Polterheist(48)

The cab arrived, and Max rose to leave. He paused at the door to remind me about his Saturnalia feast tomorrow, which I assured him I would attend.

After I closed the door behind him, I stripped off the gown and stuffed it into a big garbage bag, planning to get rid of it the next time I went out. Then I threw my undergarments into the hamper and went into the bathroom, which was just off the living room, to have a shower. This was the coldest room in the apartment in winter, and I got goose bumps while running the water and waiting for it to heat up. Then I stepped under the hot spray, hoping to get warm all the way through.

After I got out of the shower, I patted myself dry with one of my threadbare towels. Then I slipped quickly into my heavy flannel bathrobe with a shiver-now the cold bathroom was damp and cold. I was so tired, but I hate going to bed with a wet head; so I picked up my blow-dryer and turned it on. My senses welcomed its soothing heat and prosaic noise, but I still felt a chill running all the way through me. After a few minutes, I realized I was clenching my jaw so tightly that it hurt. My jangled nerves were screaming for release. So, while I continued drying my hair, I half-heartedly did some exercises to relax my jaw and neck.

I almost became a homicide statistic tonight.

My face in the mirror was pale and tired, but otherwise normal. I didn't look like someone who'd nearly had her head blown off a little while ago . . . I wondered why almost being shot by a panicky criminal was still freaking me out, whereas I was already starting to recover from confronting a solstice demon tonight.

Preparation, I supposed. I had gone to Fenster's expecting to confront a solstice demon and its demented acolyte, so I'd been ready for that. Yes, it was terrifying; but I had braced myself for mystical Evil. However, it had never occurred to me that someone was going to pull out a gun and point it at my head.

Bastard.

I remembered the murderous intent on Rick's face as he threatened to kill me, remembered what it was like to be held hostage at gunpoint by someone I had liked and worked with . . .

My arm started shaking, making the dryer waver erratically. I tried to hold it steady, but the shaking just got worse. So I turned off the dryer, which suddenly felt very heavy, and set it down. My hair was still a little damp, but it would do for tonight.

I braced my hands against the bathroom sink and took slow, deep, rhythmic breaths, trying to calm down and steady my nerves.

The door buzzer rang. I jumped and gave a little shriek.

I pressed a shaking hand against my heart, which pounded in startled reaction to the jarring noise of the buzzer. I was panting a little.

Jesus, pull yourself together, Esther.

Then another chill swept through me as I realized it was after two o'clock in the morning. Who the hell would be at my door now?

This couldn't be good.

I stepped out of the bathroom and stood there uncertainly, staring at my front door, breathing hard with mounting anxiety as my heart continued pounding.

I reminded myself that everyone who had tried to kill me tonight was either in police custody or back in hell now-and solstice demons probably didn't use doorbells, anyhow.

So who was it? Who would come to my apartment in the middle of the night?

I flinched when the buzzer rang again.

Then I regained enough self-command to realize that the easiest way to find out who was downstairs would be to ask. I crossed the floor to the front door and pressed the intercom button, wondering if Max had decided to come back for some reason.

"Who is it?" I asked anxiously.

There was a moment of crackling static. Then: "It's me, Esther. Did I wake you?"

"Lopez?" I blurted in surprise. "Aren't you supposed to be-I don't know-locking people up?"

"I've done that. Now I have to figure out exactly what to say in my report." He sounded tired and cranky. "Let me in. We need to talk."

That sounded ominous.

"Now?" I considered insisting that I was too tired and we should do this some other time.

"Yes. And if you're thinking of putting me off, forget it. That's why I didn't call first," he said tersely. "Let me in."

"Um . . ."

"Now, Esther." Okay, very cranky.

I sighed and buzzed him into the building. After the jolt of adrenaline the buzzer had just delivered, I probably wouldn't be able to fall asleep for ages, anyhow. So if Lopez was determined to have it out, then I might as well get this over with now, rather than postpone the inevitable.

