Notes: In which it seemed like time for a little cheery digression. And a couple of possibly not-quite-so-cheery ones. Also, again, since I still find myself a little confused about Janey and Owen's timelines, I consider myself free to make up my own interpretation of their relationship.
Everything I know about the administration of British primary schools is gained from the Internet. In other words- handwave, handwave, handwave. However, everything I know about eight-year-old outlaws was gleaned from several years teaching that age group- which is the reason both for my gray hair, and also my random outbursts of reminiscent laughter.
Warnings: My apologies for the rude remarks on the subject of tanning salons. I actually have no opinion on the subject- but Annie does.
Chapter Fifteen
Loki carefully untangled the black-and-red threads before him on the table and studied the pattern of knots that was beginning to turn into stripes. He was examining his own wrist, trying to picture how much larger around Thor's was, when his attention was caught by a sound at the door of the custodians' room. He looked up and there, of course, were Trevor and Patrick.
"Yes?"
The boys fidgeted, and then Patrick spoke. "Ms. Hamoudi sent us. She says she's very sorry to interrupt your lunch, but there's a lot of water on the floor of our classroom, and…"
Loki set aside his project, stretched, and got to his feet. "Is there indeed? I wonder how that came to happen?"
Patrick's freckled face turned rather pink. "Well, the sink in the back of the room got blocked, and- "
Loki raised an eyebrow, and Patrick abruptly fell silent.
Patrick and Trevor were two of the most notorious miscreants in the school- not that anyone ever said as much out loud, for fear of creating expectations the boys would feel bound to fulfill. Loki, with a certain amount of experience upon which to draw, felt confident the boys knew of, and felt pride in, their reputation. However, he also suspected the fact nobody spoke the words aloud also served to preserve a sort of escape route, for when they no longer wished to behave as outlaws. Really, Loki felt there was much to applaud in British primary education.
And, just at this moment, he also reflected the boys were not nearly the hardened criminals he had been at their age, because they exchanged genuinely sheepish looks before Trevor mumbled,
"Well, we- our class- is making a paper-mache model of Europe."
"Trev and me're doing Italy," Patrick contributed.
"That is the one shaped like a boot, yes?" Loki permitted himself a digression. The boys nodded, and Patrick went on,
"And, well, we were sort of washing out a tub of newspaper and flour paste and that and the drain got sort of clogged and then the sink filled up and now there's a lot of water on the floor and- "
"I see," Loki said. "Was it perchance the newspaper that caused the drain to become clogged?"
"I think so," Trevor admitted.
Loki nodded. "And were you perhaps a little curious to discover how much newspaper the drain could accommodate, before such an event occurred?" The two boys traded guilty glances, and Loki went serenely on, "I ask merely because such a question might have occurred to me, as well."
"Um," said Patrick. Trevor said nothing. Both of them looked even more sheepish.
"Although," Loki said thoughtfully, "I rather think I would have turned off the water before the sink actually overflowed. Unless, of course, I was attempting a test of how high I could let the water rise before I did so, and whether I would be quick enough to reach the tap before any flooding occurred. I do not suppose such an experiment would have crossed either of your minds?"
"… Um," said Patrick, and Trevor wriggled.
"And, my questions having been answered," Loki said, casually pocketing his collection of black and red threads and turning to gather the appropriate equipment to deal with the situation, "I would, of course find it unnecessary to conduct further investigations into the matter. Certainly not at times when I was intended to be gaining valuable knowledge about our partners in the European Union. Incidentally, what is the primary export of Italy?"
"Spaghetti," said Patrick.
"Fiats," said Trevor. Loki, heroically, did not laugh.
"I feel sure Ms. Hamoudi will be most impressed with your knowledge," he assured the two boys, as he accompanied them down the hall. "As well as the dispatch with which you carried out your mission to bring assistance."
