No need, I said hastily. Its none of my business.
No, it is not, he said in that odd, half-formal way of speaking.
I looked up at the steep flight of stairs. It was the last one, hed said. Of course it had to be the steepest and longest. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I could make it. If it killed me, I was going to make it.
What do her children think of her new husband? If I kept him talking he might not notice how long it was taking me to get up the stairs.
She has no children, and Azazel isnt her new husband. Hes her only one.
I thought back to Sarahs gentle, tender concern. Thats a shame, I said. She would have been a wonderful mother.
Yes. It was one word, but there was a wealth of meaning beneath it.
Suddenly I thought back to the stretch of beach in front of the house, the wide expanse of lawn. With no toys, no games littering the beach. Something felt off about the place. Where do the children live around here? I asked, uneasy.
Children?
The women who were with Sarahshe said they were other wives. Some of them were quite young; there must be children.
There are no children here.
That goes against whatever crazy cult you have going on here? You send the children away? I was righteously infuriated, and it gave me energy. And the end of the stairs was in sight, thank God. I was ready to fling myself on the top landing with a weeping cry of Land!
The women here dont have children.
Why not? Shit, it wasnt the top of the stairs, it was just a landing. I faltered, turning the corner, looking at what simply had to be the last flight. Maybe. I wanted to cry, and I never cried.
Before I realized what he was going to do, hed scooped me up in his arms and started up the final flight of stairs.
I was too shocked to struggle. His arms were like iron bands, his body hard and cold and uncomfortable; for a bare second I considered arguing, then thought better of it. Anything was better than walking.
You know, if it werent for the stairs, I could manage it with no problem, I said, keeping myself as stiff as he was.
He snorted, saying nothing. When he reached the top of the stairs he dumped me on my feet, seconds before I could demand that he let me down. The hallway was shorter than the lower ones, with only one double door in the center of it. I must be near the top of this damned skyscraper , I thought, remembering those cantilevered shelves that stretched over the ocean.
Hed left me again, already pushing open one of the doors, and once again I followed him, resentful as hell until I stepped into the dimly lit apartment.
The door closed behind me automatically, and I caught my breath in wonder.
It was like being on the prow of a ship. The front of the room was a bank of windows looking out over the night-black sea. Several of them were open, and I could smell the rich briny scent of it, hear the sound of the waves as they lapped against the rocks below. There were seagulls in the distance, and I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least something in this crazy place was normal.
Sit down, he said.
He was standing in the shadows. There were two mission-style sofas in the room, upholstered in white linen, and a low table between them. With a covered tray on top, a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne waiting, and a bottle of red wine open to one side.
I stared at the table mistrustfully. Shit, I said. I knew without question that there would be meat loaf and mashed potatoes beneath the domed cover.
How did you manage that?
Sit down and eat, he said. Im tired and I want to go to bed.
I stiffened. And what does your wanting to go to bed have to do with me?
Such a pretty mouth, such a sour smile. Since I dont intend to be anywhere near you when I go to bed, I wont be around to answer your incessant questions. So if you want answers, sit down.
Youre an asshole. I took a seat and pulled the cover off the tray. The smell of meat loaf was enough to make me moan with pleasure. Ignoring him, I started in on it, only looking up when I realized hed poured me a glass
of the red wine and pushed it toward me.
Way to make me feel like a mannerless glutton , I thought dismally.
Mannerly, he said.
What?
Mannerly glutton. You havent drooled or dropped food or
I dropped my fork. Stop that! I dont know how you do it, but stop it!
He took a sip from his own glass of wine, leaning back against the cushions of the opposite couch with a weary sigh. Sorry, he muttered. Its rude of me.
You bet your ass, I snapped. Of all the mental assaults of the day, his invasion of my thoughts felt somehow worse than anything else. I ought to be able to have my errant thoughts be private. Particularly when looking at Raziel made them so very errant. When he wasnt annoying me.
But Id better behave. Im sorry. Im being rude as well. Did you want some of this? I gestured toward the decimated meat loaf.
He shook his head. I dont eat meat.
It was my turn to snort. Yes you do. You ate a hot dog. I paused. How do I know that? When was I around you when you were eating hot dogs?