House of Cards

CHAPTER 29

Sickness churned in Margrit’s stomach, bringing a cold sweat to her skin. Cole’s expression was accusing as he moved out of the doorway. She hugged herself, trying not to touch her housemate as she brushed by. Cool air followed her in, then was shut away again with the sliding of the door. "Lock yourself out?"

Margrit took a breath to answer, realized the futility of trying, and released it again unburdened by words. Cole’s voice followed her to the kitchen door, stopping her. "’Course, you don’t have your purse. And I was in the kitchen anyway, so you’d have had to come past me to get onto the balcony. Or, oh, did you come down the fire escape? In that?"

Margrit turned her head toward him, trying a second time to find words. Cole leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest. Tension radiated across the room, making the air hard to breathe. "What was that thing, Margrit?"

Horror plummeted through Margrit like a dead weight, cutting strength from her legs. "Who-"

"Don’t. Whatever you’re going to tell me, whatever bullshit story you’re about to make up, don’t even fucking bother with it, Grit. I saw that thing. Alban?" he asked incredulously, unfolding one arm to gesture sharply at her borrowed clothes. "Is that what that thing was? I saw it land on the balcony with you. I saw you kiss it and I saw it fly away again. What the fuck is it?"

"It is a he." Forcing the reply made Margrit’s throat hurt, as much physical pain as the desperate, panicked beat of her heart. "That was Alban, yes. That was…Alban." The delight and wonder of the night she’d just shared with him seemed horribly fragile now, slipping away in the face of Cole’s furious bewilderment.

"Then what the fuck is he?"

"He’s a gargoyle." Margrit heard herself answer from a distance, no prevarication offering itself in lieu of the truth. "He belongs to another race. Where’s Cameron?"

Cole made a strangled sound. "She’s sleeping. What do you mean, another race? Like an alien?" Disbelief struggled with the evidence his own eyes had provided, the ability to dismiss Margrit’s weary statement already corrupted.

"Yeah." She dropped her chin to her chest. "Not from another planet. Just…a leftover evolutionary tract, maybe. That’s what they think. Like Neanderthals," she whispered. "But more incredible. That was why he couldn’t go to the cops in January." She lifted her gaze again, staring down the hall. "He couldn’t risk it." She dared a glance at her housemate and found his countenance bleak. "You can’t tell anybody, Cole."

"Tell anybody?" His voice shot up a register. "Who the hell would I tell? The tabloids? Great front-page headlines. My roommate’s fucking an alien."

Margrit flinched. "Don’t." Her delivery of the word held more beseechment than his had. "Last night was the first time Alban and I were together. Don’t make it ugly, Cole. He means more to me than that."

"How can he mean anything to you? He’s-he’s-"

"Not human." Margrit shifted her shoulders. "He’s still a person, and I care about him."

"Are you out of your mind?" Cole shoved away from the counter and came to stand over her, a grasping hand suggesting he wanted to grab her and shake her. "What the hell do you think you’re doing with that thing? Does this have something to do with your new job?"

Margrit stared up at him, some of her cold horror breaking away to reveal kindling anger. "My-why would it?"

"Because it’s one more thing that’s not fitting. Daisani and that freak-"

"Cole!"

"What? He’s a freak, Margrit! You just said he wasn’t even human. Jesus Christ, like I’m supposed to know what to say, what to think? You think I should just be cool with this? I wouldn’t even know how to start being cool. I sure as hell don’t get how you can justify screwing something like that."

Anger bloomed, burning her sickness away. "You screwed me."

Cole’s jaw dropped. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"You ask ten people on the street and seven of them will tell you I’m a different race from you." Margrit thrust her hands toward Cole, cafe-latte skin pinked with anger. "Sure, we only went out a couple weeks, but hey, you still had sex with somebody from a different race. So Alban’s a different race from me. It doesn’t make him less of a person."

"Jesus, Margrit, we both belong to the human ra -"

"But they call it racism. Believe me, I’ve had this conversation with myself about a thousand times since January, and the only answer I can come up with is to keep it all secret." Margrit shoved out of the doorway, removing herself from Cole’s space. "I keep thinking maybe I could tell somebody, but look at how humans treat each other. I have some idea of what would happen to him if we knew his people existed. We’d tear them apart. And you-you’re proving my point for me. You’re supposed to be well-educated and liberal, and you’re freaking the fuck out. Not exactly a great start to outing a whole different race of people to the world."

"What the hell do you expect me to say?"

"I really don’t know!" Margrit threw a frustrated punch at the air, the silver-shot sleeve of Alban’s jacket reminding her painfully of the warmth and happiness she’d found in his arms. "Maybe, ‘Gosh, it’s great you met somebody, Margrit.’ That’d be nice. Unfuckingrealistic, but nice."

"I can’t believe you invited that thing into our house."

"Jesus Christ, Cole! He’s not a monster! Ted Bundy was a monster. I just wanted you to meet this guy I really like, this guy who understands why-" An angry laugh broke her voice. "Who understands why I run in the park at night. No, I wasn’t going to tell you he wasn’t human, because first you’d never believe me if you didn’t see it for yourself, and if you saw it you’d do this!" She tore her hand through the air as if their fight had a physical presence. "What else could I do?"

