mind had gone blank. Then her eyes widened, and she opened the door further. “Please, Mr. Banyon, come in,” she said formally, gesturing to him to move past her. “I’d like to talk to you about that, and see how you’re settling in here.”
He took the invitation, and she shut the door behind him. Her hallway was the mirror image of his, and so was the living room, though the apartment looked as if it had a dining room as well, and probably three bedrooms instead of one. By New York City standards, it was palatial, and any place else it would cost a fortune to get this much space. Most of the people Eric had known from student days here lived in about two hundred square feet of room, and considered themselves lucky if they didn’t have to share it with a roommate. Her living room was pleasantly furnished in the usual mishmash of furniture that most people who didn’t buy “suites” out of department stores owned. Her color scheme was a mix of golden yellows and browns, and she had a couple of bright rugs on the polished wooden floors. He wondered soberly just what Ms. Hernandez did to earn this place. If the House rewards these Guardians commensurately with risk—yikes! Guarding a city the size of New York? He wasn’t certain he’d have what it took. I wouldn’t want to get her mad at me!
“The kids’re out at a movie, so we’ll have some privacy. I’ll put on the kettle and make us up a nice pot of peppermint tea. I don’t do coffee in the morning any more. Makes me jittery. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not a bit,” Eric said, following her into the apartment with a smile. He’d met Toni’s two boys—Raoul and Paquito—briefly when he’d signed the lease. They were eight and ten, and seemed—from Eric’s limited experience with that age group—to be perfectly normal kids, if a bit more polite than the aver­age run.
She gestured, and Eric seated himself at the table tucked into one corner of the kitchen. Evidence of Toni’s boys was