Free The Nightingale Before Christmas by Donna Andrews Page B

two.”
    â€œThen go back to sleep,” he said. “Rob and Rose Noire and I can keep the kids busy. And you’ll need sleep to deal with whatever happens when you’re able to go back to the house.”
    Thank goodness for family. Even family who, like Rob and Rose Noire, seemed to have settled in as permanent residents in several of our extra rooms. And thank goodness that Caerphilly College was on winter break, and that Michael, as always, was eager to spend his vacation time with his sons.
    I turned over to go back to sleep. But I didn’t drop off right away, or I wouldn’t have heard Rose Noire’s soft voice.
    â€œMeg? You awake?”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “What’s up?”
    I sat up and turned to look at her. She was standing in the doorway wringing her hands.
    â€œMichael said that someone shot Clay Spottiswood.”
    â€œYes,” I said.
    â€œThat poor man.” She shook her head. “He was such an unhappy, troubled soul. Such a waste.”
    She was right, of course, but I found myself wondering if anyone else would feel much sadness over his demise.
    â€œAnd did it happen in the house?” she asked.
    â€œIn the middle of his room. I’m sure by now the house is filled with all kinds of bad karma and negative energy. Maybe you can do some kind of cleansing before we all get back to work there.” Even though I only half believed in them, Rose Noire’s cleansings and blessings always raised my spirits.
    â€œOf course.” She nodded absently. “But who did it? It wasn’t Vermillion, was it?”
    â€œI have no idea who did it.” I sat up straighter, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. “Why would you think it would be Vermillion?”
    â€œYour mother and Eustace and I were sort of keeping an eye out for her,” Rose Noire said. “Clay made her anxious. She was bothered by the way he was flirting with her.”
    â€œProbably because Clay’s idea of flirting corresponded with most sane women’s idea of sexual harassment and sometimes actual assault,” I said. “Do you mean he kept it up after the tongue lashing I gave him the first week we were all there?”
    â€œNot that I saw,” she said. “But of course I’m sure he’d have been very careful about doing it when you were around, or your mother or me.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t trust him not to do it when she was all alone.”
    â€œNo.” She shook her head vigorously. “So we made sure she never was alone. She felt very safe when you were around, which was most of the time, and when you were gone, your mother and I kept an eye on her.”
    â€œSo as far as you know, he didn’t bother her again.”
    â€œAs far as we knew.”
    I could see from her face that she was worried. Afraid that perhaps her watchdog mission hadn’t been as successful as she had thought.
    On the surface, the idea of Rose Noire protecting Goth Girl seemed funny. Rose Noire had never met a New Age theory without embracing it, was an ardent vegetarian, dressed in romantic flowing dresses trimmed with ethereal wisps of gauze and lace, and felt guilty thinking bad thoughts about anyone. Goth Girl wore a lot of black leather pocked with spikes and studs, sported jewelry featuring skulls and snakes, and liked to imply that she knew quite a lot about vampires, necromancy, and abstruse poisons.
    But Rose Noire, at five eight, was only two inches shorter than I was, in excellent condition from working in her organic herb garden, and fierce as a mother hen about anything smaller or weaker than she was. Goth Girl was reed-thin, nearly a head shorter than me, and I’d always suspected her bark was much worse than her bite. Yeah, Rose Noire would protect her. And besides, they were both part of the sisterhood who, like Cher and Madonna, were on a first-name-only basis with the rest of the world.
    â€œHe was shot,” I