"I'm sure that's it," Vincent agreed, but his innocent expression was unable to fool Bastien for a moment. His cousin was silently laughing his head off at the situation. He'd always had a slightly twisted sense of humor.
"Yes, I'm sure it is," Bastien agreed, just for simplicity's sake. "But I still need to talk to her."
He needed to clear the woman's memory. Keeping her on was impossible now, so long as Vincent and the others were around, but he had to at least wipe her memory before she went blabbing about what she had seen.
Bastien strode out into the entry and paused in shock. It was empty. He'd expected to find Mrs. Houlihan collecting her coat from the closet or something, but she was gone. The elevator doors were closed and the room empty. The only exit was the elevator or the archway he'd just come through. She couldn't have left so quickly. What about her things? All her clothes in her room? Her coat?
Turning on his heel, he strode back into the living room and straight to the wall unit holding the monitor with a view of the interior of the elevator. It was still on, and right there, live and in black-and-white, was his very upset housekeeper. She was riding down to the main floor with arms folded defensively across her chest and one foot tapping as she anxiously watched the lit floor numbers mark her journey downward.
The woman had left, just like that. She'd lived here for some ten years and had just walked out, leaving everything she owned behind. Bastien could hardly believe it. Dear God, he had to catch up to her and repair this somehow—not just clear it from her memory, but make reparation. Where would she go, for heaven's sake?
He turned back to the others, mouth opening to excuse himself from the room, but paused. Terri was eyeing him sympathetically, apparently thinking he was upset at losing a maid. Vincent was grinning unabashed, not at all concerned that he had just thrown Bastien's life into turmoil. And Chris Keyes was shifting uncomfortably on the couch, apparently having recovered from the momentary daze Vincent had induced while feeding off him.
"Er…"
Bastien glanced toward the editor, and the fellow grimaced. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for a glass of water? They gave me painkillers at the hospital, but those are wearing off and I could really use more."
"Water? Yes," Bastien said, relieved to find that Vincent had at least managed to veil the editor's mind while feeding. He glanced to Terri. He had to see her fed, too. But he'd promised Mrs Houlihan would make the meal. And Vincent—he had to deal with Vincent.
That was when Bastien realized that fate had just turned everything upside down. His orderly life was gone, and at that moment he really wasn't sure if he'd ever get it back. At least not before Lucern and Kate's wedding. How long was that? Oh, yes. Two weeks. Fourteen days of hell before his life might get back to normal.
How had this happened, he wondered with a combination of dismay and confusion. Things like this simply didn't happen to him. He was the details man—he didn't have problems, he solved them for everyone else.
He had a problem now. Three of them, in fact. Terri, Vinny, and the editor. Actually, he had four problems, because he really had to catch up to Mrs. Houlihan and clear her memory before she told anyone about Vinny. He supposed he could wipe her mind clean and convince her to return too, but the chances of the memory wipe sticking weren't good if she stayed in the penthouse: there was a good chance that some situation, something said, or just seeing Vinny prancing around in his cape and teeth would bring the memory back. In effect, he and his kind were able to bury memories, not really eliminate them. Still, he had to bury that memory, and quickly, to avoid future trouble. But first he had to see everyone situated here and give Vincent a good talking-to. Otherwise Terri might soon be sporting her own puncture marks.
Speaking of the editor, Bastien decided to put him in one of the guest rooms. The man would be safer there. That seemed a sound decision. It also gave Bastien a purpose and made him feel more in charge again, despite the chaos reigning around him.
"Right." He clapped his hands together. "Let's get organized. You need a room… er…" He stared at the editor, trying to recall the fellow's name. He'd remembered it earlier. C-something, he thought, but the name just wouldn't come. He didn't bother to try to hide his irritation as he asked, "What's your name again?"
"Chris," the slender editor answered. "Chris Keyes. Kate probably calls me C.K. when she mentions me, though."
"Oh, yeah." Bastien didn't really care; he had more important things on his mind at the moment. His glance slid to Vincent. "Which room did you take?"