Recognizing that the scolding- such as it was- had ended, Patrick and Trevor led the way toward the Year Four classroom, down hallways decorated with watercolour paintings on coarse white paper, lined with coatracks elbow-high to Loki. Halfway to their destination, Patrick was emboldened to ask,
"What were you doing, when we came in?"
This was, of course, an impertinent question, which called for correction. Therefore, Loki replied,
"I had thought to make one of these 'friendship bracelets' for my brother. He is unlikely to wear it with his armour, but he might like to have it." He could keep it in whatever safe place he had secreted his little red collar with the bell, and the catnip mouse that had provided him such enjoyment in his cat form.
Patrick frowned. "That's for girls." At Loki's raised eyebrow, and significant glance at the colourful bands on his and Trevor's wrists, Patrick clarified, "I mean, making them is for girls."
"Indeed?" Loki drawled. "I begin to feel you would do well to have a serious conversation with my brother's shield-companions, the Black Widow and the Lady Sif, about what sort of endeavours are 'for girls'."
Patrick looked annoyed at Loki's lack of comprehension. "They're ladies," he corrected. "Not girls. That's different."
Loki gave up- Ms. Hamoudi was doubtless better-equipped to deal with this issue, anyway. Perhaps Tamsin and her friends could also provide whatever correction might be required. In spite of his unquestioned fondness for Patrick, Loki found himself greatly cheered to think of the form such a correction might take.
Ms. Hamoudi was certainly glad to see Loki and his cleaning equipment. She also sympathized with his newly-discovered thirst for a deeper understanding of the European Union, and especially of that very important member, Italy. Filled with a teacher's natural wish to further his knowledge, she therefore assigned Patrick and Trevor to compose informative essays, each three pages long, and to deliver them to her in the morning. She would then present them to Loki for his edification, and the boys would of course be prepared to answer any questions he might have concerning the agriculture, industry, and government of that most fascinating nation.
Trevor and Patrick accepted their fate with reasonably good grace, all things considered, and Loki hoped they had learned the most important lesson of the trickster- Do not get caught. (Loki had made considerable headway in the matter of morals since his arrival on Midgard, but really, there were limits.)
His gambit had the unexpected side-effect of Tamsin and her boon companions volunteering to compose similar essays about Spain and Portugal. Loki accepted the offer in the spirit of gaining further understanding, but it was agreed that these papers could be delivered at their convenience, and directly to the custodians' room, without intercession by Ms. Hamoudi.
Who was trying very hard not to laugh as she saw him to the door of the classroom. However, instead of closing it after herself and returning to her students, she stepped into the hall and gestured for Loki to wait a moment.
"Loki," she said quietly, "are you happy here?"
Loki froze, clutching his mop and recalling that Ms. Hamoudi was, in addition to being the classroom teacher for Year Four, also the deputy head teacher of the school, second in authority only to Mrs. Kingston.
"Yes, very happy indeed," he replied, choking down a sense of foreboding: her question had sounded alarmingly like a prelude to the suggestion that he might find himself even happier elsewhere, and perhaps should make arrangements for this without delay. He was frantically reviewing his recent history, trying to think of some reason the school would not want him any longer, when Ms. Hamoudi went on,
"I'm asking because, well, we would really hate to lose you, but Mrs. Kingston and I have both been concerned that this job really doesn't seem awfully well-suited to a young person of your abilities, at least not over the long term." Loki resisted the panicky urge to point out that he was more than nine hundred years old, and also that his "abilities" were really not of the most practical nature and not particularly well-suited for any other remunerative occupation. Ms. Hamoudi went on, "So we thought we might suggest- you're obviously very good with the children, and although your educational qualifications are… "
"Unorthodox," Loki suggested, gradually becoming aware that, whatever she was getting at, it was probably not going to end in his employment being terminated.
