Kitabı oku: «Angel Slayer», sayfa 3

Touch? It teased at his memory. Her hand against his chest, clinging as they rode through the city. There was that want again.

And yet the desire was accompanied by a twinge across his back. Flesh-stripping ghosts of violence. A violence so dark and rending it had brought him, the Stealer of Souls, to his knees.

Inspecting the gash above her eyebrow with a finger, Six winced. That was enough to distract Ashur from his fall into wicked memory.

“I can heal that for you,” he offered.

“Really?”

He approached her, holding out his hand in offering. Surprisingly lacking in concern, she nodded and he placed it above her eye, not touching the flesh. The intense wave of her body heat pulsed against his palm. Mortal warmth. Another experience he had forgotten. An experience he’d had tortured out of him. Now he used that connection and focused his own inner healing salve to emanate outward. Within moments the cut healed.

She smoothed a finger over her brow. “Wow. You actually did it. And when you took the blade from me, and it flew through the air … You have powers. What are you?”

As new as the world was to him, he did know to keep some things to his chest. “If it is important to label me, then you may call me angel slayer.”

She lifted a beautifully arched brow. Ashur turned toward the view again. He should not waste time admiring her beauty.

“A slayer. Of angels?” She exhaled, and her breath touched Ashur’s black heart. He suppressed a shiver. “That’s sort of sad.”

He tilted a curious look to her. No, her breath hadn’t touched his heart. That organ was hard and black and impervious to everything.

“I mean, well, first reaction is it’s sad,” she said, unaware of his struggles. “But like I said, I know about angels. They’re not all fluffy and full of grace. The fallen ones are downright evil. I suppose someone has to take care of the bad ones.”

“The Fallen are lacking in grace and compassion. It’s dangerous to have a soulless angel walking the earth,” he said. “They have little concern for their actions, and are focused only on finding their muse. I am surprised you say you wish to speak to one.”

“That might have been my excitement talking. He really wants to find me? What for?”

“Now that the Fallen one has been conjured, it resumes its original intention upon falling. I am not familiar with how many millennia have passed since the original fall. Then, two hundred angels fell to earth to mate with human females.”

“I’m familiar with that story.”

“It seeks its muse.”

“That’s the part I’m not familiar with.”

“Once the Fallen finds his muse, he will mate with her in hopes of creating a nephilim. They are carnivorous, blood-hungry giants. It’s the beginning to a plague of dark divinity. You, Six, are to give birth to the end of the world as you know it.”

“Is that all?” She forced a chuckle, but he sensed it was just that: a constructed means to temper the shock. He was quickly learning her emotions. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d spent so much time with her already, or if he were taking on the world’s feelings.

“Have an angel’s baby?” Six’s eyelids fluttered. “I, uh, I think I need to sit down.”

Halfway to the plush, cushioned chair placed before a marble hearth, she wobbled. Ashur crossed the room and caught her as she fainted.

Standing with her fey weight draping his arms, he again felt the tap at his black heart. It was more than a squeeze. This time it felt as though the hardened muscle actually pulsed.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Had to be the souls trapped within his heart. On occasion they made their presence known to him.

He should ditch the muse and seek the Fallen one. Thing was, keeping her close to him was the best way to lure Zaqiel to him. But no Fallen would approach a Sinistari willingly.

How to bait this trap?

Chapter 4

Eden came to with a start. She sat up on a delicately crocheted bedspread. Her bed. The iron lamp curved to resemble a lotus flower on the nightstand glowed over her stack of artist’s color charts. “How’d I get here? Who—?”

Reality rushed upon her like a tsunami wave and she toppled against the pillow, but this time she didn’t faint—because a man stood in her bedroom doorway. Tall, dark and confused, he was the most appealing thing she’d seen in months.

“You fainted,” he offered.

“No kidding? Whew!” Eden sat up and smoothed down her shirt. “It’s been a day, hasn’t it? “ She glanced toward the floor-to-ceiling window, which looked out over Central Park. It was dark, yet the city’s innate glow beamed upward. The clock verified it was almost eleven. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That was kind of you. After what I’ve been through—”

“It gave me time to walk the layout of your home.”

“Oh. So it wasn’t concern. You needed to case the joint. Find anything you want?”

