Authors: Linda Grimes
I did my best to smile. Not sure how well it came out. “Who can blame him? ‘My’ parents are jerks. Anyway, don’t worry about me. I can do a few more hours standing on my head.”
There was another woman in the holding cell when I was returned to it. She was circling the cell, scratching her arms. Smelled like she hadn’t seen the inside of a shower in weeks. Even the hard-ass women who were there first kept casting her wary looks.
I tried to go back to my corner, but she blocked me. Raising my hands in an I-don’t-want-any-trouble gesture, I walked to another corner, not bothering to limp. It wasn’t like it was going to earn me any sympathy with this crowd. “Itchy” beat me to it. I nodded, and went to stand by the door.
Same thing. Apparently, this was a fun game. Anyplace I wanted to stand, she wanted to stand.
I looked to the other women, each in turn. They were watching with mild interest. One of them—an older woman with flat black hair, gray roots, and a tattoo on her neck—wore a half smile that might have been sympathetic, but she shook her head wearily, as if she’d played this game before and didn’t want to get involved now.
“Look, just tell me where you want me to stand and I’ll do it,” I said to Itchy.
She pointed to the hall beyond the bars. “Out there.”
I sighed. “Well, see, that’s going to be a problem, because I don’t have
the fucking key.
”
She smiled evilly, and not the fun kind of “evilly” like when I’m teasing Billy or one of my brothers. “I guess you do have a problem then, little Miss Rich Bitch.”
Shit.
The first punch landed in my belly, doubling me over. Before I was able to suck in a breath, the second one caught me in the left eye, pushing me upright. The third one broke my nose. At least, I was pretty sure it did. It hurt like hell and bled like a son of a bitch.
Damn. I wondered if the real Lily-Ann had gone through anything like this when she was here. Her face had looked okay, but not all bruises show. I also wondered where the hell a guard was when you needed one.
Thinking about Lily, trying to protect her aura, I got my arms up and began blocking the blows. The other women started hollering out directions, telling me to hit back, and where I should aim my punches. I listened, taking their advice as well as I could. Eventually, I managed to kick my leg out sideways and trip Itchy. She hit the ground hard, and lay there, dazed.
One of the other women—the young one who looked like a grown-up version of your worst nightmare from the locker room in high school—jumped up from her bench and lifted my arm like a boxing referee. “And the winner is … hey, what’s your name, honey?” she asked, smiling at me for the first time. I kind of wished she hadn’t.
“Lily-Ann,” I said, wiping the blood still dripping out of my nose on my sleeve.
“Lily-Ann! Hey, kid, you did good. But what gives? I thought all you rich bitches knew kung fu, and shit like that.”
I laughed, touching my nose gingerly. “Guess I wasted my time on yoga.”
* * *
Itchy and I were taken to the clinic, where our injuries were seen to by a nurse practitioner who probably hadn’t been surprised by anything since sometime in the last millennium. She asked what happened. I glanced at Itchy (still glaring at me malevolently) and told the nurse I fell. The bored guard didn’t contradict me.
The nurse nodded and smiled wryly. “Slippery floor in there.”
After she set my nose and put a splint on it (not something I
ever
want to do again), she gave me two painkillers and what looked to be a set of orange scrubs with “L.A. County Jail” printed across the back of the shirt and down one leg of the pants.
Yeesh. And I’d thought yellow was bad. I’d hate to see what this color did to my primary aura.
Thomas, as good as his word, got me a private cell. It was small and cold, and a guard came by to check on me every thirty minutes or so, near as I could tell. There wasn’t a clock in view.
The mattress was covered in green plastic and there was no pillow. One of the guards brought me a rough green blanket when he saw I was shivering. I thought that was nice of him, and sincerely hoped he wouldn’t expect payment.
The stainless steel toilet and sink were right out in the open. Apparently, modesty was a privilege not permitted to prisoners. I very quickly learned to pee fast, right after the guard’s rounds. Hadn’t been caught so far.
There was a small, white desk—more of a deep shelf attached to the wall—and a round stool in front of it, also attached to the wall. No paper or pen on it, though. No books, no TV or radio, no entertainment of any kind.
