Though this was summer, the room felt cold. I ran my hands down my chilled upper arms and over my clenched, denim-clad thighs. I rocked myself back and forth, recognizing the motion as a childish self-comforting ritual from the group homes.
Quicksilver's warm furred side pressed against my legs, but my teeth began to chatter anyway. It wasn't the temperature in the motel room, because the summer day was ideal, offering the rare but perfect Midwestern moments between winter heat and full summer air-conditioning, between mayflies and mosquitoes.
A faint purring drew my hands to a pair of dangling silver cat earrings suspended from a wire curved like spectacle frames over my ears.
At least the silver familiar had the smarts not to pierce anything on me at the moment. I tried to count my other "at least" blessings. At least my "rape" had been medical and institutional. At least what had been done to me without consent had been done to hundreds of thousands of other women by their own request. So I was not as alone as I felt. It'd probably hurt them too, but they'd known what to expect.
Quicksilver whimpered and rested his jaw on the chair arm, producing that "hang dog" look. Gosh, I didn't want to bring anybody down with me. I was lucky I had people - and a dog - who cared to stand by me during this.
I thought about all the things I'd survived here in Wichita, and in spades in Las Vegas lately. Feeling sorry for myself had never worked. It was time to think, not feel.
What if, over the years ... my body had turned the intrusive bit of plastic into something more useful? Something I really needed. Maybe it was a pre - Millennium Revelation "gift." Maybe it was the source of my current silver talents: my ability to see things in mirrors and walk through them and reflective surfaces. Maybe it had even "grabbed" and created the silver familiar from Snow's lock of hair as an external extension of itself. Maybe it had become my inner armor, my protector.
I had no idea how long I sat there in the demi-dark with the window curtains drawn, but eventually a knock came on the door.
I looked around. The perky patterned comforter was installed on the bed, so the maid had come and gone. Still shivering, I went to the door peephole.
I spotted a baseball cap with embroidered script and a rose on it, seen through enough gaudy coleus leaves and tiger lilies for a New Orleans funeral. Undoing the chain lock, I confronted a gawky delivery boy obscured by baskets of tissue and greenery.
I could now read the fancy script on the cap: Flowers 'n' Bowers.
"Kin I put some of this stuff down, ma'am?" he asked. "It's the whole Spa for a Day Super Package."
I swept the door wide and stepped back.
He quickstepped to the table by the window and relieved his forearms of basket handles and his hands of the ambushing greenery and a tall bottle of champagne.
While he was setting everything upright so it wouldn't fall over, he played eyeball-tennis with the occupants of the room. Since that consisted of the usual motel furnishings and Quicksilver and me, it didn't take long.
"You just need to sign that you got this stuff, uh, ma'am. The charge is taken care of."
He produced a receipt pad and a pen. An overbearing odor of roses was rising like swamp miasma. I hesitated to take custody of the lot.
"You, ah, alone here, ma'am?" he asked nervously.
"I'm not scared, if that's what you mean," I said, surprised.
"The champagne can be tough to pop. I kin jest get that, ah, started for you, if you want."
I realized his roaming gypsy eyes were now concentrating on my figure.
"I can handle a champagne cork by myself," I said. "Also, the dog is great at extracting things that are in my way."
He nodded and gulped simultaneously, backing toward the door.
"Jest our friendly Flowers 'n' Bowers super-service, ma'am. You take care now."
I intended to, turning the dead bolt and restoring the chain lock as soon as his skinny ass was out of the way.
Meanwhile, Quicksilver was using his supersensitive nose on the array of baskets and audibly sniffing. I joined him in exploring our bounty.
The champagne was a no-name brand. I twisted the bottle's wire basket open and managed to maneuver the cork out with a pop that made Quicksilver jump and growl.