Page 93 of Moonlighter

After all that excitement,I sleep like the dead. When I open my eyes on Saturday morning, it’s bright in my room. Too bright.

I sit up fast. Well, as fast as a girl who has to use both arms to push her bulk off the mattress can.

The clock on my bedside table says 9:45.Holy hell. I haven’t woken this late since college. I must have slept through my weekend alarm. Which means I’ve missed whale yoga, which is a shame because the preggo class is only offered at nine a.m.

Damn. It.

After a trip to the bathroom, I put on a bathrobe and take stock of myself. I’ve been an early riser my whole life. Waking up at 9:45 feels like half the day is gone already. Also, I’m starving. So I guess it’s time for brunch.

In the kitchen, I pull an omelet pan out of a drawer, and then eggs out of the fridge. And also the feta cheese. I’m out of onions though, which is a bummer.

“Bingley,” I call, because my Butler keeps my shopping list current.

Or he’s supposed to. But right now he’s silent.

“Bingley. Hello?”

Silence.

What’s worse than technology failing you? Being failed by your own technology.

Leaving my brunch fixings behind, I walk over to the main unit. The power light is off. When I pick up the Butler unit, I realize why. Bingley is unplugged.

Okay, that’s weird. I would never do that. But maybe Duff or Pieter tripped on the cord while checking out my home last night. I plug the butler back in, and the light winks on.

I go back to my meal prep while counting under my breath. “One one thousand. Two one thousand.” I get to sixteen before Bingley speaks up. “Hullo, Alex! How can I help you on this fine evening… Whoops! Finemorning. I’m just buttoning my jacket. One more moment, please.”

“No problem, you slacker.” I wish the plug-in lag were shorter, and I make a mental note to ask the development team about it. “So you’re sleeping on the job, Bingley?”

“Apologies, my queen! I pray you have mercy on me. My power source was disconnected at 11:05 p.m. by an unknown person.”

Back at the counter I crack an egg into a bowl. Unfortunately, 11:05 can’t be right. I wasn’t home for more than an hour and a half after that.

So something in the software is buggy.Lovely.

“Bingley, when was the last time we interacted?”

“You spoke directly to me at 6:15 p.m. The last time I heard your voice was at 7:05 p.m.”

That sounds about right. “Play that back, please. The last two minutes.”

There’s a brief pause, and then I hear the audio of my own apartment just before Duff and I left for the hockey game. I hear the door open, and my own voice saying thank you as Duff holds it for me. And then the door closes again.

Okay, nothing weird there.

“Bingley. Now play the last two minutes before you were powered down.”

“Yes, my liege! Playback from 11:03 p.m.

At first, there’s just silence. And I hear a thump, and a bump. For some reason, I get goose bumps. I don’t hear the sound of the door, though. And I don’t hear voices.

Hmm.

I strain to hear anything more, my whisk poised above the eggs in the bowl so I don’t miss anything. Not that the three of us were very quiet when we returned last night.

And then another bump, followed by a man’s whisper. “I’m in.” Then? Nothing.

My heart begins to thud like a kick drum. Because there was astranger here in my apartment. Holy shit.