“I have no intent to steal from you, my lady. Though I did find this in a kitchen drawer.” He waved a small stack of one-hundred-dollar bills before him. “I may need some cash while I’m here on earth. Mind if I take it?”

“You just said you don’t steal.”

“I’m asking. Thieves do not ask.”

“Yes, whatever. Take it if you need it. It’s the petty cash I leave for my maid, Rosalie, to pick up things. I’ll replenish it tomorrow.”

Eden reached to scratch her forearm and Ashur dove onto the bed, grabbing her hand and trapping it against his chest. His body so close to hers had her heartbeat tripping. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more frightened by a stranger’s presence—and more intrigued.

Looking away, he released her arm and slid off the bed. “Don’t scratch,” he said. “Not until I give you the go-ahead. Forgive me, my impropriety overwhelms the need for your protection.”

“I understand.” Actually she didn’t understand a thing. Exhaustion had tapped her neurons to the core.

Shoving her forearm between her thighs didn’t quell the need to scratch. “I think I’ll take a shower. I feel like crap after today’s adventure. Maybe the water will relieve the itch. Is that okay? You’re not going to stand guard outside the bathroom, are you?”

“I dare not. I will wait for you out in the main quarters.”

“That would be the living room.”

“Appropriately named. Please come find me when you feel ready. We have much to discuss.”

Soon as the door closed, Eden stripped off her blouse and skirt and made a beeline for the bathroom. The glass-walled shower was her favorite place to escape the real world. Sound was muffled in here and the only sensation was the pressure of water upon her skin.

She always headed straight to the shower after a day spent at a charity event or amongst a crowd. Most people thought she had it all being rich. She wouldn’t knock it, but having it all did not imply material wealth to her. All was something ineffable that could only fit into her heart.

The hot water rinsed away the dirt and shivers but it didn’t chase away the subtle tingling where the angel had licked her.

“An angelkiss,” Eden muttered as she dried herself off with a thick terry-cloth towel, being careful to avoid the mark. “And he’s after me because he wants to get busy with me? I don’t want to have sex with a bad angel and become the mother of the apocalypse.”

Resting her palms on the marble vanity, she took a couple of deep yoga breaths to settle her growing tension. Water from her hair dripped down her arms and puddled on the floor. Her reflection echoed how tired she was. Rarely did she get shadows under her eyes like tonight.

But it was more than that.

If Ashur had told her the truth, she was in deep trouble. How did she dare escape an angel? Zaqiel possessed supernatural abilities, as she’d already seen. She was no match. And her only choice was to trust the man who called himself an angel slayer. What was that exactly? Was he human?

Had she garnered her own personal guardian angel?

“I hope so.” Because she didn’t want the white-haired guy getting close enough to lick her again. And if he had his way, he’d get close enough to have sex with her.

It had been over a year since she’d shared her body with a man. That had ended disastrously. And yet she had been able to put that event on a shelf only recently, and had begun dating again. Dating, but still no sex. Not that she didn’t want it.

But what she craved now was something entirely different than she was accustomed to dating.

Like a sexy, rock-hard-abs guardian angel.

He was the opposite of everything she’d ever found sexy in a man. Pure muscle and might. Commanding. And a bit arrogant, too. And she wanted it all.

Damn.

Dressing in black silk pajama bottoms and top, Eden wanted to crawl between the sheets and lose herself in her dreams, but she didn’t think Ashur had left. She slipped on her marabou slippers and clicked out to the living room.

He sat on the couch, back straight and body tight as if he didn’t dare relax. A potted aloe vera plant sat on his lap. She almost laughed, until he sprang up and his eagerness startled her.

“Aloe Barbadensis,” he said, thrusting the pot toward her. “It is an ancient plant for healing. I marvel you have such. It is good the plant has survived the ages. You can put it on the angelkiss.”

The plant was used to relieve itching and rashes, but Eden had never had the need to try it. Todd had given it to her. Despite the lush acreage of plants she kept in the apartment she had furnished in the Art Nouveau style, he’d decided she needed something more functional, and with spines. Todd was always trying to get her to reveal her inner vixen. He’d certainly growl over Ashur.

“Try it,” Ashur prompted. He broke off the tip of a thick leaf, and set down the pot. Squeezing the cool liquid from inside the plant, he stroked it across her flesh and spoke quietly. “The women wear trousers now.”

“Pants, yes.” He’d said he was new to this world.

