"So that's enough?" Lace asked. "A closet?"
"Like I said, the parasite has to be spread by biting," I explained. "It's not like the flu; it doesn't travel through the air."
"Ynneeeeow!" complained Cornelius, and sounds of ratty panic answered from inside the closet.
"But we're going to be listening to that all night?"
"No. Watch this." I picked up a can of cat food and ransacked the silverware drawer for a can opener. "Nummy-time!"
As the opener's teeth incised the can, a million years of predatory evolution was sandblasted from Cornelius's brain by the smell of Crunchy Tuna. He padded back over to the kitchen and sat on his haunches, staring raptly up at me.
"See? Cornelius has priorities," I said, spooning the tuna into a bowl.
" 'Nummy-time'?" Lace asked.
I swallowed, realizing that I wasn't used to filtering my cat-to-owner gibberish. Lace was the first guest ever to set foot in this apartment. Between peep hunting and parasitology textbooks, I hadn't had much time for socializing. Especially not with women.
The whole thing made me nervous, like I was being invaded. But I kept reminding myself that I wouldn't lose control like I almost had on the balcony. That had been a moment of fear and excitement in a very small space.
I was considering, however, putting another rubber band around my wrist.
"It's just a thing Cornelius and I do," I said, placing his bowl on the floor.
Lace didn't respond. She was touring the apartment, all one room of it, stretching from the kitchen to the futon squished into one corner. It was the same size as most, but I was suddenly self-conscious. Scoring an apartment in a fancy building had probably dampened Lace's enthusiasm for slumming.
She was inspecting my CD tower.
"Ashlee Simpson?"
"Oh, wait, no. That was an old girlfriend's obsession." Actually, more of an anathema, lately. When I'd tracked Maria - the unfortunate girl I'd made out with at a New Year's Eve party - to an abandoned 6-train station below Eighteenth Street, I'd brought a boom box full of Ashlee for self-defense. "I'm more into Kill Fee."
"Kill Fee? Aren't they, like, heavy metal?"
"Excuse me, alternative metal."
She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. But you realize that having a girlfriend who's into Ashlee Simpson isn't much better than liking it yourself."
"Ex-girlfriend," I said, moving around the room and putting away my books from the Night Watch library. "And she wasn't really... It was a short-term thing."
"But you stocked up on tunes she liked? Very smooth."
I groaned. "Listen, you can stay here, but you don't have to snoop."
Lace glanced at a T-shirt on the floor. "Yeah, well, at least I didn't bring my ultraviolet wand."
"Hey that was for work. I don't usually seek out bodily fluids." I crossed to the futon and pulled it out straight. "Speaking of which, I'll put clean sheets on this. You can have it."
"Listen, I don't want to kick you out of your bed." She looked at my run-down couch. "I'll be okay there. It's not like I'm sleeping that close to the floor again ever, especially not with an infected rat about ten feet away."
I glanced at the closet, but apparently PNS had no comment.
"No, I can take the couch."
She shook her head. "You're too tall. You'll wake up crumpled."
She sat down, her houndstooth-check coat still wrapped around her. "And I'm too tired to care; I'm even too tired to worry about your pigeon mites. So keep your bed, okay?"
"Um, sure." At least the couch and the futon were a decent distance apart. Lace's jasmine smell was already filling the apartment, making my palms sweat.
She lay down, coat and all. "Just wake me up before ten."
"Aren't you going to brush your teeth?"
"I forgot to pack a toothbrush. Got an extra one?"
"No. Sorry."
"Man, I forgot pretty much everything. That happens when things scare me."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault, dude."
She closed her eyes, and I went into the bathroom, trying to be silent, every sound I made rattling my super-hearing. I hid my toothbrush, just in case Lace got desperate in the morning. It's not a good idea to share a toothbrush with a positive, seeing as your gums bleed a tiny amount every time the brush scrapes across them. Not a very likely vector, but it could happen.
When I emerged, Cornelius had finished eating and was eyeing the closet. I knelt to stroke him for a while, building up a good purr. He wasn't strong enough to open the closet door - but I didn't want him and PNS yelling at each other all night. As always, I saved the fur that shed from his coat in a plastic Ziploc bag.
I went to bed in my clothes. Lace hadn't stirred since closing her eyes. She looked pretty crumpled herself, huddled there, and I felt guilty for having the almost-real bed, and for having blown up her world.
It took a long time for silence to come. At first, I was too aware of Cornelius purring at my feet and the panicky short breaths of PNS as he shivered in his metal prison. I could smell cat food and Cornelius dander and even the scent of infected rat with its weird hint of family. I could also smell Lace's jasmine shampoo and the oils in her hair. From her breathing, I knew she wasn't asleep yet.
Finally she stirred and pulled her coat off.
"Cal?" she said softly. "Thanks for letting me stay here."
"That's okay. Sorry for messing up your life."
She made the slightest movement - something like a shrug.
"Maybe you saved it. I knew that damn apartment was too good to be true. But I didn't think it would try to kill me."
"It won't."
"No, thanks to you." She sighed. "I mean, I always figured one day I'd be a fearless reporter and everything, but your job? Going down into that basement knowing what might be down there? Looking for those peep thingies instead of running away? You must be really brave, dude. Or really stupid."
I felt a flush of pride, even though she didn't know the pathetic truth. I hadn't really chosen my job; I'd been infected by it.
"Hey, you followed me down there," I said. "That was pretty brave."