So I had plenty of time to worry about what would happen when Billy and Mark saw each other again. Which wasn’t a lot of fun, but at least it took my mind off how much my face hurt.
* * *
I was roused from my sleep way too early the next morning by a sardonically cheery female voice.
“Rise and shine, buttercup.”
I opened my eyes. Make that “eye”—my left one appeared to be swollen shut. Lovely.
Since I’d been wearing Lily’s aura when I was hit, the bruising and swelling would be showing up just fine. And since I was always me beneath a secondary aura’s surface, I’d have to remember to adapt the injuries away if I didn’t want them to show when I was myself again.
The new guard on duty was a slim, older black woman with super short salt-and-pepper hair. She winced when she saw my face, so I imagined I looked pretty impressive. Didn’t know for sure, since the accommodations didn’t include a mirror.
“Damn, buttercup. Who’d you piss off?”
“I fell,” I said, pushing myself to a sitting position. I slipped my feet into the prison-issue sneakers.
“Right. I see you’re a fast learner,” she said, and looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, if somebody went after you, you can tell me. You’re a ‘keep away’—they won’t put you back with anyone who might hurt you again.”
I yawned, remembering halfway through to cover my mouth with my hand. “What’s a ‘keep away’?”
“If they put you in orange, it means you’re to be kept away from the rest of the population, for either your protection or theirs. From the looks of you, I’m guessing it’s for yours.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But let’s keep it at ‘I fell.’” I’d always heard snitches didn’t fare well in prison.
She shook her head. “Whatever you say, buttercup. Your lawyer’s here. If you don’t trust me, maybe you can tell him.”
Crap. If Thomas saw me like this …
Nothing I could do about it. If I’d been thinking, I would have adapted away the ravages before they bloomed, but now that I’d been seen it would be too obvious. Nobody heals that fast. I did reduce the “swelling” in my ankle, though. I was going to pretend that was all better, since nobody here would be likely to notice.
Nigel’s face was usually hard to decipher—like most good lawyers, he was adept at bland neutrality of expression when he needed to be—but there was no mistaking the anger on it when he saw me. I smiled ruefully and shrugged, but didn’t say anything until the guard left us alone.
“What happened?” he said, his voice tight.
“An unkempt woman objected to my presence in the holding cell. Don’t worry—I won.” I tried to wink, and realized I already was. Stupid shiner. But at least I could open it partway now, if I really tried.
“Are you all right? Have you been seen by a doctor?”
“Yes and yes. Only … how does my nose look? Can you tell if it’s straight under this splint?” It should have been the least of my worries, I knew, but I’d really hate to have to spend the rest of my life adapting away a bent nose.
He swallowed, looking positively bleak. I’d been expecting the anger, but this looked like something more.
“Thomas?” I whispered.
He shook his head, once.
“Nigel?”
Another shake.
Uh-oh. “Limburger?” I said.
He nodded, clench-jawed.
“What are you doing here? Did you find Gunn? Did he confess?”
“Mark is following a new lead. He and Laura are working it.”
“Mark is here?” Duh. Stupid question. He’d just said as much.
“He got on a company plane as soon as Thomas contacted him.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your keeping me in the loop, but shouldn’t you be out there helping them?” I said.
He pushed a small button on the inside arm of his chair, lifting himself to a standing position, and rolled over to the door. He looked out the window, both ways down the hall. Wheeled himself over to me, keeping his back to the window, took my hand.
“
No.
” I tried to pull my hand away.
Too late. He was already Lily-Ann, bruises, squinty eye and all. Wow, I really
did
look horrible. He already had Lily-Ann’s aura, but he needed to add the swelling and bruising in the exact configuration I had. It would take a minute or so to set.
“Start unzipping, cuz. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need that nose splint, too. Snap-snap!”
He held on to my hand as he undid the straps holding his knees to the chair.
“Billy, stop it. We don’t have time for this.”
“It’s happening, cuz. And if you’ll be so kind as to tell me who did that to you, I will see that they never try anything like it again. On anybody.”
“You can’t. I’m in a cell by myself, perfectly safe.” I bent over and unzipped as much as I could without letting go of Billy. “Which is why this is unnecessary. And stupid. Stoo.
Pid.
