Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,166

. . . difficult. Some of you may find it impossible. That’s okay. What isn’t okay is staying here and allowing someone else to countermand my orders when he doesn’t have all the facts. Or even if he does.

“This is my court, and you are my men.” I saw Fred standing in the doorway to the lounge and caught his eye. “Or else you won’t be here at all.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

I still didn’t go to bed, although I tried. After the guys filed out, I went to the kitchen to see if we had any hot chocolate. I badly wanted something warm and comforting, but coffee would leave me wired, and I needed to rest. I settled on chocolate as a decent alternative.

But, of course, it wasn’t that easy.

The place was massive, a gleaming ode to the nineteen twenties for some reason, with tiny black-and-white tiles in art deco patterns all over the floor, a tin ceiling, and old-fashioned-looking white porcelain appliances with shiny brass fixtures. It even had twenties-era framed paintings on the walls, mostly black-and-white as well, all showing beautiful people with impossibly elongated bodies lounging around not doing much. It did not have a map, which is what I needed to find anything in what looked like a thousand cabinets.

I finally gave up, washed an ashtray mug somebody had left in one of the sinks, and headed for bed.

I almost made it that time.

When I was halfway there, a small creature ran up and started circling my legs, threatening to trip me up. I was tired enough that it took me a moment to recognize it as the velvet pouf I’d bought yesterday morning and that Rhea had had in her room. I’d thought it had just been acting that way to get purchased, but apparently it was pretty hyper all the time.

And then it ran off again, as energetically as it had come, down one of the hallways. I looked after it for a moment, a little nonplussed, because I wasn’t used to mobile furniture. Then I continued on toward bed.

Only no.

Because it was back. And even more of a tripping hazard than before. I almost landed on my ass that time, and frowned downward as it encircled my legs, wondering what now? Especially when it started pushing at me. And then bumping my shins when I gingerly tried to move away again. Circle, bump, circle, bump.

It turned around and scampered away a couple feet.

I just stood there, regarding it sleepily.

Circle, bump, circle, bump. Circle, bump, bump, BUMP. And all right, that was enough!

Only it didn’t seem to think so, running off again and then stopping, its fat little tassels swinging impatiently, as if it wanted me to—

Oh.

I sighed deeply, because I didn’t want to follow it anywhere, but I also didn’t want it bumping my door all night. Did it have an off switch? I walked over to see, but before I could grab it, it took off, scampering down the hall like a mad thing.

Only to stop in front of a door and swing its tassels at me pointedly.

It was Augustine’s temporary studio, I realized as I approached.

There was a light on under the door, so someone was inside, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be disturbed. I wanted to thank him for the outfit, which had really come in handy, but that could wait for morning. Everything could wait for morning, I thought, as a huge yawn threatened to split my head in half.

BUMP!

The crazed little pouf was now throwing itself at the closed door, as if it could batter it down. I knew I should have asked for a warranty, I thought, right before the door opened and Augustine’s head poked out. “Goddamn it!” he said, catching sight of me, and slammed the door in my face.

BUMP! BUMP! BUMP!

The door was flung open again, and then just as quickly closed, except for enough space for an angry blue eye to glare at me. “It’s the middle of the night!”

“Tell me about it.”

“What do you want?”

“My bed.”

“Then go to bed!”

“Okay,” I agreed, and turned to do just that, but the pouf was in my way.

It was small but determined, and I was sleepy and unsteady. This time, it succeeded in knocking me down. And back into Augustine. And through the door, because I don’t think he’d expected a sudden assault of Pythia any more than I had. Given that he screeched and jumped back, stumbled into some clothing racks, and went down.

Leaving