I could not suppress a shudder. Treason. The weight of the accusation, the knowledge of all it could mean, forced the breath from my lungs. We needed to make a plan to deal with the accusation, to figure out who would make up such a wild and terrible lie, but first we needed to repay the one who had saved him from the accusation.
“Where is he?”
Ethan paused, then took a deep breath and answered. “He’s in a hotel.”
I took another step backwards. “Did you guys have him in the house a whole five minutes before you sent him away, for the second time in his life? Or did you not let him cross the sacred Stryker threshold at all?”
“Look, Lucie, he’s got what he wanted. I made sure that Uncle Mark arranged somewhere nice for him to stay and gave him a lot of money. He can go out on the town now. There’s even a pass sorted out for him—he can stay for a week.”
“Oh, a whole week? That’s so generous of you both. What about the pass he had that meant he could stay for real?”
Ethan looked frustrated. I knew the feeling.
“Uncle Mark would never let him live here. It would only be a matter of time before his face was seen. Besides, he doesn’t want to stay. You heard what he said about crime. All he wanted was an adventure. Well, he’s got one. With Uncle Mark’s money, he can get all the booze and dust and girls he likes. What else did you expect me to do for him? What else do you want from me?”
“Not to leave him alone in a strange city,” I said. “Your dad is responsible for Carwyn, and Carwyn saved your life. That means Carwyn should be looked after!”
“We couldn’t keep him here,” said Ethan. “Jim doesn’t even know he exists. Nobody can know he exists. I’m thinking about my dad here—”
“I’m not,” I interrupted. “I’m thinking about Carwyn. You could have at least gone with him, if he couldn’t stay here.”
I understood that he couldn’t have. Somebody would have been bound to get a photograph sooner or later. Charles Stryker would have been ruined; the whole council would have taken a hit. I understood all the practical concerns, but I understood as Ethan did not—as Ethan could not—what it was to be new and adrift in a sea of light. I understood what it was like to save someone, and pay and pay for it.
“Look, Lucie. Carwyn is a doppelganger. He didn’t want company.”
Ethan stood framed in the doorway of his apartment, limned with gold. A bright tapestry hung on the wall behind him, and he looked tired, annoyed that I kept trying to push darkness into his life. Ethan and I had fought before, but I had never felt this distant from him.
“Did you ask?” I said.
Ethan might not have understood me, but I didn’t want to understand him, either. I did not give him a chance to answer before I spun on my heel and walked away. I left him standing in the doorway to brightness and retraced my steps, past the doorman and his list of chosen ones, under the shining ceiling, and outside, where, even in this city of Light, it was getting dark.
I knew where to go. The Strykers always sent business contacts—not friends, not family—to the same place. The James Hotel, which Jim claimed was named after him though it wasn’t, was a tall glass building that reflected light but gave off very little of its own, like a discreetly expensive gemstone. It was easy to see amid the smaller buildings of SoHo as I walked from the subway station. I texted Penelope that I was out with Ethan and did not know when I would be home. My rings gave off the same muted light as the screen of my phone.
I didn’t know what name the Strykers had registered Carwyn under, but when I asked for the associate Mark Stryker had checked in that day, they sent me up to the penthouse suite.
One of Mark Stryker’s men was waiting outside the door. I didn’t recognize the face, but after two years I knew how to recognize the demeanor. He must have been briefed, because he didn’t interfere with me, so I didn’t acknowledge him. I just went to the door and tapped on it.
“One minute,” Carwyn said, voice muffled, and I wondered what he was hiding before he could open the door.
Once the door was open, it was clear that he hadn’t been hiding anything. He’d just been finding pants.
The collar and the fabric of the doppelganger’s hood attached to the collar had to be waterproof, I realized, because doppelgangers wore them even in the shower. Droplets hung from the leather and metal around his neck, turning it briefly into a choker with pendant jewels—until Carwyn, hood down and head half enveloped in a fluffy towel, vigorously resumed drying his hair and all the droplets fell.