"Well, given they were granted by a planet with a very different school system to ours, yes," Ms. Hamoudi said, with a straight face. "But- obviously, I don't know if you have any long-term plans at the moment, and I am aware you have… other responsibilities." Which was a delicate way indeed of referring to the whole business of his being the Avengers' magical consultant. "Anyway, Mrs. Kingston and I thought we would mention, we both think you have the makings of a very good teacher. There are equivalency examinations that could qualify you for the university system, and you could arrange for part-time study if you wanted to continue here, in addition to your… other responsibilities."
Loki blinked at her, hands gradually relaxing and his heart settling into a calmer pattern.
"That is… more than kind of you," he said finally. "Might I consult with you, at a later date, on this matter?"
"Oh, certainly," she said quickly. "We just thought we should make the suggestion before someone else made you some sort of offer and we lost you." She smiled. "And thank you for the help, with the mess and with the boys."
"I look forward to learning from their essays," Loki said, beginning to smile himself. "I am sure they will be most informative."
"I have no doubt," Ms. Hamoudi said drily.
Suddenly stricken with conscience, Loki found himself blurting, "You are of course aware of my… mythological reputation?" He was about to explain that it was all fictitious- except, well, for the part about being a troublemaker of some renown- when Ms. Hamoudi laughed.
"If you do decide this is a career for you, I'll show you my old school reports," she offered. "It's not a bad thing, to have few teachers with insight into the kids who are… characters."
Loki swallowed, reflecting that his own genuine past- no matter what pardons had been granted by other realms, or dispensations extended by this one- was considerably worse than a few bad school reports. Ms. Hamoudi must have seen something cross his face, because she added,
"It's just something to think about. At some point you may be ready to do something else, and you know that, according to your visas, you have the right to work and go to school in this country as you choose, without restriction." She glanced over her shoulder, back into the classroom. "I had better get back. I'll make sure you get those essays."
"I will eagerly await them," Loki promised. "And…thank you."
Ms. Hamoudi smiled. "Glad to," she said, and withdrew back into the classroom.
~oOo~
George changed in the locker room, oblivious to a stream of chatter from Mitchell, the only other person present. Mitchell was not ordinarily a morning person, but he seemed bent on filling the void left by George's silence.
"… and I think, if he moves the bedside table, he still should be able to fit the rhinoceros into his room even when it's full grown."
George finally turned and looked at his friend. "What did you say?" he demanded.
Mitchell smiled. "There you are. Where were you?"
"What?" George repeated, his ears heating up.
"Come on, George, you were miles away. What were you thinking about?" Mitchell prodded gently. Then he amended, with a grin, "Or rather, who were you thinking about?"
George grimaced. "All right, yes, I was thinking about Nina. Is there anything wrong with that?"
"Not a thing," Mitchell said, tilting his head winsomely. George, immune to winsomeness, threw a shirt at him. Mitchell tugged it off his head and threw it back. "It's just that I would have expected you to look a lot soppier. You know, the way Loki does when he thinks about Annie." The two friends paused to envision it. "All sort of… mushy," Mitchell clarified helpfully. "You've got definitely mushy inclinations, I'd have thought. So what's the problem?"
George sighed, Mitchell patted the bench next to him, and after a moment's hesitation George sat down, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees.
"It's all this… all this with Owen and Annie, and everything. I've just been thinking…" he began. Mitchell sobered, waiting for George to go on. Finally, painfully, he did: "I'm just… worried about Nina."
Mitchell nodded. "And why are you worried about Nina?"
George sighed. "I already told you that she's… complicated."
Mitchell's eyebrows climbed. "She's a tiny bit psycho, George."
George's face flamed. "If you're only going to make fun- " he muttered, starting to his feet. Mitchell grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back.
"No, wait, hang on a minute. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You're making me nervous, and I get silly when I'm nervous. I'm sorry. What about Nina being complicated?"
George stopped trying to pull away. "It's just that she's… angry, in ways that I think probably mean she's been hurt pretty badly already. That somebody hurt her pretty badly. And I don't want to be the one to do it next."
Mitchell let go of George's wrist as though he had only just remembered he was still holding it.
