Something More Than Night by Ian Tregillis Read Free Book Online Page A

blanket sometimes.
    “Look. I won’t leave you high and dry.” I took a clean napkin from the counter and borrowed Flo’s pencil. It smelled like hair spray. “Take a few decades to get settled. Go find your Magisterium. Make a comfortable spot for yourself. You seem like a sharp one, you’ll catch the gist of things. Like I said, just drift with the current. Take it easy. Then if you still feel the need to brace me, ring.” On the napkin, I jotted:
    BAYLISS. RIVERSIDE 5-2165
    She took it, read it twice, and said, “Is that supposed to be a telephone number?”
    “It is a telephone number.”
    “In Heaven.”
    “Who said anything about Heaven? That’s the direct line to my Magisterium. You should feel honored. I don’t share it with every sad sack what comes my way.”
    She gave me a wary look—it was second nature for her—but fished around in the pocket of her coat until she produced an earbud. She tucked a coppery lock behind one ear, popped the bud in, and issued a command via her contact lenses.
    Figured it would put her mind at ease, so I let the call go through. Eventually, when she got the hang of things, she’d be able to ditch the Earthly affectations. A strident clanging echoed from the booth in the corner.
    “Hey, pal,” said the two-bit salesman. “There’s your call.”
    “Satisfied?” I asked. She didn’t say anything. I took that as a yes. “It’s been swell, angel.”
    I tipped my hat again, and then I was out the door. I knew a sleepy-time girl in San Francisco who was probably getting lonely right about then. Just as I shifted back into the mundane realm, I heard,
    “So, sweetheart. I bet you wish there was an easier way to rake out those curls every night.…”

4
    THE MOST POPULAR GIRL AT THE DEBUTANTES’ BALL
    “Oh, piss off,” said Molly.
    The salesman said, “Don’t be such a sourpuss. What do you see in him, anywise? A lulu like you deserves a fella with prospects and a steady income.”
    Screw this , she thought. Molly hit the door a few seconds after Bayliss. She emerged in the laneway. Based on the booming of the floodwalls and the dusting of snow in the gutters, little time had passed. But he was nowhere to be seen. And when she turned around, the diner had become a bar thundering with old trance music. She recognized it. They had argued here, she and Martin, just before—
    She couldn’t breathe. Cold air clogged her windpipe like a frozen lump of suet. Fatigue enveloped her. Overwhelmed her. It dragged her down like a vicious undertow. She had just enough strength to sit on the landing without collapsing. She needed a minute to collect herself, but marshaling her thoughts was pointless as sucking syrup through one of Martin’s hypodermic needles. She hugged her knees. Frantic shallow breaths frosted the scarf at her throat. The studs of her earrings pinched when she laid her head on her knees.
    Her chest pulsed to the rhythm of a beating heart. Her body was intact. Wasn’t it?
    With Bayliss gone, and the diner along with him, there was nothing to suggest she wasn’t the victim of a terrible hallucination. That made more sense than anything else. The entire conversation with Bayliss had already begun to fade in her memory, like a wild dream evaporating into vague impressions at the first touch of daylight. Maybe Martin really had slipped her something.
    Oh, shit, Martin. He was falling apart again.
    They hadn’t seen each other for several months prior to meeting at LAX for the flight to Australia. Molly could tell he was already backsliding, drinking too much, as soon as she hugged him in the terminal. She recognized the slow unfocused eyes and the skunky scent of beer on his breath. When pressed on it he’d admitted to having a couple. Just to help him sleep on the flight, he’d said. The lie hurt, but less than her guilt. She shouldn’t have fallen out of touch. She should have been there for him. Should have been a better sister. How long before he