The Last Hot Time Read Online Free PDF Page A

Danny wandered into the bedroom, into carpet up to his ankles. There was custom cabinetry all around the walls, another desk, and an oversized four-poster bed in carved walnut. His great-grandmother had a bed like that. Her heirs had done everything short of spill blood over who would get it. The covers were turned back, and a white plush robe and a pair of gray pajamas were laid out on the spread.
    He picked up the pajamas. Silk. He decided he didn't want to put them on without a shower first.
    The bathroom was all glass and chrome and silver-veined black marble. The tub was marble, with taps like spaceship controls; the shower was completely separate, a cylinder of glass block with multiple heads to spray from all directions. Somehow the stone floor was warm.
    Washed and in the slippery gray silk, he slipped between the sheets. There was a console at the bedside that controlled every light in the apartment. A dial selected music channels: jazz, jazz, classical, swing, opera, jazz—wasn't this the city? Where was the rock? He got some electric folk and listened for a while. One song was about somebody named Matty Groves and somebody else's wife, another about a bandit on a mountain who got seriously screwed over by a girl.
    He snapped off the lights and lay there, stone awake.
    Lights on, robe on. A midnight snack—okay, a five AM snack— couldn't hurt. At the last moment he remembered to get the key out of his jeans and stuff it into a robe pocket.
    The heavy oak door made no sound at all. Danny looked up and down the hall. The elevator was to the right. So was Lisa's

    switchboard room. There must be stairs someplace, especially if the power went off and on. He turned left.
    The last door had a glass panel. He could see stairs beyond. He paused to look out the window at the end of the hall. It had bars outside, and steel shutters. He couldn't see very much—what looked like a hedge, maybe a moonlit garden. He went down the stairs.
    The hall here had less wood, more crystal and steel. There was an office, that must be a library. . . dining room, yes.
    There was a flutter of light just at the edge of his vision, and he turned, half-thinking of Cloudhunter's shotgun at his head.
    He saw a woman. She was wearing a black and gold kimono tied with a fringed silk sash. She looked up at Danny, and his heart crashed straight into his brain.
    She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, so much so that he had trouble actually seeing her—the eyes drew him to the lips, and then the chin, the ear, the throat, without a stop to register any of them fully. He tried to speak, but his tongue wouldn't engage and a blimp was docked in his throat.
    She smiled. He ached, he hurt, he thought he would drop to his knees. She walked away from him, down the hall. He didn't quite see her go; she was ]usx. gone, and a man's voice said, "Is there something I can get for you, Mr. Hallownight?"
    The man was a butler in a perfect gray uniform. Danny felt the sweat on his own palms, his gasping, his locked-and-loaded erection. "Was that—ff—Fay?"
    If the butler saw anything untoward about Danny, he gave no sign of it. "I didn't see, sir. Miss Phasia is retired for the night, but it could have been. Can I get you something?"
    "A sandwich . . . roast beef? And a glass of milk."
    "Certainly, sir. And might I suggest something to help you sleep?"
    "Yes."
    "I'll have it sent up at once, sir. You know you can telephone us at any time."
    Danny climbed the stairs slowly. When he got into the hall, a girl in a gray uniform was coming out of the room. She paused to hold the door open. "Good night, sir."

    "G'night."
    There was a tray on the bedside table with a rare roast beef on dark rye, pickles and chips, and a glass of milk with a brown sprinkle on top. Danny sniffed it: nutmeg, and doubtless something under it. Something to sleep on.
    Well, he had something, and he couldn't sleep on it unless he stayed flat on his back all night. He looked