"Get married to Tony!" Cole kept the shout between his teeth, robbing it of volume but not passion. "Have babies, have a career, have an ordinary life!"

"I’m not in love with Tony!"

Cole stepped back as if the admission had been made to break his heart. Margrit’s anger drained away, strength of emotion wiped out by the weight of confession. It had been barely a day since she’d voiced her love for the detective, but only now did she consider the quality of that love, and found truth in what she said next. "Tony’s a great guy. But somewhere along the line I stopped being in love with him. Maybe we’re too much the same, I don’t know. Both of us too determined to fix the world our way to try to accept the other’s. Maybe we were too much in the habit of each other to let it go. I care about him. But he wants me to be something I don’t want to be."

"What?" Like hers, Cole’s voice sounded drawn. Margrit turned her palms up, lacing her fingers together as if joining them would provide an answer.

"Tethered." The word hung between them heavily, as Margrit stared at her hands. "Tony’s grounded. All the things I grew up working toward. Practical, sensible, earthbound. Working toward making concrete, possible changes in the world." She looked up again, feeling helpless. "Alban has wings."

"I thought that was what you wanted. You’re so damned focused, Grit. You always were. Five-star high school, top-notch college, ambitious public servant career. It’s what you’ve been after as long as I’ve known you. All you need to make the picture perfect is a husband and two point five kids. Instead you’ve decided you…I don’t even know what. You want a thing, and a career as Eliseo Daisani’s errand boy?"

"I want to make a difference." Margrit slumped against the counter. "The school, the job, the whole point was getting to a position where I could leave the world a better place than I found it. Townsend…" She put a hand over her face. "You know this. Townsend High School makes a big deal about doing just that, with an oath about it and everything. I took it seriously, and I can make more difference to Alban and his world than I can possibly explain. This is what I want. It’s just that the trappings aren’t what I expected."

"What about a family, Grit? What about a real life? You can’t have that with- him."

"We haven’t gotten that far," she said quietly. "Come on, Cole. Tony and I broke up two days ago, for heaven’s sake. I hadn’t seen Alban for months, not until this week." She sighed, lifting her hands to her face. They were cold against her burning cheeks. "And it’s not impossible. If that’s what we decide we want."

"What’s not? A family? A life? A family, Grit?" Cole’s voice rose in dismay. "How could you-"

"Look at me, Cole." Margrit lowered her hands, spreading them and gesturing at her skin tones, then at the loose curls falling over her shoulders. "I come from two or three definable ethnic backgrounds. Bloodlines mingle. It’s not impossible."

"But he’s not even-"

"It’s possible, Cole," Margrit said more firmly. "You’re just going to have to trust me on that."

Fresh horror bloomed across Cole’s face. "Trust y-you’re not pregnant, are you?"

"What?" Margrit stared at him, then flung her hands up. "No! No, I’m not pregnant! Jesus. Forget it. Forget it, I’m not having this conversation anymore. Jesus, Cole!" She stalked out of the kitchen to her bedroom, narrowly remembering not to slam the door and risk wakening Cameron.

Only when the door was closed behind her did her knees give out. Margrit slid to the floor, hands shaking as she folded them over her abdomen. Pregnant. That sort of risk was beyond her scope; she’d been on the pill since college, with no mishaps. Still, they’d used no other sort of protection, and she had no idea whether human medicine could stand up to alien invasion. Fingers pressed against her belly, Margrit shook her head and whispered, "I’m not pregnant."

She woke up huddled on the floor beneath Alban’s silver-shot jacket, unable to remember when wide-eyed fretting had turned to sleep. Cameron’s voice slipped under the door, words indistinguishable. Margrit pushed up, wincing in anticipation of stiffness from sleeping on the floor.

Not a muscle complained. It startled her enough that she stopped trying to get to her feet and simply flexed and stretched, searching for soreness. "Daisani." She breathed the name, almost a laugh, and sat all the way up. It was the little things that his gift surprised her with.

"Grit?" Cameron tapped on the door. Margrit got to her feet, yawning as she pulled it open. Cam had the phone pressed to her shoulder. "Are you awake? It’s Joyce Lomax."

"Awake enough." Margrit took the phone and knotted an arm around her ribs as she said, "Hello, Joyce. This is Margrit."

"Margrit." A shaky smile sounded in the older woman’s voice. "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything."

"I wondered if you’d be willing to speak at Russell’s service this evening." Joyce’s voice cracked and Margrit bit her lower lip, trying to ward off sympathetic tears. "I know it’s very short notice, but I think he would have liked it. Most of the other speakers are older, and I think he would have liked a colleague from your generation to say something."

Margrit pressed her fingers over her lips as tears stung her eyes sharply enough to hurt. Cameron put a hand on her shoulder, and Margrit tried to twist her crumpled features into a smile. "Of course I will." Her own voice sounded as strained as Joyce’s. "I’m honored to be asked. Would you like me to come early and help with anything?"

