But there was no sign of him as I blotted my hair, and then refolded the towel and put it back on the rack. A quick glance of the toiletries under the sink showed nothing that I could really use. Then I remembered the small bag of odds and ends in the duffle, the one Connor had mentioned.
So I went back to the guest room and rummaged around, locating a nice little care packet with a toothbrush still in its package, some deodorant, a comb and brush, and a minimal amount of makeup: blush, mascara, rose-colored lip gloss. There was also some kind of leave-in spray for my hair that promised “beachy waves,” the sort of thing Sydney had always urged me to try, although I couldn’t really be bothered to spend money on something that I was pretty sure wouldn’t do much to tame my unruly locks.
Still, what the hell.
I took the care package with me back to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, applied deodorant, and then put on some makeup, mostly because I was annoyed that Connor had seen me this morning with bedhead and the smudged remains of the cosmetics I’d worn out the night before. Might as well put on a good front.
The spray I scrunched into my hair and then left it to air-dry. Normally I wouldn’t have gone around with wet hair, not in the depths of December, but Connor’s apartment seemed fairly snug and warm for a building so old. It definitely wasn’t as drafty as the big Victorian I’d left behind in Jerome.
Feeling a little more human — actually, I was surprised I wasn’t hung over, considering how much I’d had to drink the night before, but maybe all the shocks had knocked the alcohol right out of my system — I returned to the guest room and placed my supplies back in the duffle bag. There was a zippered pocket at one end, and I shoved yesterday’s underwear in there. No way was I going to allow that to mingle with Connor’s dirty clothes in the wicker laundry hamper I’d spied in the bathroom.
One of the sweaters I’d picked out at Nordstrom Rack was folded neatly in the bag, so I pulled it out and put it on, glad of the soft cashmere against my skin. After that it was just socks and boots, and the turquoise jewelry I’d worn the night before when I’d gone out with Adam.
Adam.
Connor had said he was all right. I had to believe that. I had no faith in Damon Wilcox’s inherent humanity, but I did believe that even he wouldn’t do something that might risk intervention by the “civilian” authorities. But just because Adam was alive didn’t mean he might not still have been hurt in some way. How long had he lain there in my bedroom — the bedroom we’d planned to share — before help had come?
I didn’t want to think about that. If I did, then I’d start thinking about Aunt Rachel and Tobias and everyone else realizing I was gone, realizing that the Wilcoxes had finally succeeded in stealing the McAllister prima.
My throat tightened, and I blinked. Crying wasn’t going to solve a damn thing. I was trapped here for now, and I’d have to figure out how to deal with that. Yes, I’d sent an email to Sydney to let Aunt Rachel know what was going on, and I’d said she’d know what to do, but would she? No one in our clan had ever faced a situation like this before.
As far as I knew, no one in any clan had ever faced a situation like this before.
I made the bed, and folded my pajamas and put them back in the duffle bag. Still there was no sign of Connor. I glanced at the clock, noted that it was now almost eleven, and shook my head. Then I wanted to shake it again, only this time at myself. What, was I disappointed that he’d left me alone for so long?
Well, he’d said there was food downstairs, so I figured I might as well go and check it out. Now that I was clean and reasonably put together, my stomach was telling me it really needed a little bit more put in it than just a cup of coffee.
Besides, it couldn’t hurt to do a bit more exploring while Connor was still out of the apartment.
As soon as I stepped out of the room and shut the door behind me, I froze. Standing in front of me was a woman maybe ten years or so older than I. A frightened little squeak formed in my throat, then disappeared as I took in her clothes and hair. Plain drop-waisted dress, Mary Jane–style shoes with chunky heels. Auburn hair carefully finger-waved around her head.
This was no girlfriend left behind, or a stray relative.
This was a ghost.
She looked me up and down, then remarked, “You’re new.”
I found my voice. “I am?”
“Yes. I haven’t seen you here before.”
My brain started to add things up. “Um…does Connor have a lot of girls here?”
Her head tilted to one side as she appeared to consider my question. “He did. That is, I suppose I haven’t seen anyone here lately. That’s why I was surprised to see you.”