by D K Girl
She gave him directions to Melgrove, but had no intention of reaching the place. There were a couple of smaller, even lamer towns before it that would do nicely. Fifteen minutes later she got the driver to pull over in a place called Shallow River, made all the more amusing by the utterly dry riverbed circling the town. Then into another taxi and heading south, where she repeated the exercise once more. Blake wasn’t the only one who’d watched a Bond movie or two. Good luck to anyone trying to trace them.
She hit pay dirt in a town called Eaglemont, where she homed in on a taxi driver who sported a thick silver wedding ring and a pair of eyes that kept dropping to her chest. Her waist. Anywhere but her eyes. This would do nicely. She shoved Az into the back seat and went up front with the driver.
‘Beleiro, thanks.’ Kira settled into her seat, arching her back with a slow languid sigh. ‘It’s been a long day.’ She swept her hands over her chest and down to the waist of her pants. Roving Eyes followed every move. Lips lifting in a not-unattractive smile. Kira smiled back, letting her eyes dip to his crotch ever so briefly. A chew on her bottom lip, a coy tilt of her head.
‘Are you a dancer?’ he asked.
He needed a shave, but if this had to go further, Kira would manage. The guy had some impressive bulges. Pecs trying to bust his shirt sleeves. Too much product in his wavy brown hair, one too many chains around his neck. This guy wanted a whole lot more than driving a cab in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. She’d met his doppelgänger more than a few times.
She giggled. It had been a long time between these sorts of giggles, but the best way to stay invisible was to fuck around with a married man. Guilt was a great gag. ‘No. I’m an entertainer, though.’
‘Got it. Used to do a bit of entertaining myself, back in the day. Your boyfriend?’ He jerked his head towards Az.
Kira shook her head in a slow back-and-forth. ‘Just a friend. He doesn’t like what I’ve got.’
Queue more smiles, another dose of giggles, inane chatting while fucking the guy with her eyes. Twenty minutes later, they hit the outskirts of Beleiro. The casino town was still half-asleep at this hour. Traffic minimal. The cabbie’s hand rested on her thigh; her legs parted just enough to let his fingers slide a little lower.
‘Turn off up here, on the right.’ Kira laid her hand over his. ‘I’m working in there.’ She nodded towards the pyramid-shaped building they were passing. Shit of a place. Beds like planks. Definitely not where they would be staying, but Roving Eyes didn’t need to know that. ‘Az, get out of the car. Just need to pay our lovely driver here. I’ll be five minutes.’
It took two. The guy’s fuse was on the short side, and the dynamite was loaded and ready to go. Fare paid, Kira jumped out of the cab, wiping her hand against her pant leg. The car pulled away, and the driver didn’t look back – too busy cleaning his ring – leaving them in an alleyway that stank of piss.
‘And that is the holy trinity right there, my friend. Prostitution, adultery, and tax evasion. That dick just made us totally invisible.’ Kira raised her clenched fist. ‘Fist bump. Hit me.’
Az stared at her. Arms by his side.
‘Rather I washed my hands first? Don’t blame you.’ Kira gave him a wry smile and slung the duffel bag over her shoulder. ‘Come on, we’re –’
‘Hit me,’ Az said. Coughed, really.
‘Jesus. You talk now? Do it again.’
But Az seemed to have spooked himself. He touched his fingers to the soft skin around his pink lips. Sucking at the air, then pressing his mouth closed, too tight, as if he were trying to push out a giant fart. Open again. Closed again.
‘Okay, don’t do that,’ Kira said. ‘Not a good look.’
‘Good look,’ Azrael said. His fingers dropped to his throat, as though the sound startled him. It wasn’t an especially notable sound: not too deep, not too high. Just a male voice.
‘Okay, so you can mimic,’ she said. ‘Awesome. I’m on the run with a parrot.’
‘Parrot,’ Azrael said. He might have been smiling, or it was gas again. Hard to tell.
‘Hilarious.’ Kira raised her metal arm, hidden in its faux skin, aiming to give him a playful thump on the shoulder. He flinched. Hard.
‘My bad.’ Kira lowered her arm. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. Look, see it doesn’t hurt.’
She punched her thigh, punching too hard in her enthusiasm to show how nonthreatening she was. It hurt like hell.
‘Whatever, let’s just get inside. I’m sweating like a fucking pig.’
The sun was well and truly up, the sky a stunning turquoise blue, completely clear. They headed away from the pyramid building, walking two blocks before she chose the Aldrovandi. Gaudy faux Italian Renaissance architecture, gardens manicured to within an inch of their lives. She’d been to Beleiro a couple of times but never stayed there.
‘Now, you need to keep quiet, okay? You’re a very hot parrot, but Parrot needs to be super quiet for now.’
She glanced at the tranq bracelet. It was down as low as the bloody thing would allow without flashing its brains out at her, but maybe it should be up a little. Dope him out. Just for the foray to their room. Kira eased the level up a couple of notches.
