Sixty-One Nails Part 68

"To run," I told her. "Is there another way out?"

"There's a fire door at the back of the kitchen with stairs down."

"Then we'd better seal that too. A way out is a way in."

"What if they come to both doors at once?"

"Then we have a problem. Try not to worry about it." Claire gave me a wan smile and then busied herself putting away her things and getting towels and bedding for us. I sat on the sofa, politely refusing offers of hot chocolate and cheese sandwiches while Blackbird followed her around, collecting guest towels and sheets. I would not have thought it possible for someone to fall asleep amid such a commotion, but I must have nodded off. When I opened my eyes, Blackbird was sitting quietly on the floor next to the sofa that I had been sleeping on, watching me. Someone had put a quilt over me at some point and it was tangled around my legs. "h.e.l.lo," I said, blearily.

"h.e.l.lo." Her voice was soft and almost inaudible. "Have you been there long?" I asked her.

She looked comfortable enough, cross-legged on the rug, her elbows resting on her knees, chin on her hands. "A little while."

I stretched the muscles that had tightened from sleeping in an awkward position, sticking my bare feet out from under the quilt.

"Are you OK? Did I steal the bed? You should have woken me.

"You looked so peaceful there. I thought I'd let you sleep."

"Have you had any sleep?"

"Not really. I napped for a while."

"What time is it?"

"It's nearly ten o'clock. If you hadn't stirred soon I would have woken you."

"I don't remember falling asleep."

"I went into the kitchen with Claire and when I came back you were snoring."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be, you needed it."

Having woken up a bit more, I took another look at her. It was the older Blackbird but she looked different. She certainly didn't look as tired as I would have done after only a couple of hours sleep.

"Are you OK?" I repeated. "You look different."

"It's my glamour. It's changed a little."

"It looks fine," I rea.s.sured her.

"Too fine. I've lost about ten years."

That was what was different. She definitely looked younger. I remembered it had taken me a while to notice a similar change in myself yesterday. "Why?"

"I'm having difficulty maintaining it. I keep slipping back into habits I lost long ago, things I thought I'd left behind. I haven't lost control of it since I was a child, but I'm definitely having problems now. "

"Why? "

"I don't know." It wasn't quite the truth.

I pushed myself upright, scrubbing my hands through my hair, trying to clear my head.

"It's about time Veronica had an accident," she told me.

"What?"

"Or perhaps she should get an offer from an obscure American university to go and teach history there. "

"I don't understand. You're leaving?" I couldn't believe she was saying this to me.

"No, silly. I'm not leaving. I'm just changing. "

"But why?"

"Well, for one thing I can't carry on as Veronica with a boyfriend who looks thirty years younger than me without causing a bit of a scandal, can I?"

"I suppose not." At least she wasn't leaving.

"And then there's my glamour. If I can't reliably maintain it then my options are limited, at least as far as mixing in with society is concerned."

"But why wouldn't you be able to maintain it? You always have before."

"I'm not sure." Again, there was the half-truth.

"Blackbird, what are you not telling me?" It was going to be easier to just ask outright.

She was silent for a long while and I began to think she wasn't going to answer. I pushed my fingers through my hair, trying to gather my wits together. "It can happen," she said. "I've been hiding, as Kareesh calls it, posing as Veronica for forty or more years now. Before that there was another lady, just as acceptable and unremarkable. There was lots of confusion after the Second World War, so it wasn't difficult to appear with few records and no papers. When she got too old to work, I swapped her for Veronica. The original Veronica died of a drug overdose in the Sixties. She was bright enough to be university material and alone enough so that she wouldn't be missed. It was easy to bring her life down to London and carry it on. "

"But she's too old now?"

"Sometimes when things change, it's better to go with them rather than fight against them," she explained quietly.

"I don't know what you mean. What are you saying?"

"I'm not sure," she said again.

"Help me out here, Blackbird. I know I'm never at my best when I've just woken up, but I'm just not getting it. What are you not telling me?"

"I'll get you some coffee," she offered and stood up smoothly, padding out of the room towards the kitchen. I untangled myself from the quilt and pulled my trousers on. I had obviously been so deeply asleep that I hadn't noticed someone had taken them off. I hoped it was Blackbird rather than Claire. I buckled my belt and followed Blackbird into the kitchen. She was busily making coffee. "Blackbird, please talk to me."

She stopped and turned to me. She looked pensive. "What is it?" I asked again.

"Sometimes the Feyre lose control of their glamour when they feel very strongly about something, or someone. It's a little like I told you on the first morning. If you feel fear, or l.u.s.t, or envy. "

"You feel envious?"