“I intend to learn all tonight. While you sleep I will walk the world and assimilate its speech, customs and ways.”

“The whole world? You’d better have some com fort able shoes.”

He tilted his head, wondering at her.

“A joke.”

“That word is not in my knowledge.”

“You’ll understand after you’ve assimilated, I’m sure.” She inspected the glob of clear aloe on her arm. It did quell the desire to scratch.

“So I really do need to sleep. I thought I was exhausted after worrying about the gallery showing for a week, but being chased by an angel tops that. Will I be okay all alone? If the angel found me earlier, why can’t he find me now?”

“You haven’t scratched the angelkiss?”

“No.”

“Then you should be safe. The beacon is only activated with irritation. When you scratch you send out a signal only the Fallen can track.”

“Like pheromones?”

“I do not know that word, either.”

She nodded. “It’s an attraction thing innate in all of us.” And, man, was she feeling it right now.

“Attraction. Like lust?”

“Exactly.” The corner of his mouth curled. Eden had to consciously warn herself against touching the crease. Damn, they were making rescuing knights attractive these days. “So, you don’t know things? I suppose not, if you’ve been out of touch for so long.”

“I knew things, and then that knowledge was taken from me through time and—It is not important. Perhaps you should wrap a bandage about your forearm to keep it from brushing against the bed linens. Would you like me to stay and watch over you while you sleep?”

“No, uh … no. I’m a big girl.” A handsome man leaning over her while she slept? Talk about a fantasy! “No, that’s not a good idea. I don’t know you. You staying the night would be major awkward.”

He shrugged. Obviously he didn’t know. “I will return in the morning. Sleep well, Six.”

He strode toward the front door, leaving Eden wishing she could call him back, but not daring to speak the words.

Big girls didn’t invite strange men to watch over them while they slept. They could invite them to snuggle, though. But Eden suspected her knight wasn’t the snuggly sort. And she wasn’t in the right mindset to make decisions regarding sex right now.

Or maybe, just maybe, she was in the best frame of mind she’d been in for years.

Angels?

Finally.

The night moved swiftly through his brain, the world even faster. Ashur walked in a hurried pace innate to the Sinistari—they termed it flashing—from New York to California and then on to Japan, Russia, France, Africa and all the countries in between.

He listened to voices speaking, observed the customs, tasted the food, watched the transportation and analyzed the education. Knowledge permeated the costume of mortal flesh he wore and insinuated into his steel marrow.

The palette of sin the world offered had grown immeasurably since his last stay on earth.

In Las Vegas Ashur learned the pleasures of gambling. He stole a fine pair of sunglasses out of an Aston Martin in Madrid then took the car for a joyride. He inhaled opium in a dark, musty cave in Andalusia with the locals, and learned to fire an AK-47 at a wall of broken bottles outside a Palestinian army base.

Fast food in Berlin awakened his palate to the strangely tasty idea of processed food. Gluttony led him to a Chipotle restaurant three times during the night, each time in a different state. Man, did he love tacos.

He followed a diamond thief in Milan and snatched the prize for himself, then scattered the five-carat stones in the Atlantic Ocean as he crossed to Iceland.

He was Sinistari. Sin ran through his black blood.

He held the world within him now. He knew all.

By all that was sacrilege in the dark sea Beneath, the world had changed vastly. And that parts of it frightened even him was not a good feeling. The weapons were fascinating, but he could not condone putting them in the hands of children. And lust was always entertaining, but it became a sickness when viewed obsessively on the computer.

Among the evil though, yet walked goodness and integrity. Ashur was no creature of prayer, but a wish for world sanity came to his lips before he could question the unnatural concern.

He’d also gained the ability to form emotion. It wasn’t necessarily a boon to his mission, but it was unavoidable as he imbued his being with the human experience.

Ashur now saw some things in color instead of the bland grays he’d been experiencing. Not all of it, mostly the food (which he devoured) and the women’s clothing (which he desired; the women, not the clothing) and the material objects that fascinated him, such as sports cars and yachts and those fancy little iPods.

Music! How it had changed over the centuries. It was now a literal world compacted into each song. He enjoyed it all but especially the orchestral pieces and the stuff called heavy metal. Though how the little device worked puzzled him. He hadn’t the time to take one apart, but soon.

