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as he spoke and now he kissed me, one brief kiss and another, and then another, longer this time. He didn’t touch me at all except with his lips, warm on mine. He was right, I was the Wicked Witch: melting, melting…
Then several things happened at once, none of them pleasant. A scream. A splash. A shout of alarm. “Somebody’s in the water!”
People surged toward the railing, roughly jostling me and Aaron as we peered downwards. The green-black water of the harbor was dappled with light and dotted with debris: cigarette butts, a paper coffee cup, chunks of sodden driftwood. And one wavering luminous shape, trailing strands of fair hair, and edges of pallid cloth that rippled just below the surface, slowly sinking and rising. Two ghostly arms spread wide, the pale fingers parted as if to conjure something up from the depths.
Then the man who made the splash diving in—it was Donald, the security guard, I recognized his crew cut— reached the body, hooked an elbow neatly under the chin, and towed it to a wooden ladder that rose up along a piling. A cacophony of shocked, excited voices filled the night, and people fell over one another in their haste to help him hoist his dripping burden to the pier.
I stepped back from the melee and called 911.
Chapter Four
THE MEDIC ONE GUYS SAVED CORINNE CAMPBELL, BUT IT was touch and go. They say King County is the best place in the world to have a heart attack, and it’s an auspicious spot for a near-drowning, too. We had a fire truck on the scene in minutes, and the paramedics shortly after. Aaron and I stood rooted, our hands knotted in each other’s, while they resuscitated Corinne and swathed her in blankets.
When they went for a stretcher, we crouched beside her on the deck. Rivulets of water snaked from Corinne’s hair and costume, making a puddle that soaked through the thin skirt of my gown. I was distantly aware of Marvin, my other guard, directing the crowd back out of the way, and of Lily, ever practical, borrowing a blanket for the soaked and shuddering Donald. Elliott Bay is deep, and deadly cold.
Through all this I chafed at one of Corinne’s hands, trying to will some life into her. Her hand was icy, the nails bitten to the quick, and her face was a blue-white mask, violated by grotesque smears of mascara and lipstick, and traces of blood from a deep abrasion on one cheek. She was silent at first, then began an agonized muttering.
“How could he!?” Her head swung rapidly from side to side, as if she were being slapped. “How could he, how could he…”
“Corinne!” said Aaron, his features contorted with distress. He cupped her face gently in his hands. “Shhh. Don’t think about Boris. Everything will be all right.”
I felt a pinprick of jealousy, and guiltily suppressed it. They were coworkers, of course he cared about her. As a friend. The paramedics reappeared and shunted us briskly out of the way. Elizabeth, stiff with shock but self-possessed, climbed into the ambulance with Corinne, her broadsword and leather kilt bizarre among the high-tech medical gear. Paul, hovering nearby, moved forward as if to follow but she waved him away, in command as usual.
“Follow us in the car,” she told him as the doors swung shut. “Carnegie, handle everything!”
Paul turned to me with a dazed air. “What about the party?”
“Party’s over,” I told him. “Marvin and I will clear the building. You just take care of Corinne.”
The ambulance rolled away at the stroke of midnight, so we were actually on schedule, though we ran a bit behind because of the explanations. Everything’s fine, Marvin and I repeated endlessly. Yes, someone fell from the pier but she’s now getting help, and please, the party’s over, drive safely, thank you for coming, yes, everything’s fine, she’s getting help, good night. Some of the revelers, especially the Sentinel crowd and the people who’d seen Corinne in the water, went away with shocked expressions and hushed voices.
Other guests had left before it happened: I didn’t see Syd Soper, with or without Mercedes, or Roger Talbot either. I did talk to the Visigoths, but not Dracula, and I wondered idly if he had scored with the hippie chick. Zack, apparently, had taken himself and his romantic impulses out of the way, which suited me fine. The rest of the guests now departed calmly enough, strolling out into the night, trailing their costumes and