Part 3 (1/2)
”It's supposed to be locked,” I told her. ”How did you get in?”
”It was open.”
I mentally penciled in a call to Rita Sanchez. The cleaning people were getting lazy about this sort of thing; she might want to look into changing contractors. In fact, I'd call her right away, before either of us got distracted by the first crisis of the day.
But Heather pulled me back before I got all the way over the threshold. ”Are you crazy? There's something in there!”
Pointedly, I tugged my coat loose and went on in, tossing my attache in one of the guest chairs and surveying the room. Nothing under the desk, nothing behind the chair, nothing curled up and hissing in a corner.
”It was sitting in your chair,” Heather insisted from the safety of the doorway.
”'It'?”
”It was reading your mail, Dev. I saw it.”
An unpleasant possibility crossed my mind. ”What did you see?”
”Well, nothing. There was nothing there. Just the papers moving around. And then...”
”Then?”
”Then it started laughing.” She shuddered. ”It was awful. Like scratching on a blackboard or something.”
What was it Ca.s.sie had said once? ”Or cats in heat?”
Heather perked up considerably. ”Yes! Like cats in heat scratching a blackboard. It was really...” Then it dawned on her. ”Wait. You've heard it?”
No point explaining, now or ever. ”A few times. Usually late at night, when I've been working too hard. Dr. Shapiro says it's stress.” With a grave expression, I pretended to study her face. ”You may be coming down with it, too. It's been a tough few weeks around here.”
She didn't look convinced. ”Well, yes, but...”
”And then there was last night. That Dave person. He can't have helped.”
”No,” she admitted. ”He didn't.”
”So I think you should take the day off. Hallucinations aren't good. And we've had too much of that going around. Look at Jack and Kurt.”
Heather went pale. ”You don't mean...”
I shrugged. ”Hard to say. But I don't think you'd be happy in the bin. Did you know they have dinner at 5 there?”
”You're kidding.”
”Nope. They do group hugs, too. Peg was trying to tell me they read Inspiring Thoughts for the Day out loud after breakfast, but that sounded too cruel, so...”
”I'm out of here,” she said sharply. ”I'm going to go home and lie down. I don't feel so good. Are you sure you don't need me for anything?”
”Not till tomorrow. Go home.”
She bolted. The last I saw of her, she was shoving one of Walt's artists out of her way in the hall, and by the thud he made hitting the wall, she meant business.
Oh, well, she probably needed a day off anyway. I'd have to take up the slack for her if anything came up, but it beat telling the truth -- let alone losing one more copywriter to the shrinks.
Resigned, I hung up my coat and settled in at my desk to check e-mail. In the very next instant, a bad Presence loomed over my shoulder.
”Cats in heat?” the Presence asked menacingly.
”I was quoting. What do you want now?”
”Want?” Monica's tone turned suspiciously sweet. ”Really, Devlin.” She settled on the arm of my chair, with a little smile that matched the tone. ”What makes you think I want something?”
”If you're breathing, you want something.”
”Then this should be familiar. How is the irritating blonde?”
It came out before I thought. ”Irritating.”
”Yes. That was my guess.” A set of long, sharp talons started to play in my hair. ”She's trying to close the sale. It would be more honest if she just put a ring through your nose.”
”Cut that out,” I demanded, pus.h.i.+ng her hand away. ”And don't try to make trouble. Everything's fine.”
”Is it? I thought she loooooooved you.”
”She does. It's mutual.”
”You both have an interesting way of showing it.”
”Why? Because we argue? Because she's a little possessive?”
Monica laughed -- and I did hear something a little feline in it this time.
”It's just how we work this relations.h.i.+p,” I told her. ”This is how it was before. It works for us. We don't want things to get all mushy.”
”Horrors,” Monica said mockingly, and reached down to rake her claws through my hair again.
This time, I threw her off so hard that she nearly went over the chair arm. ”You were going to tell me what you want. Tell me, and then get out.”
”You don't trust me.”
I greeted that remark with the silence it deserved.