The door opened just as Brock finished blotching his lower lip with a tissue. “My word, he wasn’t lying when you said you were sisters,” Brock remarked, eyeing his new acquaintance. Annabel Echo clutched the edge of the doorframe. “Who wasn’t lying?” “Your father.” She made a face. “Blegh. Fuck off.” She went to close the door. Brock put a hand in stopping her. “I’m afraid I have some rather serious news.” “From Julian? He can drop dead.” “It’s about Madame Nightshade.” She hesitated. “What about her?” “It’s best I come inside. So I can properly explain.” Annabel looked him up and down. “It’s just you, isn’t it?” Brock showed her his open hands. “Come in then.” Brock stepped into the suite. At first there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary. He could smell some odd cooking odors, and there was a pot on the stove puffing out purple steam, but otherwise it the suite could be described as simple living. Brock stood in the centre of the living area, a couch to his right, television computers to his left.