As I opened my front door and listened to him trudging up the stairs to this floor, I wearily ran lines in my head for the scene we were about to play. I would tell him that Lucky, Max, and I had gone to the store to prevent a solstice demon from entering this dimension. Lopez would urge me to seek psychiatric help and to submit to drug testing. He might also vow never to come anywhere near me again; this last bit would be subject to improvisation, depending on how combative he was feeling. Considering the late hour, though, I thought he might just wind up retreating quietly with a headache rather than trying to decide tonight what to do about our . . . let's call it friendship.

In any case, regardless of what note his visit might end on, I was so sure of how the central portion of this conversation would go that, by the time Lopez got to my threshold, I felt as if we had already talked.

Maybe he felt that way, too; instead of bursting into a torrent of questions and criticism the moment he saw me, he came to an abrupt halt when he reached my doorway and just stood there, staring at me in silence.

I stared back, not at all eager be the one to start the argument.

I realized it must still be snowing outside, since there was a faint white dusting of snowflakes on his wool coat. A few melting droplets sparkled in his black hair and clung to his dark lashes. He was breathing a little fast from the climb up the stairs. And now that he stood on my threshold, looking at me without speaking . . . his breathing quickened instead of slowing down.

Our gazes locked, and I stopped thinking about what we were going to say.

He could have died tonight, I thought, my heart thudding heavily inside my chest as I stared at him.

His dark expression faded, and he looked slightly dazed, almost surprised as he gazed at me-as if he were seeing me for the first time and hadn't expected what he found.

I suddenly thought of the first time he had seen me-the night we had met, months ago. He had come to investigate a strange incident (which soon turned out to be stranger than my wildest dreams) at the West Village theater where I was in the cast of Sorcerer! An overworked precinct detective, he had been professional, polite, and amused rather than annoyed by the colorful strangeness of our complaint-our leading lady seemed to have vanished during the show's disappearing act. Despite my stunned confusion over the seemingly impossible disappearance, I had noticed Lopez that night. It wasn't really because of his exotic good looks, though I certainly liked those; I was used to good-looking men, after all, since I worked in show business. He was what I noticed. This man. The same one I was noticing right now, standing there in my doorway, his chest rising and falling rapidly as our gazes remained locked.

I could have died tonight.

I'd been one of a dozen nymphs in the chorus of that ill-fated Off-Broadway musical, all of us half-naked and painted green from head to toe. Lopez spoke to me that night, but it was strictly professional. It never occurred to me that he'd noticed me, too, anonymously covered in body paint and glitter, as I was. But he had. Fate ensured that we met again, and I found out that he had noticed me through the costume and makeup . . . The way he was noticing me now, despite the pale and fatigued face I'd seen in my mirror moments ago and the frumpy bathrobe I wore.

We had always noticed each other. Despite everything. Ever since that first night.

We both could have died . . .

And, having just survived the worst Christmas Eve of my life, I suddenly felt the biggest crime of this whole hellacious holiday would be for us to waste this moment the way we had wasted too many others.

He's alive. And so am I.

And he was here. Now. With me.

Suddenly all I could think about was how much I wanted to celebrate being alive and together right now. How much I wanted him. How much I had always wanted him, right from the start.

My lips parted and I drew breath to say something, but I couldn't think of any words. I could only think about the way he was looking at me now, the way this man could make me feel-even when I was bruised, exhausted, and wearing a drab flannel robe.

Lopez shook his head, as if to stop me from speaking. Then, in a burst of motion, he crossed the threshold, kicked the door shut behind him, and hauled me roughly into his arms.

His mouth was hot, his breath warm and sweet, his skin cold. I melted into his fierce kisses, clinging to him, suddenly so certain of what I wanted-what I needed.

I sank heavily against him, my arms embracing him possessively, my legs quivering and wobbly. He staggered backward and leaned against the door through which he had just come, his lips moist and hungry against my forehead, my cheek, my neck. He tangled his hands in my hair to hold my head still for his plundering kisses while I fumbled at the buttons of his coat, my hands clumsy and impatient. He wouldn't take his mouth from mine long enough to let me breathe. I felt dizzy from lack of air, and I didn't care. I went on drowning in his kisses, feasting on him . . . Until my fumbling and tugging made him laugh a little, and he pulled away enough to help me get his coat off, inefficiently shrugging out of it in fits and starts between warm nuzzling and hot kisses.