as a heart attack.”

“I’ve only read the Skroll once. I’d be happy to get another shot at it, especially the newly translated stuff.”

“I thought you couldn’t get it open,” I said.

“Sure I could. I just didn’t tell Teague. At least I was coherent enough to know not to trust her with that.”

“Most of the information I have is inherited from my dad. Stuff he gathered for years.”

“It’s different from what’s on the Skroll?”

“Parts of it, yes.”

“Well,” Poe drawled, “are you going to tell me what you want me to look for, or are you going to make me guess?”

“How about we start with an explanation for the possession?”

“I can do that.” He ate the last bit of Popsicle and returned the others to the freezer. “I guess that means you’re trusting me, then?”

“Two sets of eyes are better than one,” I said. Truthfully, four. I was going to put Liam and Michael on it, too. I’d uploaded the Skroll to a highly protected server. The same kind the CIA used.

“Lay it on me,” Poe said, throwing the wooden stick in the trash. “Everything.”

Chapter 8
Dune

W
hen I got ready to leave for work that afternoon, Poe had his computer and a ton of index cards out, already searching through the information I’d given him.

He wore a huge pair of wayfarer glasses, and was so Anthony Head, circa
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
, that it was all I could do not to call him Giles.

“Anything you want me to look for besides the possession connection?”

“
Possession connection
. That sounds like a really screwed-up PBS kids’ show.” I grabbed my own computer. “Just that I’m still looking for the thing that kicked Hallie into overdrive. Whatever the genetic stressor was. Maybe keep an eye out for that, too.”

He nodded and dropped his eyes to focus on his computer. “Will do.”

I took the trolley down Saint Charles, even though the walk would’ve helped clear my head. Hallie had said she wanted me to come back today, but if she’d changed her mind, told her father that I’d blown my cover … I’d be screwed. Possibly dead. I had a brief vision of Paul Girard and his gun holster.

I jumped off at my trolley stop and approached the side entrance to the Girard house slowly. No attempts were made on my life, so I checked in with Carl, the head of security, made my way to Hallie’s room, and knocked on her door. It flew open.

“You. You’re here.”

“I’m here.” I scanned the hallway to the right and left of her bedroom door. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No. I just …”

“You thought I wouldn’t come back.”

“It crossed my mind. I wondered if what happened last night freaked you out enough to make you cut and run. If the nice-guy stuff was for real.”

“It is, just like my fear that your dad would be waiting for me at the front door.” I grinned. “Did you reach a verdict on my nice-guy status?”

“Still out.” She tilted her head and paused. “Hung jury.”

I nodded. “If the jury reaches a decision, I’ll be out here. Doing something bodyguardlike.”

The left corner of her mouth tipped up a fraction of an inch. “But you aren’t a fake bodyguard anymore.”

“I am to your dad.”

She grinned.

“You
told
him? And I’m still breathing?”

“I can be very persuasive.”

I had no doubt about that. “Okay. I guess I’ll just … stand here until you make a decision.”

“I was thinking.” She opened her door wider. “Maybe we need to spend some quality time together.”

I started backing up. “I’m not coming in your room. No need to give your dad more reasons to come after me with a shotgun, even if we are just talking about science.”

“He leans more toward the smaller firearms. Besides, I have an idea.”

“Which is?” I asked cautiously.

“If we’re going to get to know each other—well, what each of us knows about this situation, anyway—how about we play a game of either-or?”

It seemed innocent, but I knew Hallie had a penchant for being tricky, and I liked being alive. “What are the terms of this particular game? Are we talking personal or professional questions?”

“Both.” She gave me the once-over. “I’d like to know who I’m getting in bed with. So to speak.”

God, the girl was wicked. I was probably in trouble. “Fine. Books or movies?”

She raised one eyebrow, surprised that I was willing to dive right in. “Movies.”

“Downloads or CDs?”

“Records,” she answered in a drawn-out voice, like I was an imbecile.

I continued. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

“Strawberry.” She turned it around. “What about you?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Boxers or briefs?” This came with a grin.

“Neither.”

I watched as her eyes wandered in the direction of my waistband. When she knew she’d been busted, her cheeks got a little pink.

Clearing her throat, she asked, “Beach or mountains?”

I blanched. She caught it.

“You have an immediate comeback for your underwear choice, but beach or mountains stumps you.” She tapped her lips with one finger and studied me. “Why is it a hard question?”

“Mountains.”

“No.” She leaned against her door frame. “I asked you why that’s hard to answer.”