"Oh, come on," he blurted. "How can you possibly… George, you are the least likely candidate I can think of to hurt Nina or, or let her down." George didn't respond, and Mitchell went on, "Do I need to remind you that we live with an actual, literal prince, and he looks up to you as his example of how to behave?"
"That's not such an accomplishment, considering the standards of early child care they seem to have in Asgard," George muttered.
"Yes, well, agreed," Mitchell said. "But the point is, even with Thor and the Avengers and all, Loki uses you as his standard for… for being decent. Don't give me that look, you know he does. And you've never let him down, ever. You won't let Nina down, either. And you deserve- you both deserve- to be happy. Sometimes you have to take a chance."
"This isn't exactly your ordinary 'taking a chance,' though," George replied, dropping his voice to a desperate hiss despite the fact they were alone. "It's one thing to take a chance on a relationship not working out. It's quite another to risk tearing her to shreds if I get careless."
"And when have you ever been careless?" Mitchell demanded.
George went on as though Mitchell hadn't spoken. "And then there's the matter of never being able to make plans on the night of the full moon. Don't you think she'll get suspicious about that, eventually?"
Mitchell's face suddenly tightened. "One night a month? Really? Well, poor you. I can't imagine how rough that must be for you, being able to have a reasonably normal relationship thirty days out of the month. The last time I was with a woman and didn't kill her was in about 1968, and I still don't really know why I was able to resist that time. And despite knowing there is no safe way for me to be with someone, despite knowing how easily losing control in one area can cause me to lose control over everything else- I miss it, so much. I'd do almost anything to-
"I don't begrudge you or Loki being able to… The only reason I haven't kicked him in the arse already, repeatedly, is he obviously wasn't ever taught anything about other people except how to defend himself from them, so he's really doing pretty well, considering. You, on the other hand… George, I know it's risky. Of course it's risky. But you're... You know what it's like to lose someone, to get hurt, and to want not to hurt the other person. It sounds like she does, too. You and Nina would be good for each other."
"Aside from the risk of rending her limb from limb," George shuddered.
"And the risk of her being too defensive and prickly to let you get near her, or letting you get just close enough to have your heart broken when she decides she can't handle it after all," Mitchell shrugged.
George narrowed his eyes. "If that was meant to be reassuring- "
"Not really," Mitchell admitted. "Just a reminder she's not the only one who'll be risking something. You're more evenly matched than you probably think. And I should also tell you, I'm going to be jealous sometimes. That goes without saying. You'll probably need to kick my arse a time or two. But that doesn't mean I won't be happy for you, if it works out. Really. Go... do something about it."
George got to his feet, looking determined. "Right. I'll... right. Thanks, Mitchell."
Mitchell offered a smile that looked rather like a grimace. "Anything to help." His expression softened, became genuine. "No, really. Go."
George went.
~oOo~
Annie poured her third mug of tea into her third clean mug of the morning, added milk, and then walked into the lounge. She set it on the coffee table next to the two that had already gone cold and scummy, and went back to pacing the lounge. Scamp and the kittens watched her progress.
"We should go get your basket back, shouldn't we?" Annie addressed the ghost dog. "And your other toys. Do you miss your chewy bone?" Scamp wriggled in pleasure at being addressed, and Annie managed to smile at her.
As restless as she felt, Annie didn't think it would be a good idea to take Scamp back to the ruin to retrieve the belongings they had forgotten in the excitement of the rescue. It seemed cruel to Annie to even think of making her return to the place she had haunted for so long.
Haunted... Annie hugged herself, looking around the lounge, to the entryway and the beaded curtain that masked the kitchen doorway. She had haunted this place for months, before George and Mitchell moved in. And she hadn't been an entirely friendly presence, either: not when the first sets of prospective tenants had been young couples themselves, looking forward to their lives together, full of plans for turning her home into theirs.