He’d acquired a pair of worn black jeans from a street seller in Paris because he liked the snug, comfortable fit. A woven long-sleeved shirt appealed to his burgeoning need for touch and to experience all the sensations of texture, weight and temperature against his skin. He retained the biker boots and black leather jacket.

Back at Six’s building, he approached her door and slid his palm over the carved wood surface. He recognized the artistic style of the carvings now: Art Nouveau. It had flourished at the end of the nineteenth century, as had absinthe, can-can and opium. Six’s entire apartment was decorated in the style. He admired craftsmanship.

Prepared to knock, he noticed the door was open a crack. He had learned mortals in the twenty-first century did not leave their doors open or unlocked. Something must be wrong.

He pushed the door inside and entered stealthily, pressing a shoulder to the wall as he scanned down the hallway. He didn’t sense Six, but something inside had a pulse.

Could Zaqiel be here? Angels and demons had no pulse, but Ashur could sense the Fallen’s presence in the vibrations that shuddered his rib cage when close to an angel, yes, even one fallen from His grace.

“Let him be here,” he muttered lowly. “Attempting his muse.”

Reaching behind his hip, he unclasped the leather sheath and drew out Dethnyht.

Chapter 5

Slinking along the hallway wall, Ashur quickened his pace toward the bedroom.

Dethnyht was the only dagger capable of piercing an angel’s impermeable flesh. He would never brandish it against a mortal—too cataclysmic. The mere strength he wielded with his bare hands could overwhelm any human.

Kicking the bedroom door open, Ashur sprang inside, Dethnyht raised to strike.

A woman screamed and dropped a stack of bed linens from her arms. She pleaded with him in Spanish not to hurt her. She had a family. Dogs. Three children under the age of ten.

Quickly assessing her attire, Ashur decided she was the chambermaid.

He sheathed Dethnyht. “Is Six home? Er, the lady of the house?” She didn’t understand English, so he switched to Spanish, a language he had assimilated only hours earlier.

The maid clapped a palm over her rapidly rising and falling chest and nodded, explaining her mistress was at Starbucks.

“Starbucks?” He searched his newly gained knowl edge. “Coffee?”

“Yes, she will return soon,” she said. Then her tone changed remarkably, shedding the fear and taking on a curious edge. “You are her lover?”

“Does she have many?” he asked before he realized curiosity was not his mien. And yet, he waited for the answer with something he associated with anticipation.

The maid shrugged. “Not my business. You are the biggest, though.” Admiration beamed in her brown eyes. “Scared me. You must work out. You go out to the kitchen to wait. I need to finish this room.”

“Yes, the kitchen.” He was hungry again.

He closed the door behind him. No angel on the premises. Damn. He’d been itching to kill something.

Just as well. He’d not seen Six yet. And why all of a sudden did that matter? Did he want to spend time with her before slaughtering the Fallen and then dashing off to the next kill?

Ashur scuffed a palm over his short hair, which hadn’t seen a comb, and hallelujah for that. Drawing his fingers down his face, he shook his head. Gotta get his act together, as they said nowadays. Learning the world had put so many new things into his brain. He had to set his priorities straight.

Priority one: Lure Zaqiel to the muse.

Priority two: Kill the Fallen.

Priority three … There was no need for further tasks. As soon as Zaqiel was dispatched, Ashur would await further command.

Six stepped inside the front door and Ashur bounded up to meet her. He gripped her wrist and slammed her against the wall.

“Whoa, dude! I have hot coffee in my other hand.”

“I did not give you permission to leave.”

“I don’t need permission. I’m a big girl. Let me go.”

He followed her into the kitchen and pressed his palms onto the granite countertop. The cool stone beneath his flesh managed to chill his annoyance. And so did the white gadget near the sink, which he picked up to study.

She took out two paper cups from the bag. “You purchased coffee for me?” he asked her. “Why would you do that?”

“I knew you’d be back this morning, and it is the nice thing to do, isn’t it? Sharing.”

“Taking is much easier.”

She flashed him a death stare. “You’re not big on simple kindnesses are you, Mr. Slam-Them-Around?”

“I have little concern for niceties.” One twist and the gadget broke in two pieces.

“No kidding,” she said, taking the pieces from him with a curt tug. “I never could figure why Rosalie needed two garlic presses. But this one was her favorite.” She handed him the coffee but he refused.

