Even if Zebulund rushes, this house is still huge. The water is wearing off, so rehydration is crucial before I start. I go back to the downstairs guest bathroom I used and sit in the half-full tub, dipping my arms and upper body in as much as I can. I dribble on the tap to avoid making noise and drink until I feel revived.
His office door isn’t locked. There’s a large leather couch and a heavy bookshelf to the left. A wall of movies and a large flat screen TV take up another wall. His desk is simple and uncluttered. If there’s a hidden compartment I can’t see it after a few minutes of looking. I mean I guess that’s the point, but I also don’t see any unaccounted-for space either.
This is not going to be as easy as I hoped.
I try and fail several times to get into his computer. Every second that ticks by I grow more frustrated. What was I thinking? That his computer would just be sitting here like Pandora’s box? This was such a stupid plan.
I’m so frustrated in my search that I don’t even know Zebulund has entered the room until he speaks.
“You aren’t welcome here.”
I shoot up. Zebulund’s standing in the doorway. His eyes move around the room. That’s the second time tonight I allowed him to surprise me. I’m getting too distracted.
“I want you out of here. Leave me alone.”
I rest my palm against my racing heart as he continues to talk and sage the room. He’s talking to the ghost, not me. Relief floods me so fast I collapse back and have to steady myself. Instead of fainting I hurry to a far corner out of the way. He wanders around as the heavy spicy scent fills the air. It burns my nostrils. I take small breaths in through my teeth to combat the headiness.
He makes his way to his desk and opens a compartment that there is no way I would have ever found. A lid pops open after several complicated movements and then there’s another step just to retrieve something. Even having seen him do it I’m not sure that I can duplicate it. Oh, his phone. Damn, that would have been nice to get.
His thumbs move around the screen with little clicks. The familiar whoosh of a message-sent follows. He sighs and slides the phone in his pocket and then puts the compartment back into the desk.
His attention is snagged by his computer monitor. My face scrunches up with frustration. Sloppy. I’m being sloppy—it’s still lit up. He looks around. I hold perfectly still. He sets the sage on the side of his desk, the burning side hanging off the edge, and then goes to the computer and types before I can get over there. He’s too fast anyway; I doubt I would’ve been able to catch his password.
As I watch over his shoulder, he clicks into files and enters more passwords to get into folders. Each one of the guys in the inner circle has his own folder, as well as a few other names I recognize. I can’t catch much; screen grabs of bank accounts, complicated-looking spreadsheets, pictures; but he pauses on nothing long enough to get anything useful. It’s like he’s just checking to make sure everything’s still there.
Damn this amateur plan. A few names, that’s all I get.
He leans back and checks his email, sage apparently forgotten. The effects of being Under are catching up. I’ll need to leave soon. After knowing how good it is to be Under while wet, everything else feels like sitting under a hair dryer.
After a few minutes he scans the room and gets up. He picks up the sage from the edge of the desk and starts swinging it around. I’m not sure what he’s doing but it doesn’t seem good. I press myself as flat as possible against a wall and follow him, keeping myself out of his vicinity, but manage to get myself stuck between his desk and the corner of the bookshelf.
He walks toward me, his hand out in front of him. My heart races. I bump into the curtains and they billow out at my mistake. His attention immediately shoots toward me. I have no choice but to stay where I am. He sets the sage back down on the desk, allowing him to have both hands out grasping at the air in front of him.
He hasn’t come at me like this since the time I don’t think about. It’s different than messing with him with Roe and the others nearby. I need to move. Standing there with a heart that won’t settle is doing me nothing. He may not be able to see me, but he’ll sure as hell touch me in just a few more inches.
I’m rigid in place—reverted back to my younger self. The girl that’s intimidated in his presence. Even in my most angry moments, he always fills up too much space physically and emotionally. He takes and takes and I’m nothing but another source for him.
My heart’s racing. A combination of fear pulsating under my skin, and rage at my own inability to move, makes the room spin. Only two more steps and I’m caught. There’s no going back. I let loose a sob but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t even flinch. How can he not hear the way my heart slams against my chest?
I close my eyes at my weakness. I can’t look at him. I can’t fight him. He’s got me and he doesn’t even know.
Just my body, not my being. Just my body, not my being.
My whole body shakes. He steps forward and his hands miss me as they spread out but catch me on the way back in. A combination of things happen at once.
The sensation of his hand on my naked body snaps me into action. My eyes shoot open. I place two hands on his chest and shove with all my might.
Right before he screams, his eyes widen to comic proportions. It’s not a manly yell, it’s the gasp of a frightened child. He stumbles back as there’s a knock at the door. When he falls back against the desk the burning sage is knocked into a wastebasket filled with paper and used tissues.
The banging grows louder. A small wisp of smoke rises from the trash can. He’s green and sweating with his hand grasping his chest.
“C-Come in… Hurry!”
Roe bursts into the room.
“What’s going on?” His gaze bounces from the terrified man to the trash, which is now totally lit up and smoking like crazy, and me shuddering and naked in the corner. I shake my head. I know I must look horrified. Roe’s fear is blatant in his features.
Zebulund falls into the couch. He doesn’t answer Roe’s question. He runs his hands through his hair and stares at the window where I had just been standing.