She had remembered being full of plans, too. What she hadn't remembered until a few days ago was how full of apprehension she had also been. It felt strange to her, now, to think about those times and to really remember them. The question of why she had been unable to remember them was one she didn't have the inclination to think about. It might have been a little like some of the things Loki hadn't been able to remember- the reason he'd cast the spell on Sif's hair and then cut it, for instance. He'd remembered the- well, Loki seemed inclined to call it a "crime," although in Annie's opinion that was going a little far- and the aftermath, but not the precipitating incident, apparently because it had been so painfully humiliating he hadn't even lt himself think about it.
"Painfully humiliating," now that Annie thought of it, was a fairly good description of her own feelings toward her time with Owen. How could she have let him make her feel so worthless, so small? How could she have convinced herself that her whole... her value, was tied up in winning the approval of someone as inconsequential as Owen?
Really, the more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Remarkably, though, nothing blew up or went flying, which was a relief. Maybe she had finally gotten a grip on the whole poltergeist thing. Or maybe now that she felt more in control of her anger, the poltergeist side had settled down a little, too.
And maybe, despite the memory impairment, she had still taken something of value from that time. Look at the way she had immediately reached out to Loki, when she'd found him in the back garden, confused and frightened and just as lonely as she had ever been. It hadn't crossed her mind to be afraid that Mitchell and George would be angry at her for taking him in. When she was alive, it seemed like she spent all her time afraid that someone was going to be angry at her for something. Not just Owen-
Annie cut off that train of thought before it could go any farther: that was a sure way to end up fielding household items. Instead, she turned away from the things that had frightened her during her life, and thought about the things she had gained in her afterlife.
Friends, first of all. She remembered the moment she realized that George and Mitchell were able to see her, which was such a shock that it had taken her a little while to realize what a relief it was. She hadn't really thought about being a ghost, about being part of a category, a community, a supernatural being like other supernatural beings. She had thought she was completely alone and always would be, isolated, unable to make contact with anyone else except by moving their belongings, leaving them creepy little messages, scaring them.
Loki seemed to believe he was the only one who had done stupid, unproductive, unkind things to cope with his loneliness, to say I am here. One of these days, she should probably talk with him about that. As nice as it felt to have him think she was good, it would probably be even better for him to face the fact he wasn't the only one who could be petty and foolish. She wasn't completely sure he believed that. And besides, Annie knew the awareness wouldn't change his opinion of her, knew she didn't have to pretend to be perfect, always patient- Nice. She knew that Loki knew she wasn't always nice, and loved her anyway. She could be herself, and Loki- and George, and Mitchell, and all those other people Loki had listed to her- would still like her, want to be friends with her.
There was a world of relief in knowing that. It was only a shame that she'd only learned it after she was dead.
Annie paused in the middle of the lounge, thinking about that. Janey Harris, the man-stealing cow, wasn't dead. And every indication Loki had picked up had said that, man-stealing cow or not (and really, was Owen a prize worth fighting about, worth calling Janey names over as if Janey was the only one who had done anything wrong?)
Janey Harris wasn't any cleverer than Annie, or any more confident, and as far as Annie knew, Janey's family- if she even had one- wasn't in Bristol, either. There was no reason to think Janey would be any better at getting herself out of a trap than Annie had been.
She wondered whether Janey still worked at the tanning salon. Whether anyone wondered why someone who worked at such a place was so careful to wear long sleeves. It was almost a given, that there would be days that called for long sleeves.
Annie made a decision.
Picked up her two cold mugs of tea and the still-warm one, carried them to the kitchen, and washed up.
Then she came back out to the lounge and said brightly to Scamp, "Do you want to come for a walk?"
Scamp flattened her ears eagerly against her head, and wagged her tail.
~oOo~
George caught up to Nina just as she was going on her morning break. He stopped by the nursing station where she was updating a patient's electronic record, waiting for her to acknowledge him.
After a moment, she did, looking up with the smile that brightened her formidable little face and made her look so much younger than her usual grim one did. The smile made her look the age she actually was.
