Leaving me alone and relatively unprotected.
Move, I thought.
I headed for the dining room, which I rarely used for dining. Set beside the kitchen, it served as storage for all the boxes and kits I had no space for elsewhere.
I found my toolbox. A loaner-turned-gift when a friend’s boyfriend had gone overseas and decided never to return. Actually two toolboxes stacked on one another, with two rugged wheels for all terrain at one side, like luggage, it held all of the bits and pieces I’d collected while working.
Top toolbox was tools. Hammers, saws, awls, hole-punches and far too many screwdrivers. Not what I needed.
The lower toolbox was knick-knacks and materials.
Three rolls of painter’s tape and… there, a drywall t-square which had been abused and coated with plaster to the point that I could barely make out numbers.
I ripped a section free, then went to work.
I set to drawing out a border around the edge of the apartment. Turning the apartment into a magic circle, or a magic rectangle, whatever.
I wasn’t sure how far my tape would go, so I went the simple route. The t-square let me quickly define triangles, which I taped out. Triangles were a sturdy shape, right? Architecturally sound? Three points, three sides.
I was winging this. Doing what I could.
Who were the other threats? Laird? I wasn’t sure what he’d throw at me. Sandra? That meant Faerie.
Too many possibilities to consider. I’d collapse in a nervous heap if I considered all of the threats arrayed against me.
One thing at a time. I was good at working mindlessly on a task. I enjoyed it, even, being able to set my body to something repetitive and easy, while letting my mind roam.
Something crude I could use against Faerie. Assuming the building didn’t count as something crude and roughshod, where could I get a natural sort of barrier untouched by human hands?
What other trouble could I run into? There was enchantment, enchantresses. If the Duchamps wanted to screw me over, they could do something with the connections to me. One of them had already done something to sic Aunt Laura and Callan on me. How easy would it be for them to attack me here and drive me out into the cold again? Causing trouble for Joel until I had to get kicked out?
I moved my futon, dragging it across the floor, and set up the tape at the base of the wall.
Steadily, I made my way to the far right of the living room, taping as I went.
“Blake,” Rose called out, from the other room.
I stood, stretching where being hunched over had made my back kink up, and I passed by my bedroom to reach the bathroom. There wasn’t any glass on the counter or the floor, but some lingered at the edges of the frame.
“Hey Rose. We need to get you some mirrors.”
“He was playing you, you know.”
“The lawyer kid?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what my gut says,” she said. “All of that, even the information he gave you, it’s part of a long term scheme to win you over. They’re obviously doing this with some strategy in mind.”
“Obviously. Making me read the book, setting me up with a young lawyer I can identify with.”
“They’re looking forward enough to figure out what they’re going to ask you for next time, and letting you know now so you can convince yourself it’s not so bad, and maybe ask for help a little more quickly next time.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I get that.”
“You okay?” she asked.
“Tired,” I said. “But I want to get at least one layer of defenses up before we go any further.”
“I’ve been bringing some books over, trying to do my part.”
“From the house?”
“Yeah. No problem getting past the barrier. I either don’t pass through the barrier, or I move so fast that being slowed to a fraction doesn’t make a difference.”
“Bring some books,” I said. “Not too many, okay? We know some Others can reach into the mirror, and besides, we don’t want to lose access to the books if we can’t get to this apartment again.”
“Shit. Good point. Maybe if I carry them with me?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Did you hear that bit in the car? About the safeguards we’ll need?”
“Some.”
“We’ll need a protective sign on the ceiling. And this wasn’t his recommendation, but it’d be good to find a way to stay off the Duchamp’s radar, and deal with any Faerie they send our way.”
“Okay,” Rose said. “I can get on that. We’ll need something crude?”
“Mm hmm,” I said.
“And we’ll need-”
A sharp knock interrupted me.
“Conquest’s messenger?” Rose asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’d be a pretty fast arrival.”
“Go,” she said.
I went.
It wasn’t the Lord’s herald or anything like that. It was my landlord. Joel. Heavy without being fat, bald, with hipster glasses and bushy eyebrows, he had a way of looking perpetually worried.
He looked especially worried right now. With me.
“Hey you,” he said. “I thought I heard furniture moving, and I couldn’t think of who it might be.”
“Just got back,” I said. “You get your car back?”
He nodded. “Police returned it. I’m sorry it broke down on you.”
I shook my head. Not your fault.
“What happened? I did a search online, you were local front page news, there. You inherited a house?”
“A very valuable house, yes. And the town’s residents summarily evicted me,” I said. “For all intents and purposes.”
“You look like you’ve been through hell. It’s only been a week.”
“Has it?” I asked. “Damn.”
“I can’t help but think of the pictures of U.S. presidents before and after they take office. They look drained, aged by years. You look like that.”
“Probably fitting,” I said.
“Some of the others have been asking about you. They’ll want to see you, hear about what’s happened.”
My first instinct was to leap at the chance. My second was to say no, to take the time to prepare.
“Great,” I said, going with my first and third instincts. “I’m exhausted, though, I won’t be very good company. If you want to invite people over, maybe we can keep it short, keep numbers down?”
“Yeah,” he said. “We can definitely do that.”
“Also, I don’t have much, except what I had in the fridge.”
“When you didn’t show after a few days, I cleaned out the perishables, and I cleaned up your bathroom while I was at it,” he said.
Had it been anyone else, I might have been offended. “Thanks. Did you keep the glass?”
“It’s in a bucket under the sink, why?”
“I’m in a strange frame of mind,” I said.
“Does that include talking to yourself?” he asked. When I gave him a look, he said, “Thin walls.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Talking to myself, I guess.”
“And taping up the floor?” he asked, pointing down the length of my apartment hallway to where I’d abandoned the taping project.
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know if I could explain, even. Something for peace of mind.”