Gilded Latten Bones

60

Kyra told me, "I'm not used to having an audience."

Ha! Her problem wasn't Strafa, the General, or John Stretch. Her problem was Artifice and Uncle Oswald. "Bend down here. Whisper."

Crush murmured, "He wants to look down your blouse."

"Humorous, Hellbore, but unfair. She isn't showing a neckline."

Furious Tide of Light tried wilting Crush with her stare.

Crush went back to her book.

Singe arrived with more mugs, more beer, and muffins. That distracted the male Tates.

Kyra dropped to her knees beside me. "I'm having trouble with Kip. That's really why I talked Tinnie into coming. You know Kip. You can give me some advice."

"Amazing," I said in a conversational voice. Strafa had now posted herself behind me, leaning on the back of my chair. Singe was not pleased but her disapproval was so mild that only I got it. "There's a huge chance that I'm the last guy you should ask for relationship advice. But I'll give it a shot."

"I'm seventeen now, Garrett. Kip and I have been together. . Well, what it is? I don't want to be like you and Aunt Tinnie. Going on and on and on and never. . Oh, I don't blame you. What's wrong between you and Tinnie is mostly Tinnie's fault. She could've wrapped everything up years ago if she wanted. Now she might lose you."

Crush made some snide remark about here's your chance under her breath. She got the hard-eye from Strafa. Kyra ignored her. "Anyway, I decided I don't want her advice anymore. I want Kip, not the satisfaction of sitting alone in my room feeling smug about how I showed him. No games. Now and forever."

Way to go, Cyprus Prose! You got one of the hottest girls on the continent bewitched. Amazing, nerd boy. How the hell? But it looked like he was close to losing her, probably without realizing there was a problem.

"Kyra, I'm on your side. You're the best thing that ever happened to that boy. So what's the problem? Is he just being his usual dim self? Can't see what's there in front of him unless you smack him between the eyes?"

I tried mentoring the boy, back when. We had some things in common.

"It's sort of like what's going on with you and Tinnie. Only I believed him when he said a friend of his is in trouble and needs his help. My problem is, he shuts me out of that whole side of his life."

Kyra ran out of steam. She had said it all, for the moment. But Tate women seldom stay silent long. I tried to work out what she meant.

Kip did not have many friends.

Strafa still leaned on the back of my chair. Her knuckles were white. Kyra avoided looking at her even though she should have been curious.

Oh. It was the Faction again. The friend in need must be Kevans, a friend Kip had helped, despite all, back when the Windwalker and I first met.

When Kevans and Kip got their heads together technical miracles happened. They invented strange and wonderful things.

Kyra's concern fed Strafa's. Strafa was hard-pressed because she was still afraid that Kevans might be the girl in the tight black leather. Despite believing that Kevans had an alibi for. .

She did think Kevans was capable of behavior this foul. That was the key.

Oh, my. My new ally, who might become a special new friend, could end up an enemy because the thing she feared most might turn out to be true.

Alibis can be manufactured, before and after the fact.

I had no trouble imagining Kevans dealing with resurrection men, either. I'd never gotten to know her well but I recalled a sociopathic personality. Yet that had been true of most of the Faction. And she had not been the worst.

That might be an angle worth pursuit.

So. Maybe Kevans had been living in that warehouse up north, making new men out of the best pieces of the old.

Where would she get money to pay the resurrection men?

Kip?

I rested my right hand on Strafa's where hers lay on the back of my chair. "She can't afford it."

"What?"

"Think. Where would Kevans get enough money to set up what you saw on the north side?"

Kyra became intensely interested in my hands and dialog. No doubt Tinnie would get a detailed report.

And I, being Garrett the wonder fool, had to ease Strafa's dreads by saying, "Kevans could never look as good in black leather as. ."

Maybe. Maybe not. When I knew her Kevans had been pretending to be a boy. If she took after her mom she could make that leather smolder. Taking a wild shot at making Strafa feel better because her kid was weirdly built was one of those special moments that make me uniquely me.

An instant after it was too late to avoid getting shoe leather caught between my teeth I had no trouble imagining a dozen voices telling me what an insensitive dumbass I was.

One was not imaginary. It came from the Thing Across the Hall and was heavy with exasperation. But that morphed into a vague apology. If I understood right he was taking out on me frustrations developed while conversing with the redhead. Tinnie had shown complete disdain for reality.

I was amazed. He had lost patience and pushed her out, a tactical error for sure. Even today's more difficult Tinnie is amenable to reason if you put in some time. You do need to be patient, to avoid preaching and rational argument. You need to be intense while you present your position. Worried or scared works best. Then you should shut up and go away. You need to have it end up looking like her agreeing with you was her idea.

Which is more work than most guys are willing to do. It's been getting a lot like involuntary overtime for me, too, lately.

Old Bones thought facts and figures should trump emotion. He was a little out of touch with the raw intensity of the living, yet could get irked by a stubborn woman. He wasn't fond of that sex to begin with. It had taken him an age to warm to Tinnie as much as he ever did. It had taken him time to get used to Singe but they were at peace now.

He'd never had a problem with Penny Dreadful, maybe because Penny came to us before puberty came to her. He had few reservations about Strafa Algarda, who was, for sure, simmering, past puberty.

His ability to be amused by my obsessions and angst remained undiminished.

I heard Tinnie talking in the hallway, presumably to Morley. She wouldn't know DeeDee or Mike. Her tone wasn't hostile.

I was able to exhaust her reserves of venom.

Too many eyes were watching. I couldn't get into a conversation. Old Bones found that amusing, too, because half the current population of the house thought he was snoozing.

I focused on Kyra, though Uncle Oswald and Artifice might be more trouble. And, while I obsessed about Tates, never-so-drunk-as-he-pretended Westman Block committed every nuance to memory. Singe and her brother exchanged significant glances. And Crush went on being every man's sweet young fantasy, pretending to be oblivious while she appreciated Singe's literary treasures.

Kyra and Strafa continued to measure one another.

I grumbled, "What can we toss into this to add a little flavor? How about some hot spice?"

Hot spice debuted, her advent entirely civil.

I wore her down.

One quick glance told me that nobody but Ma Garrett's ever-loving, blue-eyed baby boy was intimidated.

Tinnie stopped in the doorway. She eyed each individual, recognizing everyone but Crush. Crush didn't do her the honor of turning to see who had come in. Tinnie frowned when she looked at Strafa, whom she had seen briefly before.

She was impressed. In one room she had found the commander of the police forces of the greatest city in the world, the chieftain of a major underworld operation, a major player off the Hill, and me.

Clever Strafa had relaxed the intimacy of the distance between us before Tinnie arrived, though not by much.

After visiting the Dead Man and Morley, Tinnie could not help but understand that what was going on here was not just a conspiracy to inconvenience her.

She is starting to get it. Take her out on the stoop and explain it.

I hoisted myself out of my chair. Mug in hand. With murmured encouragement from the Windwalker.

And, for the gods' sake, do not make yourself a sacrificial victim on the altar of let us all just get along.

What did he mean by that?

I mean do not just give her her way because you do not like arguing. This is important.

There followed a psychic echo of a kitten crying, then the crack of a whip.

Hey!

He showed me letting myself be bullied by persons of the female persuasion, all the way back to my mother, but specializing in incidents that gave a certain redhead the hold she had gained over the course of our relationship.

Well.

You are standing there with a dumb look on your face, practically drooling, while a dozen people stare and start to wonder.

Oh. Right.

Old Bones was staging plays inside my noggin. I wondered if he was doing the same thing inside hers. I did hope.

I said, "Let's you and me go out on the stoop where we can talk."