duster had been a gag gift from Chuy a couple of Christmases ago, but it had taken Joe’s fancy.
“Lemuel’s not here,” Olivia said. Though she didn’t emphasize the words, it was easy to read her unhappiness in them. “Those old books that Bobo found? Well, he couldn’t translate all of them, so he’s gone to find someone who can. He’s on his third city.”
Chuy concentrated on the job he was doing, but Joe could tell simply from the way he held his head that he was curious. But they both knew that Olivia probably would not—perhaps could not—answer a single question.
“I hope he returns soon,” Joe said, which was safe enough. “Midnight’s not the same without Lemuel.”
Olivia turned a little to look at him. “That is the truth.”
She really loves him,
Joe thought, with wonder. He’d never thought of their relationship as a love affair. More as a “like attracts like” joining, like magnetized metal filings. But he hadn’t figured the tenderer emotions entered into it.
He caught a glance from Chuy and understood that Chuy was thinking along the same lines.
“Maybe he won’t be gone long,” Chuy said. And then he changed the subject. “Olivia, do you want the little wing brushstrokes on your nails this time?”
“Sure, that was pretty,” she said, but her face simply expressed indifference. As Chuy bent his head over her hand, Joe turned back to his dusting.
5
O livia stood opposite the hotel for several minutes, her mind not made up to action. The vehicles were gone from the curb. The banner was still flapping above the doorway, but there was no one on the sidewalk. The petunias in their pots tossed their bright heads in the wind.
The wind was one thing that reminded her of home. In San Francisco, where she’d spent a significant part of her youth, the wind off the bay was a given. She had always felt good when it brushed her face. It was part of being out of her parents’ compound, out of the high walls that sealed her in: or, as her father always insisted, kept her safe.
Kept her safe from everyone and everything but her family.
“Fucking assholes,” she said out loud. She said that every time she thought of her parents. The words slipped out no matter where she was. Here in Midnight, it didn’t make any difference. Who was there to hear, or who would question her if he did hear? But she’d startled a lot of people out in the real world. That was the way she thought of it.Here in this little hole-in-the-road of a town, with so few people remaining that a P OPULATION sign would be a joke, she’d found the most unlikely place to live and the most bizarre creature to be her lover.
He siphoned off her agitation.
There was a long list of things she liked about Lemuel Bridger. But his ability to drain her of the tension and anger that propelled her into terrible places . . . that was priceless.
And it helped him to thrive, too. Win-win.
Looking over at the reopened Midnight Hotel, she felt that familiar anger building, at least partly due to Lemuel’s absence. And before she knew it, she was striding across Witch Light Road and pushing open the restored door to the lobby, which smelled like a mixture of new and old. There was the dust of decades buried deep between the refinished boards of the floor, and it added flavor to the smell of the paint and varnish and wax and the sharp tang of new nails and hardware.
This depth of scent made possible by Lem’s blood,
she thought. Lem loved it when she bit him.
A bell had chimed over her head as the door opened, the electronic rendering of a real bell. In seconds, a brisk step from down the hall to the left of the registration desk announced the approach of a woman in her fifties. She had short brown hair with a lot of gray mixed in, and she had thin arms and legs and a thick middle.
“Good morning,” the woman said pleasantly, walking behind the desk as if prepared to check Olivia in. “Can I help you?”
“I’m
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