“Just gonna get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you probably need it,” he said, sounding satisfied. The door closed.
“No, that’s not creepy at all,” Billy said sourly.
I sighed and pulled the pillow into a more comfy position. “It’s just the way they are.”
“And I don’t like the way they are.”
It wasn’t surprising. Billy had never liked any of the guys in my life, not that there had been many. It wasn’t jealousy so much—not the physical type, anyway—but more of a natural distrust. I guess getting drowned like a sack of kittens would do that to a person.
“You don’t like anybody.”
“Not when they look at you like he does,” he said sharply.
“Like what?”
“Like the way hardened gamblers on the riverboats used to look at young rich guys. Like here comes dinner.” He glanced at me. “I don’t want you to be dinner.”
“I won’t.”
“For anybody,” he added. “He’s no worse than the rest of them; they all want a piece of you.”
“That’s how the game is played.”
“Yeah, well the game sucks.” He wiped a hand across his own game and it dissipated like mist, leaving only a lightly glowing cloud above the bed. It made the room darker, but not cozier. Someone must have fixed the window, because the air conditioner was running like it was trying to make up for lost time.
I pulled up th
e comforter.
“What is wrong with you tonight?” I asked. Billy could bitch with the best of them, but usually he had a better reason than my missing curfew.
“It’s . . . I don’t know,” he said, turning to face me. The scruffy features under the Stetson were unusually sober. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. But lately . . . it feels like there’re ants running over my skin, all the time.”
I didn’t say anything, but I had to consciously refrain from smoothing my hands down my own arms. Because I’d had the same feeling for days. Not localized on anyone or anything; just a general impression that something wasn’t right. And that had been before somebody tried to kill me.
It was one reason it had been so damn hard to leave that warm hotel room this morning. Last night really had felt like a moment out of time. For once, no one had been after me, no one had wanted to hurt me, no one had even known who the hell I was. It had been really nice.
But I couldn’t hide in the past forever. And now that I was back in my time, that antsy feeling was setting my skin to crawling again. It was less than reassuring to know that Billy felt it, too.
How bad did things have to be before the ghosts started freaking out?
“I thought after that son of a bitch Apollo died, things were gonna calm down,” he said fretfully. “But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like it used to, when Tony’s bastards got too close. If we were still back in Atlanta, I’d be bugging you to start packing.”
“And if we were still back in Atlanta, I’d probably be doing it,” I said honestly. “But I don’t think running is going to help now.”
He waved a hand. “I’m not talking about running. Plenty of people ran; he always caught them. You got away because you’re . . . I don’t know. Not smart, exactly—”
“Thanks.”
“—but clever, resourceful, stubborn—and freaking lucky.” He saw my expression. “What?”
“It’s just . . . someone else said that to me recently.” Well, minus the stupid part.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing.” Except that I didn’t want to have to be resourceful. I didn’t want to need to be lucky. I wanted to sleep late. I wanted to get up and putter around the suite. I wanted to go light a fire under Augustine before I ended up going to the damn coronation naked.