Joyce sighed. "That would be wonderful. The children and some friends have been helping, but we’re all exhausted. Keeping busy is better than doing nothing, but…"

"I’ll be there at six," Margrit promised quietly. "Take care of yourself, Joyce." She hung up. Cameron stepped forward to wrap her in a hug.

"You doing okay?" her friend asked.

"I don’t know what okay is anymore, to tell the truth."

Cam gave her a cautiously sly smile. "You sure about that?" She gestured to the tuxedo jacket and long shirt Margrit wore. "He’s not here. What’s the story with that? Don’t tell me he’s one of those guys who bails the second the alarm goes off."

"No, he dropped me off last night."

"In that?" Cameron squealed with delight. "Damn, sister! What happened to your dress?"

"Uh…" To Margrit’s dismay, a blush erupted over her cheeks. "It got lost."

"Lost? Oh my God." Cameron seized her hands and pulled her toward the bed. Margrit stumbled along after her, laughing despite herself, and sat down as Cameron plunked onto the mattress. "I want all the details, and I want them now."

For a moment the impulse to blurt out all the details overrode everything else. Margrit bit the tip of her tongue to keep herself from speaking, and instead frowned uncertainly at her blue-eyed friend. "Do you remember the stained-glass windows in the speakeasy?"

Cameron’s smile faltered with confusion. "Yeah…? They made a picture when you put them together. Dragons and mermaids and stuff. So? Oh my God." Her smile brightened again, her eyes widening. "Did he take you down there? That’s so cool! Did you lose your dress because security chased you out? Man, I never get to have any crazy sexual hijinks !"

Reality trumped the desire to confess. Cameron wouldn’t believe her without seeing what Cole had seen, and that had gone as badly as it possibly could have. Better to let it pass, and try to talk to Cole again later. Margrit dredged up humor, trying to keep a smile in place. "Something like that. I don’t know, Cam. You could talk to Cole about the sexual hijinks thing, but really, sneaking home through New York City when you’ve lost your dress and your underwear isn’t something I’d recommend."

"You only say that because you’ve had a chance to do it. I think it sounds like exactly the sort of thing everybody should experience once." Cameron squeezed Margrit’s hands, her expression growing a little more serious. "You like him, huh?"

"Yeah." Her voice dropped. "Yeah, and Cole and I had a fight about him this morning, and this…it’s not going to be easy to make it work."

"It wasn’t easy with Tony, either."

"And look how that turned out."

Cameron nudged her reassuringly. "Maybe it didn’t work with Tony because it wasn’t supposed to, Grit. What’d you and Cole fight about?"

This time Margrit didn’t have to quell the impulse to tell the truth. She only shook her head. "Alban in general, my new job, everything. He doesn’t like me dating the guy Tony suspected of murder a couple months ago. And he and Tony are friends, and…" And Alban was a gargoyle.

"We’re all friends. Unless you’re going to make us start choosing sides." Cameron eyed her. "This isn’t going to be one of those breakups, is it?"

"I don’t think so. Although Cole’s angry enough to choose sides himself, maybe."

"I’ll talk to him," Cameron promised.

Margrit winced. "Let me try again first, okay? He’s got reason, I guess, and I don’t want to put you between us."

"If you’re sure."

"I am." Margrit leaned over on the bed, snaking a hand beneath the pillow. "Besides, I’ve got protection if I need it." She pulled out the small water gun Cameron’d had a few days earlier, and squirted her friend twice. Cam shrieked in dismay and jumped off the bed, hands making a useless shield.

"You’re sleeping with water guns? That’s a whole new kind of kink. Isn’t it leaking all over your mattress?"

Margrit waggled the gun threateningly, then tilted it, looking for leaks. "It hasn’t been, actually. This is not your standard-fare ninety-nine cent plastic water gun here. This is a top-of-the-line polyurethane-sealed .38 Special with a fitted cork plug that swells to keep the ammunition in place."

Cameron squinted. "It is?"

"I have no idea, but it sounded good, didn’t it?" Margrit put the gun on her nightstand and got up, smiling. "It’s got a cork plug, anyway, and it doesn’t leak. I thought I’d start carrying it instead of my pepper spray."

"It’s neon-green, Grit. Nobody’s going to believe it’s real."

"Well, maybe I can fill it with pepper spray or mint oil."

"Minty fresh bad guys. I like it. Carry the pepper spray." Cameron glowered, good nature only half masking her seriousness.

"I’ll become the most dangerous gun in Central Park. Mint oil in one hand, pepper spray in the other. Raar." Margrit felt as if she was forcing levity, trying to ward off memories of the fight she’d had with Cole and the funeral service she had to face in a few hours.

Cameron’s scowl gentled, as if she suddenly understood what Margrit was trying to do. "Well, all right. But I expect you to show me both gun and spray before you leave the house today, young lady." She hesitated, then added, "You want me and Cole to go with you to the service? You know we’d be glad to."

"Cole’s pretty pissed at me. I don’t know if he would be."

"He has his moments of being a jerk, but I don’t think he’d be that much of one." Cam tilted her head toward Margrit’s bathroom. "Go take a shower and get ready to face the day. And when you come out again, I want you armed and dangerous."