Even when Abraham Ravenwood himself had kept her in a literal gilded cage, she’d had a divan for a bed.
For the record, she wasn’t certain she’d ever been in a kitchen. It wasn’t entirely her own doing. Back at Ravenwood, Kitchen wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing.
By the time Link returned from the Beater with her three bags, a big gray box, and his old Stonewall Jackson basketball team duffel, Rid was lying on the mattress, fully dressed.
“There is no way I can sleep on this thing,” she said.
Link laughed. “A mattress in the kitchen. Sure you don’t wanna sleep in the Beater?”
“How about in a cab on the way to a hotel in Manhattan?” Ridley wasn’t kidding. Necro’s warning had shaken her up.
Who is Casting a Vindicabo on me? Maybe the same person who was watching me outside the apartment? If I wasn’t imagining the whole thing?
Ridley flung her arm over her eyes, blacking out the world around her, as if she could make it all go away.
Is any of this real, or is the Necromancer just messing with me?
Link slid his arm around her. “Come on. Where’s your spirit of adventure, Babe?”
“Don’t call me Babe.” Ridley shrugged him off. “And that’s easy for you to say. You don’t even sleep.”
“I wish I could. This day has been too freakin’ long.” Link dropped the bags and box from the car in front of her. The kitchen was so small there wasn’t much room for anything but the mattress.
He sighed, falling next to her onto the mattress. Then he shoved the gray box in her direction.
“What is it, a present?” Ridley hated surprises. She always imagined the worst.
A head in a box. A bomb. Link’s mother, miniaturized.
“I guess I shoulda told you,” Link said sheepishly. “But I didn’t know you were comin’, remember?”
Rid reached for the lid and knocked it to one side, tentatively, as if she were afraid whatever was in the box would bite her.
Turned out, she wasn’t that far off.
Lucille Ball stared back at her, curled up inside an old pink bath rug, looking as if she’d just woken up from a twenty-four-hour catnap.
“Are you kidding me? You brought the cat?”
Lucille howled, equally offended.
“Aunt Mercy said she’d never been up North. Aunt Grace said Lucille Ball would be better off crossin’ the Mason-Dixon Line in the sky. Then Ethan promised he’d ask, and I promised I’d think about it, and before I knew it—”
“Your big plan was to run off to New York City to become a rock star with your best friend’s great-aunts’ cat as your sidekick?” Ridley looked from Lucille Ball to Link.
“I thought it might be nice, you know, to have a familiar face from back home.”
“A cat’s face?”
Lucille Ball howled again. Link tried to muzzle her, and Lucille bit his hand.
“Bite her, not me! I’m not the one who hates you.” Link tried to slam the lid back on the box, but Lucille leaped out and onto the mattress.
He grabbed for her, but she slipped out of his hands and disappeared through the crack in the door.
“Hope the windows are closed. Otherwise I gotta tell the Sisters that I lost Lucille before she even got to see the Statue a Liberty.”
“Don’t worry.” Ridley sighed. “Nobody is lucky enough to get rid of that cat.”
“Yeah?” He sounded hopeful.
“Believe me, I’ve tried.” Rid wanted to look angry, but she started giggling, and then Link cracked up, and soon they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
Ridley flopped back on the mattress, and Link lowered himself down next to her. They lay there, staring at the ceiling.
“You want to snuggle up and keep warm? You know, body heat?” Link rubbed her arm.
“I’m hot.” Ridley pulled her arm away. Seeing Lucille had made her feel better. But the cat had disappeared, and so had Ridley’s good mood.
“Third Degree Burns. Can’t argue with that,” Link said, grinning down at her.
“It’s late. I want to get some sleep.” She wiggled out of his arms.
“What did Necro say when we were comin’ to check out our room that got you so rattled?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You can tell me.”
Yeah, right.
A few minutes later, Link gave up. He disappeared to the practice room and Ridley was left staring up at the ceiling, wondering if this was her real punishment for that night at Suffer.
She heard Link’s voice, and then a girl’s laugh.
Supertramp. At it again.
Moments later, the bass guitar began to thump, followed by the drums. Soon the crowd was chanting.
Ridley pulled the pillow over her head.
“Li-ink Floyd. Li-ink Floyd. Li-ink Floyd.” You couldn’t ignore it. Rid turned on her side.
Could this night get any better?
She didn’t bother to take off her shoes. She wanted to be ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. (It was already difficult enough to bolt in four-inch heels.) Plus, the mattress smelled like an old swimming pool. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place where you wanted to strip.
Ridley fell into a fitful sleep, alone on a hard mattress, in a city full of threats and lies, while her boyfriend hung out with another girl.
Only the dim green glow of her Binding Ring lit the way.
The salty wind on her face felt good, tickling her like kisses. “The breeze is blowing the sunshine away, Reece.” When she looked up, she saw sunspots—and two small dark spots on the horizon. She rubbed her eyes.