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Page 102
the latest sour expression on his employer's face.
Bryan didn't look up from the crystal in the bowl. "I don't know."
Peering over Bryan's shoulder, Conrad saw that the crystal, which before had been as clear as ice, was a pale shade of pink, and as he looked on, it turned bright red.
"Why'd it do that?" the bodyguard asked.

"Kyna's up to something."
"Where is she?"
"Vancouver."
"She in trouble?"
Opening one of his musty books, Bryan began madly turning pages. He found the one he wanted and read, moving his finger and lips in unison.
"Shit! This is no help. Clear means she's okay. Black means she's dead. But what the fuck does red mean?"
Kyna sighed. "I wish I hadn't given up smoking."
"I'm . . . sorry I was so rough," Cyrus whispered in her ear.
She ran the pads of her fingers over the two deep, round indentations in her shoulder.
"Did I break the skin?" he asked.
"No. I'm okay."
She turned on her side, facing him, and draped her arm across his chest. "Tell me about the dream."
Cyrus listened to their hearts beating in syncopation. "I can't remember."
She twirled her fingers in the thick hair of his chest. "Can I tell you something?" When he nodded, she continued. "I liked it." She saw his expression and hurried on. "Don't get me wrong, I don't like being slapped around. I got enough of that when I was a kid. It's just . . . you were so . . . I don't know how to describe it. To make you crazy like that . . . It made me feel so sexy, so incredibly hot."
He ran his fingers through her hair and then gently pulled her head down on his chest. A few minutes later she was snoring.

 
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