Somebody could see us.”
I leaned down and carefully untaped the splint from my nose, sucking in my breath as I pulled it free. The anger pouring out from Billy through Lily-Ann’s eyes intensified.
“If you think I’m leaving you in a place where somebody beat the shit out of you,
you’re
stupid.” He let go of my hand. “There. I think I’ve got it.” He continued disrobing, holding Lily-Ann’s new facial features without difficulty. He’d always been a fast absorber.
Now that he didn’t need to touch me, I popped into my tiniest aura, slipped my hands out of the cuffs, and finished stripping. “If they catch us—”
“Hurry the fuck up and they won’t,” he said, and put on my discarded clothing.
“Why in the hell does Nigel have to wear a suit every single freaking day?” I said, buttoning the dress shirt as fast as my fingers—well, Nigel’s now—would move. “Hey, can you help me with this tie?”
“Sure, just a sec.” He slipped the prison shoes on, then reached for the expensive blue silk dangling from my neck. “I can’t believe you haven’t learned to do this properly yet. You have three brothers, for God’s sake.”
I slapped his hand away. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself. You get those cuffs on.”
“Let me get you strapped into the chair first.”
I yanked on black socks and slipped my feet into black wing tip loafers before I backed up to the chair. “You realize I have no idea how to drive this thing.”
He finished stabilizing my legs and pointed to the controls on the arm of the chair. “This is up. This is down—yeah, go ahead and lower it. You’ll feel more stable sitting. Think of this little lever as a joystick. Push it whichever way you want the chair to go.”
“How did you get here? How do I get back?” I said as I grappled with the tie. Wasn’t as good as Billy’s knot had been, but it would do. “Where the hell is Nigel, anyway, and how’s he getting around without his chair?”
“There’s a black van with a driver parked in one of the handicapped spaces near the entrance. The driver will see you coming and take it from there. Nigel is at home, staying out of sight,” Billy said as we settled ourselves into the proper places. Seconds later, the guard’s face appeared at the window. His eyes flitted over us, and he left.
“That was cutting it close,” I said, matching Nigel’s inflection precisely. “If I hadn’t already had Nigel’s aura, we would have been caught.”
“I knew you had it.”
“How, huh? How could you be sure?” I was a little disgruntled at being rushed into the switch before I was convinced it was necessary.
“You told me after you showed Nigel and Lily how adaptors worked.”
“Okay, well … it was still stupid. And dangerous. My God, Billy, what if Mark and Laura don’t find Gunn? Or what if they do find him, and he still won’t confess, huh? Are you going to sit in jail forever?”
He leaned forward. Tried to reach for me, but was held back by the handcuffs. “No. Only until Nigel and Thomas get Lily acquitted.”
“And what if they don’t? They’re good, yes, but they’re not infallible.”
“In that case, I’m a lot better suited for prison life than you are. In fact,” he said with a cocky tilt of Lily’s head that was painful to watch, “you never know, I might even enjoy life in a women’s prison.”
“Stop trying to make me laugh. It’s not going to work this time.”
“Fine, sourpuss. Then get out of here and go help the others get
me
out of here.”
Nigel was waiting for me in his study, with the curtains drawn. He sat in an older-model wheelchair, still motorized but not self-rising. He looked very glad to see me.
“Thanks for the use of your aura,” I said.
“It was the least I could do. How’s Ciel? Is she holding up okay?”
I dropped his aura and got myself out of his chair. “I’m fine, thanks.”
I was, of course, keeping my injuries hidden. No reason for him to feel bad about something he’d had no control over.
“Where’s Mr. Doyle?” he asked.
“Billy decided he was better suited to stay than I was.” To forestall the questions I saw bubbling behind his eyes—lawyers are so inquisitive—I added, “So, can I help get you back to the cool wheels?”
He accepted the change of subject with grace. “No, I can manage.”
He rolled the chair he was in until it faced the one I had vacated, and locked its brakes. Using only the strength of his arms, he levered himself up and over, moving his hands from the arms of one chair to the other, deftly twisting his body around, like a gymnast on the parallel bars, until he could lower himself into the new seat. He adjusted his legs and fastened the straps with quick and easy motions that spoke of years of practice.