Moonshifted(56)

“I need a shower.” I took some deep breaths. “This will all make more sense after a shower.” Surely it couldn’t get worse. I stepped aside, so Gideon could get past me.

He didn’t move.

“A shower, by myself. Out. Now,” I clarified.

Gideon held up his right forefinger, which had been replaced by the temperature-dialing rheostat from my toaster oven. And then he turned toward my bathroom mirror and sketched out something upon the fogging glass.

“Out!” I yelled.

He turned and squeezed by me, leaving the sink’s water still on.

Written in the fog, before more fog could replace it, I saw two words: RADIO SHACK.

* * *

Not surprisingly, a shower didn’t help. I couldn’t really wash my troubles right out of my hair, when What the hell had happened to Gideon was continually at the forefront of my mind.

Gideon had been horrifying before, but my brain could grasp the ways he was damaged—I’d seen other people injured similarly at work. Now he was changed in ways I couldn’t comprehend. I almost stepped out onto bloody tiles. Then I grabbed an extra towel and threw it down to step on instead. I didn’t have the strength to clean anything else just now. Bleach would have to wait.

I walked into my bedroom. It would be day for a few more hours. I wanted to feel safe, but it was getting hard in between all the crazy. There was too much going on, and nothing I could do about it. Maybe once Anna’s ceremony was done, and Gideon and Veronica were out of my house, it would all start making sense. Then I’d only have to worry about stalkery vampires and stalkery weres. It would mean that my problems had been halved.

I picked up the box Anna had given me. At least Grandfather hadn’t assimilated Asher’s silver bracelet. I put the bracelet on, feeling a bit like Wonder Woman, pulled the sheets back on my bed, and tucked myself inside.

* * *

I didn’t set my alarm clock, and it felt late when I woke up. I blinked and reached for my phone. It was five P.M. I was still safe, inside my house. As safe as could be expected anyway. I remembered today’s To Do list: dinner with Jake, ask a were-leader for help.

I went toward my bathroom to brush my teeth, then remembered the huge bloodstain on the floor, and my apartment’s other, non-feline, non-vampire occupant.

“Hey, Gideon—” I said, walking into my living room. He stood with his back to me, against the far wall. His shoulders were slumped—it looked like he was urinating, only I didn’t smell pee and there was no corresponding sound. “Grandfather?” I tried instead.

Him having his back to me, with no hint he’d heard either name, was creepy. I walked over, feeling like that chick in a horror movie who always does what she shouldn’t, no matter how many times you throw popcorn or yell at the screen. As I sidled around him, I saw he was plugged into the wall simultaneously via an outlet and a phone jack.

“I’m still not okay with this,” I said. The cords looked umbilical—I tried not to follow them too far into the shadows my bathrobe created on his chest. Wait—my bathrobe. “Gideon,” I said, my voice low. Was nothing sacred? He’d taken the shoulder and torn it, so that my laptop’s webcam could peek through. I took a step nearer. “Do you even need food now? Water?” I asked, and got no response. “Okay. Fine. I’ll just be in the bathroom, cleaning up your mess.” I resisted the urge to poke him, to see if he would move or what he would do, and went under my kitchen sink to get bleach.

I’d need a new jug of bleach soon and some additional cheap towels. Hopefully that trip could wait until after the holidays. I wondered exactly how Grandfather-Gideon was communing with the outside world just now, and to what effect—I imagined him lodging serious complaints on assorted message boards and snorted. Honestly, it seemed like the sort of thing I ought to tell—or warn—someone about, but I wasn’t entirely sure who, and since so far the only detriment was that he was probably using electricity like I was harboring a grow-light, it could wait.

I scrubbed until no one would know that my bathroom had been a crime scene unless they possessed a forensic degree. Empowered by cleanliness, high on bleach fumes, I got ready to go out to dinner with Jake.

I pulled on my scrubs and all the silver that I currently owned. Between my belt, bracelet, and badge—which might warn me a second or two before any attack—I’d give myself even odds on surviving for five seconds once I was outside my door. Five whole seconds, although not necessarily painless ones. Hooray for me. I estimated where I’d parked was about ten seconds away, and technically being in my car wasn’t any safer than being outside it, really. If a certain crazed unknown someone in a black truck decided to run me over, my little Chevy Cavalier wouldn’t stand a chance.