Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,36
humiliating.
She still smarted from last night’s meeting with the phuri. Portia Kane had been Adele’s first assignment, and she’d done a damned good job, earning her keep and contributing extra to the kumpania coffers. Remarkable for what should have been a training exercise. Even Neala had been grudgingly impressed.
So how did they reward her? By giving her a true celebrity as her next target?
“You’ve done such a fine job with Portia, Adele, that we’d like you to continue that with Jasmine Wills.”
Jasmine Wills? She could have spit in Neala’s face. Was she going to spend her life chasing spoiled, empty-headed twits?
If it hadn’t been for that photo, she’d be free of the group by now. It didn’t matter. She still planned to be free, hopefully before she had to produce results on this new assignment. The others might have better jobs, but they had no hope of freedom. They were too indoctrinated in the kumpania’s culture of fear to ever leave the kumpania—they’d certainly never have the nerve or the brains to think of actually going to a Cabal and getting a job on their own terms.
For most in the kumpania, that indoctrination began almost from birth. As toddlers, kumpania clairvoyants underwent “the lessons,” which instilled a terror of the Cabals so deeply embedded that they’d need only to glimpse a face on the street to start sweating. Instinct would take over and they’d flee or fight, doing whatever it took to escape. By the time Adele got the lessons, though, she’d been six—four years older than kumpania children. They’d given her a healthy fear and respect for the Cabals, but not the gut-level terror the others felt.
“Perhaps we should not be doing this,” the super said, huffing as he hurried to keep up with her.
She fixed him with a wide-eyed look and affected a honeyed accent. “Oh, I don’t want to get you in any trouble. If you’d like those officers to escort me, I completely understand. But they said it was okay. I don’t think they wanted to be disturbed while they ate their lunch . . .”
“I guess if they said it was all right . . .”
“Or you can call Portia’s momma. She’s awfully upset right now, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition . . .”
His eyes rounded, hands lifting. “No, no. That poor woman. She has been through so much.”
“She’ll be so grateful to you for helping us out like this.”
The portly little man blushed as he unlocked the apartment door. He paused before swinging it open. “Miz Peltier’s things should not be disturbed. She is a very nice lady.”
Adele touched his shoulder. “I know exactly what it looks like. Poor Portia wore it the last time I saw her, at the breakfast after our cousin’s wedding.” Adele sighed. “She looked so pretty. That’s how I’ll always remember her. Miss Peltier was real sweet to dry-clean it for her, but Portia’s momma is worried that with all this nasty business, she might not get it back.”
The super ushered Adele inside. She’d hoped he’d wait at the door, but the nasty little man kept right on her heels, twittering away about her family’s tragedy while making damned sure she didn’t mess up his precious tenant’s apartment.
She opened the closet.
“Are you sure you know—?” he began.
“Course I do. It’s right here.”
She grabbed a silk blouse that Portia Kane wouldn’t be caught dead in, but looked expensive enough to pass muster with the super. As he bustled her out, Adele looked wistfully at the clothes hamper. Dirty clothing always worked better. But he wasn’t going to give her any opportunity to snatch something. She could only hope Robyn was, like her, too frugal to send her blouses to the cleaners after every wearing.
ADELE HAD BEEN IN HER BEDROOM, clutching Robyn’s silk shirt and staring at her photo for an hour, and all she knew was that Robyn was in a motel room.
Fucking lot of good that did. She didn’t need the gift of clairvoyance to tell her that’s where Robyn would be.
She watched the shimmering vision, trying to find a clue to which motel. Robyn sat at a computer, posture perfect, blond hair pulled back in a sleek, gleaming ponytail. Even on the run, her clothing screamed young urban professional. It made Adele want to shred the silk blouse with her nails.
It didn’t help that she was trying to concentrate while listening to Lily and Hugh having sex in the next bedroom. Adele