open the door I will of course not come in.
And below that were two characters I took to be initials—E.P.
Darla watched me read. I must have frowned.
“Bad news?”
I crossed to my side of the desk. Before I sat, I handed her the paper. “Probably. Do you know any of these names? Aside from Martha’s?”
She read, shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. They’re all women’s names, though, aren’t they?”
She handed me the letter, and I looked it over again. There was a Kit Ersen and a Banda Rup. Either of those could have been a man’s name or a woman’s. But all the rest were obviously female, all Usulas and Berets and Allies.
Twelve names. Twelve women, probably, with Martha Hoobin at the end of the list.
“Do you know E.P.?” asked Darla.
I shook my head. “Not at the moment,” I replied. “But I guess I will, come midnight.”
The humor went out of Darla’s eyes. “There’s only one kind of person who makes appointments after Curfew. They’re fond of expensive stationery too.”
I folded the list. “Not necessarily. Anyway, trouble usually just shows up. It doesn’t make appointments.”
She shivered. She put her hands in her lap and she tried to hide it, but she shivered.
“I’ve dealt with the Houses before. They don’t bite Markhats. We taste of strong bright sun and good clean living.”
She didn’t laugh. “They scare me,” she said, softly. “They ought to scare you too. Walking around after Curfew—are you trying to get killed?”
I leaned back. “You heard about last night.”
A bit of fire crept back into her voice. “Oh, I heard. Some of the cleaning girls are New People. You’re all they’ve talked about. The bold finder Markhat, whistling down the street. By tomorrow they’ll have you lighting your cigars with flaming vampire corpses and kicking down Troll strongholds with the heels of your dressing slippers.”
I frowned. “Dressing slippers don’t have heels, do they?”
Darla came forward, caught my hand across the desk, pulled it toward her. “Listen to me. I like you. I’d like to spend a year or two getting to know you. I’d like to teach you how to read and trim your hair and knit you a pair of earmuffs for Yule. But I won’t get to do any of that if you make midnight strolls down Arbuckle Avenue part of your exercise regimen.”
I bit back a short reply. There was something in her voice, something making it shake, something tingeing it with fear.
Inspiration dawned.
“You’ve been talking to Mama. She pulled out her cards and turned down the lamps and convinced you she could see my untimely demise unless I mend my wicked ways.” She’d do that, too, I thought. Just her little way of getting things said that she knew I’d not bear coming from her.
Darla gripped my hand harder. “She was reading her cards when I came in. And she wouldn’t tell me what she saw. But I know people, Markhat. She saw something. And whatever it was scared her.” She realized how tight she held me, let loose, leaned back. “We both know what Mama is, most of the time.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But you sit there and you tell me it’s all fake, all the time. Tell me it’s all put-on. Tell me, and I’ll forget all about it.”
“It’s all fake, all put-on, all the time.”
“Liar.” She found a smile. Not a big one, not a strong one. But maybe she knew she’d pushed too hard. “Just promise me one thing. Will you do that?”
“Ask, and we’ll see.”
“Just be careful. More than usual. Especially after dark. Can you do that, Markhat? Just for a while?”
I sighed. “I promise. And speaking of Curfew breaking—it’s getting pretty dark out there right now, and I’m not the one ten blocks from home.”
“What have I to fear, when the valiant finder Markhat is at my side?” She batted her eyes at me, gave me a sly grin. “You will keep an eye on me, won’t you?”
“I promise. You’re safe with me.”
“You mean
And below that were two characters I took to be initials—E.P.
Darla watched me read. I must have frowned.
“Bad news?”
I crossed to my side of the desk. Before I sat, I handed her the paper. “Probably. Do you know any of these names? Aside from Martha’s?”
She read, shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. They’re all women’s names, though, aren’t they?”
She handed me the letter, and I looked it over again. There was a Kit Ersen and a Banda Rup. Either of those could have been a man’s name or a woman’s. But all the rest were obviously female, all Usulas and Berets and Allies.
Twelve names. Twelve women, probably, with Martha Hoobin at the end of the list.
“Do you know E.P.?” asked Darla.
I shook my head. “Not at the moment,” I replied. “But I guess I will, come midnight.”
The humor went out of Darla’s eyes. “There’s only one kind of person who makes appointments after Curfew. They’re fond of expensive stationery too.”
I folded the list. “Not necessarily. Anyway, trouble usually just shows up. It doesn’t make appointments.”
She shivered. She put her hands in her lap and she tried to hide it, but she shivered.
“I’ve dealt with the Houses before. They don’t bite Markhats. We taste of strong bright sun and good clean living.”
She didn’t laugh. “They scare me,” she said, softly. “They ought to scare you too. Walking around after Curfew—are you trying to get killed?”
I leaned back. “You heard about last night.”
A bit of fire crept back into her voice. “Oh, I heard. Some of the cleaning girls are New People. You’re all they’ve talked about. The bold finder Markhat, whistling down the street. By tomorrow they’ll have you lighting your cigars with flaming vampire corpses and kicking down Troll strongholds with the heels of your dressing slippers.”
I frowned. “Dressing slippers don’t have heels, do they?”
Darla came forward, caught my hand across the desk, pulled it toward her. “Listen to me. I like you. I’d like to spend a year or two getting to know you. I’d like to teach you how to read and trim your hair and knit you a pair of earmuffs for Yule. But I won’t get to do any of that if you make midnight strolls down Arbuckle Avenue part of your exercise regimen.”
I bit back a short reply. There was something in her voice, something making it shake, something tingeing it with fear.
Inspiration dawned.
“You’ve been talking to Mama. She pulled out her cards and turned down the lamps and convinced you she could see my untimely demise unless I mend my wicked ways.” She’d do that, too, I thought. Just her little way of getting things said that she knew I’d not bear coming from her.
Darla gripped my hand harder. “She was reading her cards when I came in. And she wouldn’t tell me what she saw. But I know people, Markhat. She saw something. And whatever it was scared her.” She realized how tight she held me, let loose, leaned back. “We both know what Mama is, most of the time.” She lifted her chin in defiance. “But you sit there and you tell me it’s all fake, all the time. Tell me it’s all put-on. Tell me, and I’ll forget all about it.”
“It’s all fake, all put-on, all the time.”
“Liar.” She found a smile. Not a big one, not a strong one. But maybe she knew she’d pushed too hard. “Just promise me one thing. Will you do that?”
“Ask, and we’ll see.”
“Just be careful. More than usual. Especially after dark. Can you do that, Markhat? Just for a while?”
I sighed. “I promise. And speaking of Curfew breaking—it’s getting pretty dark out there right now, and I’m not the one ten blocks from home.”
“What have I to fear, when the valiant finder Markhat is at my side?” She batted her eyes at me, gave me a sly grin. “You will keep an eye on me, won’t you?”
“I promise. You’re safe with me.”
“You mean
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