“What happened?”
“A fire. An affair. All my data was burned, and so was I.”
“I read your work on cultural patterns and CLS when I was in medical school. At that point, it was all theory, not something I planned on dealing with.”
The waiter arrived. Ted, Manager, was nowhere in sight. “Are you ready, Doctor Bowman, Doctor Fisher?”
Leonard raised his eyebrow. “Word gets around.”
“Apparently.”
We ordered, and after the waiter brought our drinks—sweet tea for me—I asked, “Wait a second, so you didn’t have CLS from childhood?”
“No. I would be much better able to control it, I think.”
“When did you get it?”
“The second year of residency at UAMS.”
The door opened, and a shadow flickered over Leonard’s face. I turned to face the door, but at first I couldn’t make out the features of the couple who had just entered. The host greeted them, and once the door closed against the bright light of outside, I saw Lonna and Peter Bowman. He had his hand on her elbow. Leonard sank down in his seat.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to be at home watching Peter’s wife. He thinks she’s having an affair.”
“Looks like projection to me.” Already there was too much eye contact, too many casual touches.
Leonard smiled his half smile again. “She’s too busy with their kid to think about an affair. He’s two.”
“And a terror from what I hear.”
“He’s not that bad, just a lot of energy.”
“Not that you’re biased.”
Leonard’s face lit with a true smile. “When I come home in the evening, he’ll run full tilt down the hall and jump into my arms.” He frowned and lowered his voice. “He doesn’t care about what happens after he goes to bed.”
“What does happen?” I leaned forward on my arms.
“You should know.” Leonard’s black eyes met mine. “But then again, you can’t. I don’t even know if I do.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a different state of mind. And what happens feels like dreams.” A line appeared between his eyebrows as he frowned. “I try to remember them in the morning.”
“But you can’t.” I let my breath out slowly. I had read interviews of CLS kids who had originally been diagnosed with sleepwalking, but their EEG tracings had indicated a state closer to Rapid Eye Movement sleep than to the Stage 3 sleep associated with sleepwalking. When questioned the next morning, they claimed to have no idea how they got where they did or why. It was a different state of mind.
So those creatures I had seen on the lawn last night had been CLS sufferers hunting—true werewolves. Gabriel had hinted, but now it made sense.
Our food came, and I continued to glance over Leonard’s shoulder at the table where Peter sat with Lonna. They had their drinks, and it seemed as though Peter liked a civilized cocktail at lunch. There was also one in front of Lonna, which surprised me because she never mixed business and alcohol. Apparently this was a little something more than business.
“What are they doing?” Leonard still slouched in the booth so as to be out of sight.
“Talking. Drinking. Why?”
“I can’t leave until they do. He might see me.”
I tried not to smile at the irony of the situation. “What are you so worried about? What will he do to you if you’re not there?”
“Peter is mercurial. I think that’s the right word. He likes to hold our dependence on him, especially our financial dependence, over our heads.”
“Wait a second, ‘our’?”
“My cousin Ron also has CLS and lives with Peter.”
“Both of you?”
“And we both got it last winter while we were in residency at UAMS.”
“Before that, nothing?”
“Nothing. We were both always incredibly healthy.”
Incredibly healthy… My stomach gave a lurch and I put down my fork. Joanna, I don’t know why you always get sick, and your brother doesn’t, my mother would say. Andrew is the most incredibly healthy boy.
That’s because he’s a tough kid, my father would add, pride in his voice. That conversation had occurred when I was six. Three years later, my “incredibly healthy” twin brother had died.
“Doctor Fisher? Joanie?”
My name snapped me back to the present. I shook my head to clear the fog of old grief. “Sorry, memories.” It disturbed me that they had snuck up on me. Since the fire, only recent unhappy memories intruded on my days. Was I to be tortured by the old ones now, too?
“Did you know someone with this?” Leonard frowned.
“Beyond my research subjects? I…I don’t know.”
Have you ever heard of the Landover curse? Now it was Galbraith’s voice in my head. It supposedly skips a generation. If it popped up, you’d know.
Or would I? An incredibly healthy child who had died mysteriously of complications after an elective tonsillectomy, Andrew had always had too much energy for his own good. He wasn’t dissimilar to the CLS victims I’d studied. I filed that away in the back of my head to look into later.
“Dessert, Doctors?” the waiter asked. It was a different one with blond hair, blue eyes the color of the ocean on a clear day, and a smile that invited a response. He winked at us, his pad poised. His nametag said, “Ronald”.
“Sure, Doctor.” Leonard smiled. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
“Avoiding big brother, are we, Leo?”
“Always.”
“No worries. I can get you out the back if needed. Who’s the babe?”
Leonard looked at me. “Do you know who she is?”
“Yeah, she’s a social worker from Little Rock.”
“No, doofus.” Ron tapped Leo on the top of his head with the pencil. “The one who’s sitting with you.”
Again, heat spread across my face and chest. I must be glowing.
“Ron, this is Doctor Joanna Fisher, formerly of Cabal Laboratories and one of the world’s leading researchers of CLS.”
“Nice to meet you.” I held out my hand and Ron shook it. His hand was warm, but also rough.
“Ah, that’s who I was hoping you’d be. I’ve read your work and told Leo he needed to try to meet you. I’m Doctor Ronald Bowman, formerly a surgical resident at UAMS.”
“And now waiting tables?” I asked, then bit my tongue. “Sorry, that was rude.”
Ron’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “That’s all right. The CLS was interfering. Wouldn’t do to lose it in the operating room.”
I put my fork down. “Why don’t you both come up to my place? I have a lot more to ask you.”
Ron smiled. “Sure, when?”
“When do you get off work?”
“I’ve just been cut, so half an hour. Just enough time to fetch you some dessert and coffee. What would you like?”
“Chocolate. But I had that dessert last night.”
“The chef does an awesome chocolate cream pie the regulars know to ask for. It’s not on the menu.”
“That sounds perfect. And a latté, please.”
“Leo?”
“Apple pie. Plain coffee.”
“Coming up.”
When Ron left, the room seemed to get a little darker.
“Do you know how to get to Wolfsbane Manor?” I asked, then remembered, “Oh, yes, you do.”
Leonard smiled, but with bitterness. “Will your butler be there?”
“Oh, Gabriel, I forgot.” I thought for a moment. “Why should it matter?”
“Well, there was last night.”
I remembered the two men locked in their wrestling match, their faces intent. “I think he’ll be okay with it. We’re all trying to solve the same puzzle.”
“Fair enough. I knew you’d need more than a salad.”