Page 42 of Mongrels United
Nash shook his head. “I couldn’t drink it in front of him, and he wouldn’t let me buy any for him. He said he didn’t like the smell.” He paused, studying her expression. “What?”
Grady shook her head. “Your father’s vehemence…it makes me think he might have had a history with alcohol. The Skinwalkers were all heavy drinkers. It was part of their identity, how they unwound, and celebrated surviving another shift.”
“Nason was only a Skinwalker for a year,” Nash said. “He couldn’t have sunk that deep into the lifestyle.” He frowned. “The Bellish must have come afterwards. They scanned Skinwalkers a dozen different ways before they went outside.”
Grady looked pleased. “That gives us somewhere to start. I’m wondering if any of his friends and associates from that time are still alive. We should talk to them.” She wrote a quick note. “I’ll have his Forum profile unlocked from the back end. We can see who he talked to, back then.”
“I don’t rememberanyonetalking to him,” Nash said, shaking his head. “Once Hyram disappeared, it was just Nason and me.”
“He didn’t get messages or calls? Talk to people on the Forum? Visitors?”
Nash shook his head. “Not that I remember. The landlord, occasionally.” He grimaced. “That would be to collect rent that was probably behind.” He scrubbed at his hair. “It’s a wonder I even got to grow up.”
Grady shook her head. “He talked to someone,” she said firmly. “He got the Bellish from someone. That’s who we have to identify from among the people he interacted with. He used Bellish for over seventy years, and he was smart, Nash. He managed to hide it for a very long time. But no one can keep a secret like that hidden for so long. He will have left trails we can identify only in hindsight. We just have to keep looking.”
The questions went on, gradually drawing from Nash a profile of his father that was more comprehensive and clear than he’d expected. He’d always considered Nason Wheelock to be a stranger to him, his motives mystifying and his personality unpredictable. Grady’s questions smoothed out those puzzling aspects, and tied them onto a structure that was logical.
Occasionally, Grady called a break, and would arrange for food, coffee and other refreshments, which they consumed at the table, in between questions.
And as the rest of the office was packing up to leave for the day, their movements and conversation oddly silent, Grady said, “I need to walk.” She looked at him. “Do you want to quit for today?”
Nash wove his fingers together. “No,” he said flatly. “I hate this and want it over sooner, not later. The more I dig up, the sooner we find who is making the Bellish. Despite how much it hurts, I’m staying right here until we’re done.” He hesitated. “Youdon’t want to go home, do you?”
Grady got to her feet. “I want this over, too,” she said simply, and broke the privacy shield. She picked up the pad she had not touched all afternoon. “Come with me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Grady took Nash down the wide main corridor to the nose of the ship, where function rooms and other facilities were clothed in dim light from only a few pilot lights, shadows thick between them. She turned through a wide set of doors into a cavernous room that echoed their footsteps.
“What is this place?” Nash asked. He couldn’t imagine what such a large room could be used for.
“The ballroom,” Grady said. “Although no one can remember the last time it was used for an actual ball. When the Skinwalkers first started up, they developed their suits and tested candidates for the work in here. The kitchen printers, over there, are out of the way of the Bridge Guards, who have access to the Captain’s suit kitchenette.” She glanced at him. “You’ve been stared at all day. I thought it might relax you, to be in an empty room for a while.”
How had she known that? His pace slowed as she moved ahead to the printers mounted in the wall by a long counter, the only furniture in the room.
Grady looked over her shoulder. “You’re a classic introvert, Nash. You didn’t know that? You cover it up well, but you like to drink alone, and you like to live alone. When you do have a lot of strangers around you, you blow up the volume of the music, so no one can talk to you easily. Then you have tiny, intimate conversations inside privacy cones.”
He got his feet moving again, and shook his head. He’d heard other people refer to him when they thought he wasn’t listening as “the dark one”. But Grady had not just read him easily, she had observed things about him he’d never noticed for himself.
Grady got the printer working, and pointed to the second one. “I’ve given you access to that one. Help yourself.”
He worked through the menus, which were not any more luxurious than the printers found in public locations in the Aventine. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find on the food menu of printers in the ballroom on the Bridge, but routine fare seemed too ordinary.
When his chili had finished printing, he scooped up the bowl and glanced around. “Is there somewhere to eat?” he asked Grady, who had a plate piled high with fruit and salad. “Or are we to stand at the counter?”
“Probably should, seeing as we’ve been sitting all day, but…” She moved out to the center of the dimly-lit room, folded her knees and sank down to the floor. She settled cross-legged and put her plate on the floor in front of her. She made the unorthodox posture look easy and elegant.
Nash moved over to where she sat, bent and put his bowl on the floor beside hers. He wasn’t going to attempt to sit while holding it. He didn’t have her grace.
He settled himself on floor, one knee bent, then lifted the bowl and ate.
The air in the room was cool around them and in the way of very large areas, it seemed to have currents in it. Far away, through the doors to the room, he could hear the sound of soft footsteps moving around the bridge, quick snatches of conversation and, from somewhere nearby, the clang of heavy gymnasium equipment, which was unmistakable.
It made the silence in this room seem deeper in comparison. The dimness felt protective. He realized that he was relaxing. Muscles he hadn’t realized were taut were unstringing themselves. This silence was different from being in a privacy cone. It wasn’t muffled, making everything inside it sound flat and enclosed.
“You aren’t opening your tavern tonight?’ Grady said, when most of his bowl was done, and half her plate was empty. She licked watermelon juice off her fingers.
“I never open my tavern. I have staff for that.”