‘Sorry, dude. This won’t be for long.’
When Az had been staring at a ripped poster on a lamppost for several minutes, Kira took him by the elbow and guided him up the sweeping circular drive of the Aldrovandi.
They got all the way through the enormous gilded front doors, across the ridiculously spacious, might-be-real-marble foyer, and up to the reception desk. No real issues, save for a few looks. Azrael didn’t say a word, wide-eyed at the world around him like a kid in a candy store.
Deluxe suite booked for two nights. If on the run, do it in style. Handing over cash here was no big deal, and the girl at the reception desk barely looked at Kira’s ID, the one that said she was a blonde Clara Oswald and thirty-two years old. Mildly insulting that the woman didn’t challenge the age. If she pulled her eyes away from Azrael for one second, the check-in chick would totally realise Kira was so much younger. The brunette with the rosy cheeks giggled way too much, and either her lips needed some lip balm, or the lip-licking was an attempt to be seductive. Poor bitch. What a waste of time. Az blinked at her, did a few little fish pouts with his lips. Fuck’s sake, that move had to go.
‘We’re going to need a champagne breakfast as soon as you can deliver it,’ Kira said.
‘Certainly. I’ll arrange that now. Here are your key cards.’ The woman handed them to Azrael. He stared at them.
‘Thanks.’ Kira grabbed the cards. ‘How quick can you get the champagne breakfast up there?’
‘I’ll have it sent right away, madam.’ She gave Kira a nod, but her eyes snaked back to Azrael.
‘Great. Less eggs more champagne, thanks.’
The woman gave her another absent nod. Kira declined an offer to have luggage taken to their room, then herded Az into a half-full elevator, shuffling past a young family with a toddler who wasn’t going to give up trying to press all the buttons. The only other occupants were a couple who Kira was pretty sure hadn’t been to bed yet. Judging by the way the guys kept touching each other, there was no sleep on the horizon, either. It was only when Kira saw one of them, a portly suited gentleman with stunningly white teeth, giving Azrael a bemused look that she realised what Az was doing. Nothing. He stood facing the back of the elevator, inches away from the mirrored wall. Kira gave the portly guy a smile she hoped said, He’s wasted, and then tried to get Az to turn around. Which was not going to happen. He was giving the mirror a stare that could bore holes in it.
Kira gave up. Weird shit happened in this town; a narcissist wouldn’t cause a raised eyebrow. The elevator doors closed, cringe-worthy music started, and up they went.
‘Can you press level twenty-five, please?’ she said.
‘Oh, nice floor.’ The portly man’s partner – also suited but more bookish, less Wall Street – gave her a wink an
d tapped the twenty-five. ‘We were up there last year for our honeymoon. I’m not worth it this year, apparently.’
The portly man gave him an indulgent smile and a light tap on the backside, then nodded to Azrael.
‘Is he okay?’
‘Oh yeah,’ Kira said. ‘Fine. Jetlag and a couple of early gins. You know how it is.’
The guys laughed that too-hard way people do when they are drunk. Kira tried again to shift Azrael, but he was boulder heavy. He leaned in closer to the mirror and pressed his fingers against his reflection. The guy didn’t know what a napkin was for, no surprise his reflection had him stumped, but it was going to be awkward if they got to their level and he wouldn’t leave the elevator. At least he wasn’t parroting everyone. The elevator stopped, and the young family got out. The little girl waved to everyone as her father tried to pull her out of the elevator.
‘Goodbye.’
Kira didn’t find miniature humans appealing in any shape or form, but it caught Azrael’s attention. He lifted his hand and mimicked her wave with a much slower one of his own. Only, he wasn’t looking at the little girl. He was looking at himself.
‘Goodbye,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘Goodbye.’
He pressed his head against the glass and made another sound, a hell of a lot like a sob. The elevator was getting way too small. The guys got off two floors later, and she assured them she didn’t need any help with Az. He’d be just fine. They told her their room number, and the bookish one blew her a kiss, then Kira and Az were alone. In the end she had no trouble getting him out of the elevator. He turned from his reflection of his own accord. Kept his head down and eyes on the ground all the way up the hall and in through the double door of their suite.
‘What’s going on, Az? You doing okay?’ She ran her fingers over the tranq band, pushing the levels down, but the little mechanical bastard wasn’t having it and beeped at her. ‘Do as you’re told, asshat.’
Az was too spacey, even more of an airhead. And that sob. What the fuck was that about? She needed to let him think straight for a moment. Kira manoeuvred him down onto the white leather couch forming an L-shape in the enormous lounge room. The widescreen TV on the wall was enormous, too. Practically a mini cinema screen. Kira pulled off the wig, scratching hard at her scalp. Az sat on the edge of the couch, eyes unfocused, a mute zombie. Blake got that look sometimes. A lot of times, actually. Kira tilted her wrist, considering the matte silver bracelet. Maybe Blake was getting off with these things. Had to be something up with her. Blake Beckworth didn’t usually give her little sister multimillion dollar toys to play with.