George swallowed, managed to smile back. "I was wondering if... um. Would you like to come with me for a cup of tea?"
Nina made a face. "In the canteen?"
"All I can offer, I'm afraid," George admitted.
"Good thing we're used to it," Nina replied, saving her work and closing the file. She turned to the other nurse on the station. "I'm going for my break, all right? When I come back you can go for yours." The other nurse nodded, and a few minutes later George and Nina had mugs of dubious canteen tea before them and were sitting at a table in a quiet corner.
Nina looked around, eyebrows delicately raised. "I'm not sure I like this business of being cut out of the herd. Is there a Serious Conversation in the offing? Because if there is, you should know my break isn't anything like long enough for one, and neither is yours."
George took a gulp of his tea, regretted it immediately, and breathed deeply. "Nina, I have to- "
"No, I definitely don't like the tone of this," Nina murmured. "Is this the bit where you tell me I'm a wonderful person but you don't deserve me and I should find someone else?"
"Half right. No, two-thirds," George replied, which actually drew a reluctant smile. "No, I just need to..." He picked up his tea, decided against tasting it again, put it back down. "I just need to tell you, it's been years since I've met anyone I like as much as you. I think you're... smart, and strong, and funny..." Nina tilted her head to one side, in much the way Mitchell had, except that she was being assessing instead of winsome. George winced at the suspicion in her expression, though he couldn't say she didn't have every right to some misgivings. He certainly sounded like he was about to end things with her- whatever you called "things" when they'd only managed to get to this stage.
He went hastily on, "I'm just... I need to tell you, make sure you know... things are a little complicated on my end."
Nina sat up straighter, eyebrows flying up her forehead. "Complicated? Last time I got that line, it was shorthand for I have a wife and kids in Cardiff. But she didn't understand him."
"No, no, nonono," George spluttered. "I'm not married." Painfully, he added, "Never have been." Something in his tone brought Nina's hackles down. "I'm just... there are things about me that I can't tell you just now. And I don't like acting as if I don't trust you, or... value your confidence. I just can't talk about... certain things. And I thought I should bring that much out into the open right now, because you deserve someone who is completely honest with you. I just can't be, and I can't... always predict when I won't be able to... "
Oh, this was sounding madder by the minute. George looked down at the tabletop, then in desperation picked up his now-cold and more-than-dubious tea and gulped half of it.
When he looked up, Nina was looking at him with a thoughtful expression. Whatever reaction he had been expecting, that wasn't it.
Then she leaned toward him across the table.
"Are you talking about the Avengers?" she asked. George frankly gaped at her. No, he definitely wasn't expecting this. Nina went on, "Because, well, I won't deny that whole idea worries me, but it's not my place to tell you to stop helping them if they need you."
George found himself stuck on the vital piece of information in this speech: "It worries you?"
"Of course it does," she replied impatiently. "I know you're smart, and I can see all sorts of ways you could really help them, but of course it worries me, thinking about you in the middle of something like, well, like that thing last summer." That thing last summer was of course the battle against Hydra and their alien allies the Dire Wraiths.
"To be honest, I was really mostly translating," George assured her.
"And that was how you ended up on the BBC news, firing rockets at alien spaceships," Nina said.
"Um," George replied. "Well, Agent Coulson, from SHIELD, needed an extra pair of hands." He'd actually ended up with two extra pairs of hands, but of course Mitchell could not be seen by the news cameras. It was fortunate things had been so confused at the time that none of the crews had noticed someone missing in their footage.
"I'll admit, I was a bit upset at your friend Loki, for getting you into such a mess," she added. "Which was unfair of me, since it probably wasn't his fault- I just assumed, because of his brother- "
George, remembering what had happened to Loki in the clutches of a Wraith-controlled SHIELD, barely suppressed a shudder. "No, it definitely wasn't his fault. Although we- Mitchell and I- did meet the Avengers through him." Yes, the other time Loki had been illegally arrested by SHIELD. Really, when you thought about it, it was a wonder Loki even consented to leave the house unarmed. For all the flaws he claimed in his own character, he was certainly still surprisingly trusting.
