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She cringed and looked down at her food. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets. Tears stung her eyes, and she wiped at the corner of them with her sleeve. “I’m a monster.”
“Oh, buttercup. No, you’re not a monster.” He sighed. “I’ve seen monsters. I’ve seen people—living, normal, human people—rip other ones to shreds for laughs. If you think Gacy was bad, you should see the files we have on people who were too gruesome for the public to even know about. You’re not a monster, Maggie. You’re just…to the left of living, that’s all.”
Her jaw twitched. “All I can remember before the past eighteen months is dying. Again, and again, and again. And he’s always there. Always. I thought they were hallucinations. I thought it wasn’t real. I thought I was insane.”
“Your blackouts aren’t exactly normal, I’ll give you that. They’re troubling. Hopefully, as you uncover more of your missing past, though, they’ll slow down or stop.” He reached over the table and stole one of her fries, dipped it in the ketchup, and ate it. He made a face. “Terrible stuff. I’m telling you malt vinegar is what you want.”
She had to laugh. It was weak, and it was overwhelmed, but she found it funny all the same. “God damn it.”
“What?”
“I’m sitting here having an existential crisis and you’re trying to sell me on motherfucking malt vinegar.”
“It’s really good! And much better on fries. I’m lucky if I can get some at a restaurant. You Americans only seem to keep it at seafood restaurants. Uncreative lot you all are when it comes to food. Although barbeque is worth its weight in calories.”
“Existential crisis, Rinnie.”
“Rinnie, is it now?” He grinned. “Are we friends, then?”
“No. I’m just calling you Rinnie to annoy you. I don’t trust you.” She plucked one of the pickle spears off the edge of the plate and took a bite out of it. It should have been crunchy. It wasn’t. She made a face. Oh, well. Beggars and choosers and all that jazz. And Rinaldo was paying.
“You shouldn’t trust anybody but yourself. Not me, not that lunkhead who follows you around, and certainly not Doctor Gideon Raithe.” He stole another one of her fries. “I’m surprised he didn’t tip you off that something was up with a name that obviously fake.”
“Don’t call me stupid.”
“I’m not, I’m not.” He waved his hand. “You’ve had a lot to deal with.”
Forcing herself to stop bouncing her leg—it was shaking the water in her glass—she shut her eyes and tried to focus on one thing at a time. “I saw…I saw what Harry really is—I don’t know how he hid from me. He looked alive. He felt alive.” When Rinaldo raised an eyebrow, she shook her head. “Not like that. I mean—like—we’ve hugged.”
He smirked. “Sure, sure.”
“Nothing happened between me and Harry.” Not because I didn’t want it to.
“Uh-huh.”
She glared at him.
With a playful shrug, he continued. “Anyway. Gideon is very good at his job. He’s found ways to hide his creations in plain sight using powerful dark magic. It’s an illusion. I’m assigned to this job because I’m lucky enough to be able to see through it.”
“You can see through illusions?”
“In a manner of speaking. I see—what’s the word for it that you’d understand…auras.” He looked at her, and then his gaze shifted up and over her shoulder, before growing unfocused. Like he was looking past her. “Energy lines. Colors. People have…clouds of energy around them. It’s how I know who Gideon has under his control, or when his spirits are nearby. It’s also how I know you’ve got a little friend hiding in your hood, there.”
“I—” Oh! The rat! She had forgotten all about him in all the craziness. Instantly, she picked up her fork and held it up at Rinaldo defensively. “I won’t let you hurt him.”
He laughed. “Wasn’t planning on it. Don’t worry.”
“But…Gideon might be able to track us because he’s here.”
“If he can track his creations, he knows where we are, with or without your little friend.” His expression was a knowing one. When the meaning of his words hit her, her shoulders slumped.
Her.
He was talking about her.
There was a wriggle in her hood. Algernon was awake, as if he noticed that they were talking about him. She picked up a fry and slipped it to him, hoping it would keep him happy. Judging by the happy quiet squeak, the answer was yes. She didn’t know what an undead rat ate, but she figured everything liked French fries.
Hopefully, it’d also keep him from popping out in the restaurant and terrorizing everyone.
