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"Then you'll have an edge, because what he was famous for is a lot better known in Chicago than Hollywood, though he himself lived here. And there's no murder involved. Not his murder, that is, though he certainly sent a lot of people to their graves." A slow shake of her head. "Live that kind of life and die in your sleep. Proof that life isn't fair."
She studied my face, trying to see whether I needed any more hints. I didn't. I thanked her for her time, then went in search of Claudia and Grady.
JEREMY AND I dined alone. That seemed wisest--letting Becky believe that her stars had passed the stage of feigning civility and now were avoiding one another even for meals.
The next seance segment would be later that morning, so I had to stick around. I tried persuading Jeremy to go--to hook up with Hope, maybe pay a visit to Botnick at his shop--but he insisted there was no rush. We'd leave together after I was free.
In the meantime, I wanted to go into the garden, to try contacting the ghosts again.
"I know I'm not going to have some sudden breakthrough, but..." I let the sentence trail off.
"At the very least, you're letting them know you're still here. That's hardly a waste of time, if they're comforted."
Before we went outside, I collected my necromancy kit, then picked up a package I'd ordered from town. A little gift for Jeremy. Not much of a gift, I thought, as I looked into the bag. Unoriginal. Probably unwanted, under the circumstances. I wished I'd chosen something better. I wished I knew what better would be.
I took it out to the patio and thrust it at Jeremy with a mumbled "Just a little something."
He opened the bag and smiled. Reaching in, he pulled out a sketch pad and pencils.
"Okay," I said. "Probably the last thing you need on this trip. But I thought, well, maybe if we had some downtime like this, you could use a distraction from the research."
"I could. Thank you. It'll help me clear my mind so I can see fresh angles. It's perfect timing too. I know you prefer to work without an audience breathing down your neck."
"Strange for a stage performer, huh?"
"No, not really." He folded the bag and put it into his pocket. "Let's get out there, then, before they find work for you."
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER
SO WE "WORKED" TOGETHER at the back of the garden, me kneeling on my ritual cloth, Jeremy seated off to the side out of my field of vision. If anything, I was more relaxed than when I'd been alone, maybe because I knew he'd detect--and warn me of--any intruders before I was "caught." Or maybe it was just comforting having him nearby, the steady scratch of his pencil underscoring the children's whispers. Even they seemed more patient with me, their encouraging caresses never turning to jabs and slaps. For all that, though, I made no progress.
Finally, I stopped, stretched and walked over to Jeremy.
"What are you draw--" I caught sight of the page. "Hey, that's me."
I bit my cheek to keep from grinning. I'd never known Jeremy to sketch anyone outside the Pack. While it might have meant that he didn't like flowers, and I was the only living alternative, I knew it meant something. With Jeremy, that's what art was about--a medium to explore an idea...or a person.
"It's recognizable, then? Always a good sign." He closed the book. "Are you done?"
"I think so. Can I see?" I hesitated with my fingers outstretched toward his book, then curled them back. "Or maybe I shouldn't ask. Your art and all. Private, I guess."
"No more private than your rituals and you share those with me." He handed me the pad. "Just a series of sketches. I'm thinking of doing a painting."
"Of me?"
His smile grew, touching his eyes. "If that's all right. I'm working on one of the twins right now. For them, when they're older. It's taking awhile. I originally meant it to be just Kate and Logan, but decided to add Clay and Elena. A bigger project, but I thought the children might prefer that when they grow up."
"More meaningful, with their parents in it."
"I thought so."
I opened the book and flipped through the sketches. There were quite a few, all raw, some no more than an outline, maybe with a feature or two. Preparation for a painting--Jeremy preferred to work from sketches and memory rather than from live models. An interpretation rather than a photograph, he said.
His interpretations were often surprising. Like the older portraits of Clay and Elena in his studio. Clay--brash, difficult, violent--depicted as a young man with an almost boyish innocence. Elena--the more sociable, more easygoing of the pair--painted with a dangerous edge, the beast within revealed.
On first glance, you'd say Jeremy got them wrong, misinterpreted. But I'd seen that feral side of Elena, protecting her loved ones, and I'd caught glimpses of Clayton's gentler side, playing with his children or talking to his wife. Not their dominant personalities, but an aspect of the whole--a side you had to dig to find.
So it was with no surprise that when I first looked at the sketches Jeremy had done of me, I thought No, that's not right. Not the way I saw myself. Not even the way I saw myself reflected in others. In those sketches, I looked...quiet. Intent, almost introspective. My gaze was focused on something to the side, my expression serious, solemn even, rapt in concentration.