"I've always wondered, how did he even end up with you?" Nina asked.
"Um," George spluttered. "It's... sort of a cultural exchange thing."
Nina looked amused. "You mean like a gap year?"
"Um. Yes. In a way," George nodded. And then he was struck by what Nina had just said.
"What's that smile about?" she asked.
"You were worried about me? Last summer?" he asked, trying with limited success to suppress the goofiness erupting in his expression.
Nina pursed her lips. "Well, yes. A little."
"Oh," George said, grinning foolishly. For a conversation he had feared would end extremely badly, this bore all the signs of turning out rather well for him.
"Don't get carried away," Nina muttered, but she was smiling, too.
~oOo~
Annie had never spent much time in tanning salons during her lifetime. For one thing, her complexion didn't really need the help. For another, she preferred the look of leather on handbags, rather than her face, thank you very much.
But she found the address of the salon where Janey had last worked, looked it up on a city map, and then set out to look the place over.
"Let's go," she said brightly to Scamp, in the "go walkies" voice her auntie used to use with her terrier. Despite the fact dogs in her lifetime had probably not "gone walkies," and despite her centuries-long history of being trapped in a ruin, Scamp seemed to grasp the concept immediately. And, despite the concerns Loki had expressed, about the possibility of Scamp being bound to the location of her bones, the dog followed her without hesitation, eyes sparkling and tail curled over her back. The kittens, asleep in the armchair, didn't seem to notice them going.
Annie consulted her mental map and set off down the street, reflecting that at least, like Scamp, she wasn't tied to her haunt anymore. It was hard to remember exactly when she had started to be able to leave the house. Certainly, when Loki arrived she had been pretty much limited to the house and garden. It was only later, during those early troubles with the vampires, that she'd begun venturing away from the house.
Annie still wasn't sure whether she had really been unable to leave the house, or simply hadn't had the nerve to try.
And she also wondered, now, whether that lack of nerve had anything at all to do with her being recently dead.
Never mind, that didn't matter now.
She stepped into the salon, Scamp clinging close to her side, and looked around. They were in the reception area, looking around at vinyl chairs that were pretending to be leather, and before them a low table with travel magazines fanned out, as if for the convenience of clients planning where they should take their new tans. There was a high counter, like a nurse's station, next to the hallway that presumably led down to the tanning stations.
There were no customers this early in the morning, it seemed as though the staff was just getting ready to open. Not that there was much activity going on at the moment. Behind the counter were two women, both of them younger than their sun-damaged skin made them look. Annie didn't know the taller woman with the piled-up bleached hair, but the dark-haired one with the silly little round face was Janey Harris.
Janey was just as orange as Annie remembered her, but there was certainly no glow to her. She looked tired, her eyes were dark-shadowed, and she held her shoulders in a miserable defensive hunch that made Annie's tense in sympathy.
The girl with the bleached hair was looking at her with an expression of worry and exasperation.
"You can't go on like this, Janey," she said, in a high complaining sort of voice. "Look at you, you look like you haven't slept in days, and not in a good way, either."
Janey wrapped her arms around herself, hunched tighter. "I'm fine," she protested. "Everything is fine."
"You don't look fine," the blonde said relentlessly. "In fact, for a girl whose fella just came back from overseas you look like hell. You've been looking like this since he arrived." Janey's mouth worked, and the blonde softened. "I know it's been hard for you, him with someone else first, and then going off to Saudi the minute she was gone, but- has it ever occurred to you, maybe he doesn't mean anything serious?"
"He does," Janey protested, in a forlornly stubborn little voice. "He loves me."
"Loves you so much he wouldn't leave that other girl for you, even after you moved here to be with him." Janey opened her mouth to protest, and the blonde raised a hand. "Don't, Janey. Don't even say it. I've been holding my tongue all this time, but now he's back and you have got to think." The blonde began, ruthlessly, to tick off elements on her fingers: "He was happy enough to have you as his bit on the side, when he was engaged to that other girl- what was her name, again? I feel creepy calling her that other girl."
