Asylum

Chapter 46: Chain Mail Dress

I stared at the text from Ivan until it disappeared on its own back into the ether above the coolly glowing screen. I should respond, at least to put him off until I could figure out some sort of strategy to deal with the situation, but my fingers were numb and unresponsive to my vague, weak commands.

"We're here," the cabbie said abruptly. "The corner is good?"

I sniffed quickly, wiped my face, and focused out the window. "There on the left," I said clearly, "The building with the red awning. Please drop me there."

The cab pulled up to Lex's apartment building, and I leaned forward to the perforated plexiglass barrier.

"Could you wait, please?" I asked. "I just need to grab a couple of things and then we'll head to the Upper West Side."

The cab driver looked at me carefully, flicking his eyes between my face and the surrounding neighborhood and back again. "Okay," he said finally, "Five minutes, and the meter is running."

"Of course," I agreed, and I ran into the building.

There was nothing that Lex owned that I needed, but I could not walk into Lärke's building after a months-long absence looking like the motorcycle-gang version of a '50s sex symbol. Once I'd made it up to my apartment, I unconsciously flipped a deadbolt behind me, dropped my coat and backpack in the kitchen, and headed for the bathroom to take down my hair and splash some water on my face.

I stared at my pale reflection for a moment and swiped some more water under my eyes to banish the last of the ruined mascara. No wonder Stefano and Marshall had been so alarmed; I looked ... haunted. I couldn't imagine what was going through Ivan's mind right now. Stefano had undoubtedly told him what had happened, but unlike the club's manager, Ivan would actually have an inkling of what Mormor's death would mean to me. Only an inkling, though. The situation was so much more complicated than simply losing my last remaining close family member. I pulled out the bobby-pins holding my hair up and struggled to push all thoughts of my boyfriend/lover/boss/assignment firmly from my mind as I went back to the coat closet.

The opera cape Ivan had bought for the fundraiser was a bit showy for mourning, but it was the only thing in Lex's closet that I could wear into Lärke's building. It was, at least, a relatively sober color, and covered me from neck to knees; it would have to do. I grabbed a pair of knee-high boots as well and traded them for my dingy deck shoes.

My key ring held the anonymous keys to my condo as well as the keys to Lex's apartment and mailbox; I tucked them into my pocket and hesitated. All of Lex's ID and credit cards would have to stay here, but I grabbed the night's tips from my other coat's pocket to pay the cabbie. It felt strange to be leaving without a phone, but it would only be for the ride across town. I plugged Lex's into the charger, not knowing when I would return.

Fortunately, the taxi was still at the curb when I hurried downstairs. I opened the rear door and climbed in.

"Thank you for waiting. West 83rd and West End, please."

The driver nodded wordlessly and pulled the cab onto the narrow street. I stared out the window morosely, trying to concentrate on my destination, rather than my surroundings.

After spending the last couple of months fully inhabiting Lex's life, I now had to shed it completely, like a snake with an old skin. But the skin wasn't that old, and it had been feeling so comfortable lately. Lärke Hellström walked differently than Lex did, spoke differently, held her head a bit more upright. Her movements were more deliberate, her smiles more reserved, the pauses before she spoke a trifle longer. She was always observed, always appraised by others hoping for a valuable connection, an edge in society, a handout, fashion and grooming secrets to steal, an advantage in department politics, a chance to bring down one of the city's elite, an opportunity to prove themselves to be as good as or better than someone who seemed to unfairly have it all. Lärke was always on stage, always on guard, and always a bit ... separate from those around her.