“I don’t favor those commercially manufactured brews.”

“Seriously? You’re gone one night and all of a sudden you’ve become a connoisseur?”

“Apparently so.”

“I see.” She sipped the hot brew, and Ashur decided he did not like the smell of it. He preferred the freshly ground coffee beans from Peru he’d experienced while walking the world. “You look different. More … modern. Did you get a haircut?”

“No, but I did get it wet in the Peruvian rain forest, then the deserts of Egypt dried it out.”

“I like it. Spiky and tousled. Nice shades, too.”

He took the Ray-Bans from the top of his head and set them on the counter. “I acquired fine things while I was out.”

“Goody for you.”

“Do you not appreciate them? You are rich. Are not fine things your mien?”

She smirked, but no mirth traced the curves of her lips. “Material things are stupid. They mean nothing. That’s why I can toss a three-hundred-dollar garlic press without a blink. But if it makes you feel good …” She sighed. “I have some things to do this morning. I want to prepare another piece for the gallery this afternoon. I’m doing a show over in Chelsea. It’s my debut.”

“You are an artist?”

“Yep, been at it for over ten years. But Todd set me up with this killer computer system a few years ago, and my whole style changed. Oh man, I have to show you. Then you’ll understand why I was so excited about seeing the angel last night.”

The phone rang. Six put up her palm to signal him to wait. “Hi, Emily.”

Ashur studied the small screw mechanism on the sunglasses frames as he folded it back and forth, back and forth. So small, it fascinated him.

“What?” Six said into the phone. “All of them? You’re not—Seriously? That is so freaking cool. Yes, give me the phone number, I’ll be happy to call him.” She scribbled a few numbers and a name on a yellow Post-it note.

The sunglass arm broke off in Ashur’s grip. He glanced at Six and when she turned to see what he was doing, he shoved the broken glasses aside next to the garlic press.

“Thanks, Emily. I don’t have any replacements. You can do that? Take orders? Cool. I’ll see if I can print up some examples and have them delivered later this afternoon.”

She hung up, her face aglow. “That was the gallery owner. Someone bought all my paintings after I left the gallery last night.” She tucked the phone number in her purse.

“You must be very talented.”

“And you must be very curious.” She tapped the broken glasses.

He shrugged. “I like to see how things work.”

“Yes, well, just leave all major appliances alone, will you? And don’t lay a hand on my computer, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Computers are remark able.”

“Oh, I was going to show you. Come on. I will now reveal the deep, dark secrets of my insane little mind to you. I’ve been waiting so long for someone who understands.”

Attracted to her infectious enthusiasm, Ashur followed Six down a hallway. The silk pants she wore clung to her hips and flared out at the feet to reveal pointed-toe shoes with super-high heels. They made her legs look long enough to wrap around him twice. The feel of the fabric might push him over some precipice on which he was beginning to balance. He’d remembered lust last night, yet hadn’t time to indulge it, thinking it wise to hold off until the task of slaying Zaqiel was completed. But how could he when the muse wore a clingy top, and the faint line of her brassiere strap teased him to slip it down her arm?

“Ashur?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you liked art. Are you okay? You seem distracted.” She stopped at a door and paused to sip her coffee. “Were you looking at my ass just now?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “Yes.”

Her smile was wicked.

Ashur fixated on her mouth, those thick lips softened with some sort of clear polish. Her teeth were so white as to sparkle. And straight. He’d never seen that before. Nowadays, he knew, it was all an illusion. Mortals spent millions on altering their appearances in an attempt to look more attractive.

Thing is, one man’s attractive may be another man’s ugly. Everything about Six fell into the attractive category.

“Are you all natural? “ he asked.

She quirked a gracefully arched brow. “You mean organic? I recycle along with the rest of them, but I will never give up my Starbucks habit.”

“No, I mean, you, your body and face. You have not altered your appearance?”

“You mean like cosmetic surgery?”

“Yes, I learned about that last night.”

“Do you think I’ve altered myself?”

He sensed an underlying challenge—which he would never refuse. “Perhaps. Your teeth are too white.”

“I’ve had them whitened.”

“And your lips are so lush.”

“They’re all mine. Everything on this body is as is, the way God intended, except my teeth.”

“Yes, you’re like an earth mother meets sex kitten, all curves and lushness.”

