Her other choice was to stand there waiting for the hour to grow later. Margrit set her jaw and pressed the doorbell firmly, then took a step back to wait out its ring.
It opened much more quickly than she expected, revealing a snow-haired woman hobbled with age. Margrit blinked in astonishment, realizing she hadn’t asked Alban how old the twins appeared to be. She’d assumed they’d be like their Old Races parent: unaging. “Well?” the woman demanded irascibly.
Margrit pulled herself to attention, feeling a blush mount her cheeks. “Hi, sorry. My name’s Margrit Knight. I’m a friend of Alban Korund’s, and I’m looking for Kate or Ursula Hopkins…?”
“Never heard of ’em.” The woman began closing the door.
In a fit of surprised panic, Margrit slapped her palm against it, crying, “Wait!”
The woman stopped, clearly more annoyed than alarmed, and glowered at Margrit, whose blush intensified. “I’m really sorry. I might’ve gotten the names wrong, but I’m looking for two sisters who used to live here. Maybe you bought the house from them…?”
“I’ve lived here since 1962,” the woman snapped. “Now go away.”
“Oh.” Margrit fell back another step, confusion and concern bubbling within her. “I’m really sorry. I must’ve been given the wrong address.” She looked at her watch a third time, as though the hour might deny the already-risen sun. There would be no calling Alban for an explanation until nightfall. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Thanks for the information.” Bewildered, she retraced her steps to the sidewalk and found herself looking both ways, as though a clue might lie within sight. The old woman closed the door with a resounding click, making Margrit jump.
Bad enough that the twins weren’t there. Worse, this was a residential neighborhood, one taxis didn’t run through every few minutes as a matter of course. Margrit sighed, wishing she’d worn shoes more meant for walking, and pulled her cell phone out as she struck back the way she’d come. At least if she called a cab and was picked up, she could make it to work on time.
An auburn-haired young woman in a bathrobe came out of the house at the end of the row to retrieve a newspaper. Margrit nodded a hello and shook her phone, as if doing so would cause someone to pick up. “Come on, c’mon, why aren’t you answering?”
The woman’s voice followed her in response: “Sometimes we don’t want everything answered.”
Margrit twisted around in surprise to see the woman’s smile as she added, “Never could resist a rhetorical question.”
“You may as well come in,” she continued. “Crank your jaw up first. Wouldn’t want you to trip on it.”
Margrit snapped her mouth shut and said, “Never mind” as the cab company finally answered. She hung up, still staring at the woman. “I saw you a couple days ago in the city.”
“Yesterday, actually. Yesterday afternoon.”
“Is that all?” Margrit thought back, realized the woman was right, and shook herself. She was losing time badly enough to wonder how the Old Races, effectively immortal, dealt with the slip of one day into another. It seemed possible that the woman standing before her might be able to answer that question, but another one surfaced first: “Were you looking for me?”
The woman’s eyebrows rose. “Should I have been?”
“No.” Margrit pressed a hand to her forehead, then let it fall. “No, it’s just that it never rains but it pours, so in retrospect I thought you might be. You are Kate or Ursula Hopkins, right?”
“I used to be.”
“I’m sorry,” came an annoyed female voice from the house behind the auburn-haired woman. “You got the cryptic twin.”
A second woman, this one with darker hair than the first and already fully dressed, came out of the house to elbow past the redhead and open the gate. “She’ll keep you out here for a week, being mysterious at you. I’m Ursula.” She shot a look at her sister, and, clearly to keep the peace, said, “Or I was.” Then, back to Margrit, “If you’re a friend of Alban’s, there must be something wrong. Come on inside.”
Margrit, feeling light-headed, said, “Because Alban doesn’t have any friends, or because he’s sent one to find you?” and came through the gate.
Ursula latched it behind her. “Both, and on top of it you’re here during the day, which isn’t when anybody he’d usually call friend could visit. Kate, go get dressed.”
“And miss something? I don’t think so.” Kate padded past both Margrit and Ursula, moving with ordinary human fluidity. Margrit lurched into step behind her, wondering if she could turn the Old Races grace on and off, or if her human upbringing had tethered her to the earth.
Kate led them into a kitchen-dining room at the back of the house, where a bowl of cereal was growing soggy on the table. She picked it up and dropped into a chair, then gestured with her spoon. “There’s water or juice if you want some. Or cereal. Or toast.”
Ursula gave her sister another hard look and went to fill a glass with water, handing it to Margrit. “Would you like anything else?”
Margrit curled the glass against her chest and shivered as a draft caught her. “No, this is fine, thanks. I ate breakfast before I came out here.”
“All right.” Ursula poured granola into a tub of yogurt and joined Kate at the table, inviting Margrit to join them. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, she did, and clutched her water glass as she studied the sisters.
They weren’t identical, but nor did Margrit doubt they were twins. They looked to be somewhere in their twenties, younger than Janx and certainly younger than Daisani, though like them, there was something about their hazel eyes that hinted at more years seen than their faces acknowledged.
They shared a high roundness of cheekbone that must have come from their mother: neither Janx nor Daisani had any such roundness to their features. Kate’s hair was a flawless shade of auburn, so perfectly caught between brown and red it was impossible to say one or the other dominated. Ursula’s was black, reminding Margrit that she’d heard red hair was only one genetic marker off being black. Even though Kate was barefoot, they’d both stood taller than Margrit. Given that they’d been born in an era where the average height was considerably shorter than in modern day, that struck Margrit as unfair.
“So whose are we?” Kate said when she evidently thought Margrit had looked long enough.
Ursula rolled her eyes. “Don’t be rude.”
Margrit, too curious to be cowed, shook her head. “I honestly can’t tell. Don’t you know?”
“Of course, but we hardly ever get to ask. What are they like?” This time, despite Kate’s bluntness, even Ursula sat forward, a shard of interest changing the color of her eyes.
Surprise thumped through Margrit. “Alban hasn’t told you?”
“Of course he has, but he’s a gargoyle. Ow!” Kate glowered at Ursula, whose weight shifted again as she drew her feet back under herself. “This woman wouldn’t be here if she didn’t know about all of us, Urs.”
“Margrit,” Margrit said. “Margrit Knight.”
“I knew that,” Kate said with asperity. “You do know about us, right? You see?” she added in triumph at Margrit’s nod. “So tell us about them.”
“Katherine, if she’s here, she’s got something more important to discuss than their personalities.”
“Oh, now I’m in trouble.” Kate rolled her eyes, making her look even more like Ursula. “She dragged out the full name. Mother got to do that successfully, not you, Urs.” She turned her attention back to Margrit, expectation lifting her eyebrows.