to see the Bat Cave. Now here I was standing in front of it. Cool.
It wasn't what I'd pictured. I'd thought maybe a high-tech condo in the city. LA maybe. This modest appearing adobe house hugging the land was just not what I'd had in mind. It was part of his secret identity, his Tedness, but still, Edward lived here, and there had to be more reason than just Ted would have liked it. I was beginning to think I really didn't know Edward at all.
The light over the front door switched on, and I had to turn away, shielding my night vision. I'd been staring right at it when it glared to life. I had two thoughts: one, who had turned on the light; two, the door was blue. The door was painted a blue-violet, a rich, rich color. I could also see the window nearest the door. Its trim was painted the same vibrant blue.
I'd seen it at the airport, though with more flowers and an addition of fuchsia. I asked, "What's with the blue door and trim?"
"Maybe I like it," he said.
"I've seen a lot of doors painted blue or turquoise on a lot of houses since I've been here. What gives?"
"Very observant."
"A failing of mine. Now explain."
"They think witches can't cross a door painted blue or green."
I widened my eyes. "You believe that?"
"I doubt most of the people who paint their doors believe it anymore, but it's become part of the local style. My guess is that most people who do it, don't even remember the folklore behind it."
"Like putting out a jack o' lantern at Halloween to frighten the goblins away," I said.
"Exactly."
"And because I am so observant, who turned on the porch light?"
"Either Bernardo or Olaf."
"Your other backups," I said.
"Yes."
"Can't wait to meet them."
"In the spirit of cooperation, and no more surprises, Olaf doesn't like women much."
"You mean he's gay?"
"No, and implying that to him will probably mean a fight, so please don't. If I'd known I'd be calling you in, I wouldn't have called him in at all. The two of you in the same house on the same case is going to be ... a fucking disaster."
"That's harsh. You think we can't play nice together."
"I'd almost guarantee it," he said.
The door opened, and our conversation cut off abruptly. I was wondering if it was the dreaded Olaf. The man in the doorway didn't look much like an Olaf, but then what does an Olaf look like?
The man was six foot, give or take an inch. It was hard to tell his exact height because his lower body was completely covered by a white sheet that he had clutched in one hand at his waist. The sheet spilled around his feet like a formal dress, but from the waist up he was anything but formal. He was lean and muscular with a very nice set of abs. He was tanned a lovely even brown, though some of that was natural color because he was American Indian, oh, yes, he was. His hair was waist length falling over one shoulder and across the side of his face, heavy and solid black, tusseled from sleep, though it was early to be in bed. His face was a soft, full triangle, with a dimple in his chin, and a full mouth. Was it racist to say that his features were more white than Indian, or was it just true?
"You can close your mouth now," Edward said near my ear.
I closed my mouth. "Sorry," I mumbled. How embarrassing. I didn't usually notice men this much, at least men I didn't know. What was wrong with me today?
The man folded the sheet over his free arm until his legs showed and he could come down the two steps without tripping. "Sorry, I was asleep, or I'd have come out to help sooner." He seemed perfectly at ease in his sheet, though he was going to a lot of effort to spill it over the same arm that was holding it in place, so he could grab a suitcase.
"Bernardo Spotted-Horse, Anita Blake."
He was holding the sheet with his right hand, and he looked mildly perplexed as he dropped the suitcase and started the process of switching everything to the other hand. The sheet slipped down in front, and I had to turn my head away, fast.
I kept my head turned because I was blushing and wanted the darkness to hide it. I waved my hand vaguely behind me. "We'll