She bowed her head and glanced aside. He’d made her blush, which only increased her sensual appeal.

“What about you, big boy? If you’re not human, is that the way you usually look? Like a human man? A man with incredible muscles and a killer smile?”

“These muscles are lesser than my normal appearance. And yes, this is a costume.”

“Did you steal it from some real mortal man?”

“No. For all that I enjoy the sins of the flesh, and the world, I do not harm mortals. This costume is as I would appear should I have been created mortal. You do not like it?”

“Like it? I love it. Bet it’s hard as steel and. well …” She sighed. “You said you enjoy sin?”

“Devour it. Need it, actually.”

“Oh?”

“It is what makes me tick, as they say.”

“That’s weird.”

“Your opinion means little to me.”

“I realize that. Yet my appearance interests you to no end.”

“I could look all day. What about there? Are they real?” Ashur pointed to her chest and she looked down and stroked between her breasts where he imagined it would be soft.

“My breasts are real,” she said.

“Nice. And soft?”

A lift of her brow tweaked Ashur’s smile. “My God, you don’t have much of a moral compass, do you?”

“It isn’t necessary to my survival.”

She tilted her head. Soft dark curls as tight as a spring bounced over her shoulders and down to her elbows. He wanted to crush them between his fingers. “Soft? You want to touch and see?”

She was right on about his lacking moral compass.

Tracing his finger down from the base of her throat, Ashur closed his eyes as the softness of female skin tendered at his expectations. All things in his life were hard, impermeable, adamant. Yet beneath his skin glided something like fine silk. He remembered silk, slipping beneath his touch, waving in the breeze, gliding over his mouth …

“I think that’s enough.”

Six’s voice brought him up from the dive into lust. Ashur retracted from the one place he should not go until Zaqiel was dispatched. “Very soft.”

“Thanks. I didn’t expect you’d be so … well, forward.”

“You did invite the touch.”

“Yes, I did. Something about you. Anyway!”

Dismissing the intimate interlude, Six opened the door and strode into a vast room done in white marble. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced the far side of the blindingly white room.

“This is my workroom,” she explained, setting the coffee on a clear Lucite desk and pushing a button on the Macintosh computer.

“It’s different from the rest of the place,” he said. “It’s as if another person’s living in here.”

“Kind of. My artistic self is opposite from my chumming-around-with-friends self. I don’t want any distractions when I’m painting so I made it as neutral in here as possible. No music, either.”

He tilted his head, wondering.

“It’s an artist thing. Sort of like you explained the angels hearing in colors is an angel thing.”

“So what is all this stuff? I don’t see any canvas or paints.”

“CG painting is my method of choice to create. I use a spatial operating environment.”

He only understood half of what she’d said. But he wasn’t about to let on to that fact. He touched the smooth white exterior of the computer.

“Don’t touch,” she admonished sweetly. “No taking apart my computer, big boy.”

Ashur offered her a surrendering shrug, then strolled about the room, thumbs shoved in his front pockets, taking it all in.

A huge plasma screen flickered awake on one wall and he approached it, waiting to see what would appear.

Behind him, Six sat before the desk clicking away at the keyboard. Twisting at the waist, his eyes lingered where he had touched her between the curves of her breasts. Softness bound up and waiting release, or a dash of his tongue. If only the angelkiss had been placed there, and he would have had to lick it to grant her temporary relief.

Nice. Thinking about the carnal pleasures was almost as good as doing them. And when his erection tightened against his pants, he grinned. The old demon still had it. Some things were never forgotten, no matter how much torture.

Six typed rapidly. The sleeve bulged on her forearm. “Did you bandage the angelkiss?” he asked.

“I put some aloe on it again this morning, and tied a scarf around it. Seems to do the trick. You ever hear of CG art?”

“Sure.”

“You like it?”

He spread out his arms and swaggered toward her. “Doesn’t everyone?”

She sighed. “You have no idea what it is.”

He approached the desk and caught his palms on the edge. “Very well, what is CG?”

“You didn’t assimilate that last night?”

“I feel it somewhere in my knowledge, but it’s difficult to understand. It is to do with technology and much as I hate to admit it, that is beyond my comprehension.”

“It’s beyond every normal person’s comprehension, believe me.”

Yes, but he wasn’t normal. And how easy would it be to take this computer apart? It appeared to have a removable back—