"Annie," Janey muttered.
"Right. Annie. He was engaged to Annie, and he was sleeping with you- "
"Because he really wanted to be with me," Janey protested, in a childish voice.
"Annie died, and he still wasn't with you," the blonde snapped. "He took that job in Saudi the minute she was in the ground, and sure, he shagged you when he was home for a visit, but if you think he was pining for you the whole time he was over there-"
Janey finally flared up. "Shut up," she snapped.
The blonde didn't flinch. "And now he's back, and he's moved in with you, and you think you've won. Has it ever occurred to you that he just needs a place to stay? That maybe, when he settles in to his new job and decides to look for a place of his own, he'll also decide to look for another girl?"
Janey stood up. "Shut up. You're wrong. You're wrong. We're together, and he loves me, and- "
"And he's treating you like shit," the blonde said tiredly. "You were so happy and excited when he was coming home, and you've been drained ever since he's arrived. Either he's a vampire, or he's treating you like shit."
Janey pressed trembling lips together for a moment, then said in a choked voice, "I'm going to check the loo's clean."
"Thanks," said the blonde. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Janey- "
"I'm going," Janey repeated, pushed past the blonde and disappeared down the hall behind the counter.
Annie stood still for a moment, watching, as the blonde pressed her fingertips to her eyes in what seemed like exhausted frustration. She muttered something that sounded like,
"Poor silly little bitch," and started to log in the computer before her, where the appointments calendar was probably kept.
Annie patted her thigh to encourage Scamp to stay with her- which was silly, since of course the two girls couldn't see her. She still felt a little glow when Scamp wagged her tail and fell in beside her.
Annie tiptoed down the hall- which, again, was silly, but she couldn't help herself- peeking into every room that she passed. The first four contained tanning beds and little other furniture except a place for the customers to leave their clothing while they cooked in the eerie, coffin-like beds.
The fifth room she looked into was the loo, and Janey was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, face buried in her hands. Annie leaned against the door, looking at her with unwilling sympathy.
Janey looked up suddenly. "Who's there?"
Annie froze. "Can you see me?"
It was pretty clear Janey couldn't: she looked around the little room as if she thought someone might be hiding in the paper towel dispenser. Still, it was equally clear she could feel something in the room with her.
Someone.
Janey stood up, hesitantly, defensive despite apparently thinking herself alone. She looked around again, then opened the cabinet under the sink and brought out a caddy of cleaning supplies. She cast one more apprehensive look around, and Annie stepped forward.
"Your friend is right," she said. "Owen doesn't care any more about you than he did about me."
Janey froze, then repeated, "Who's there?" She was trembling, obviously worked up, and much more spooked than seemed to make any sense, considering she had to believe she was alone. Unless she believed in ghosts. Maybe she did- she was exactly the kind of credulous dope who would believe in ghosts before she had any proof of their existence.
Annie had believed in ghosts, too. And in Owen's love. She was still a little astonished at which of these beliefs had turned out to be valid.
Annie was quite sure that Janey couldn't hear her. Not hear her. But Janey definitely knew someone was there, and Annie decided there was no harm in trying.
"He's going to hurt you, too. He might not kill you, but he'll definitely hurt you. It's how he knows he's real."
Janey put down the cleaning supplies and bolted out of the lavatory.
Annie looked down at Scamp, sighed, and then picked the dog up.
A moment later, they were in the science classroom at Loki's school, where Loki, fortunately alone, was scrubbing the shelves of a storage cupboard. He looked up in surprise as Annie materialized next to him, and as he registered her expression, his became alarmed.
"Annie, are you all right?" he whispered, in case a human should pass by in the hallway.
"I think so," she said. "I've just had sort of a strange morning."
Loki made a face. "I believe that makes two of us."