‘Okay, Az. Wakey wakey time. Come on.’ Kira flicked on the TV, and it sprang to life on a cooking show. Roast lamb. ‘Az, look. Look at this. Yum. Roast lamb.’
Jesus, she sounded like a moron. And being vegetarian, it made her want to puke. Az didn’t show any appreciation for her sacrifice. He just stared at the screen. She’d seen vacant expressions before, plenty of them in the clubs, but this was over and above. He wasn’t just vacant. He wasn’t there.
Kira knelt on the floor in front of him. The pale mauve rug beneath her was sublimely soft and shaggy. Probably had had more naked bodies rolling on it than the bed. Oh god, what she wouldn’t do to just be mindlessly fucking right now. Blake thought she was a sex addict. Nope. Kira was just addicted to not thinking too hard.
‘Right. I’m just going to interrupt your silent party for one, okay.’ She reached for him. ‘Don’t slam me in the face or anything.’
She waited a second for a reaction. Nothing. So she laid her metal hand, still clad in its faux skin, over his, bracing for impact.
Less impact, more delicate brush this time, though. A tingle where their bodies touched. Not so bad. She slid her fingers in between his, and a gasp escaped her. Nerve endings alive and humming, her body warming with a disquieting post-orgasm-like float. This was new. And a little bit nice. A smile played at her lips. Jesus, she could get used to this. Bliss without the mess.
She’d barely had a chance to enjoy it, and the bliss fled, leaving a deep, gouging sense of loss in its place. No wait, it was confusion. No, hang on, now it was melancholy. Azrael was riding a super shitty rollercoaster, and he was on the Big Dipper, swan diving into a loneliness that dwarfed anything she’d ever felt. Kira wanted to let go. Hell, she wanted to run. Out the door into the sun. She really, really wanted that champagne part of the champagne breakfast. A bottle or two. Anything to block this out. But then he raised his head. Lifted up those drown-me-now green eyes. His hands slid over hers. The shift was subtle at first; the need to cry for a hundred years lingered, but the confusion lessened, unclogging itself from the part of her brain this whole thing was fucking with.
Kira didn’t move. They sat there, her knees aching, her throat tense with unshed tears. The room around her blurred, pretty colours bulging and contracting, catching her in a life-size kaleidoscope. She held on. Waiting. Sensing Azrael clawing his way back. As though she were some goddamn lighthouse in the darkness. The shadows fell behind, taking the bad stuff with them. And then he broke through, raising himself up out of the stinking, sickening darkness.
He breathed in and spoke softly on the exhale. ‘I know nothing. I don’t know who I am.’
His own words. Two full sentences. The sound of his voice broke the spell and reminded her she wasn’t actually on some weird trip. She was sitting on a purple rug in a hotel room. Body buzzing. And she wasn’t sad. For once, she wasn’t the lonely, sad, and desperate one. And damn it felt good. Good enough to make a promise she had no idea whether she could keep.
‘Then we will find out. I will find out,’ she said. ‘We’ll sort this. Blake will tell me – who you are, what you are. I promise you.’
The connection between them was fading, pulling away like the edges of a high. The withdrawal gained speed till it evaporated into nothing more than a sweet heat deep in her belly. But he was okay. He was back.
For now.
A knock at the door. Perfect timing. Like a The End to punctuate the whole thing. Kira got to her feet. Holy crap that champers was going to taste good. Her body was light and humming, and she felt like she needed to adjust her clothes before opening the door. A waiter wheeled in the silver cart and laid out the breakfast on the elaborate black resin coffee table. Azrael hunched forward, head in his hands, not once even glancing at the stranger in the room. Kira signed the bill and closed the door.
‘Okay, you know what, we need some of this.’
She pulled the Krug out of its ice bucket and uncorked it, sending the cork flying over somewhere near the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of the suite. The view took in a football-pitch-size man-made lake. Four elaborate fountains were in the midst of hurling firework-like spurts of water into the air in time with coloured lights and music that barely penetrated the apartment. She handed Azrael a full glass. Whether he could drink or not she didn’t give a shit. This called for something. He stared at the glass in her hand before taking the offered one, moving it up close to his face, watching the streams of bubbles move through the caramel-gold liquid.
‘To you, zombie boy.’ Kira raised her glass. ‘To learning to talk. Glasses up.’
She encouraged Azrael with an exaggerated lift of her glass. He followed suit, too fast, and the contents of his glass sloshed out, raining down onto the dead-Muppet rug. Azrael shrank back into the couch. The expression on his face was pathetic. Kira burst out laughing, noticing him flinch but not giving a crap. She downed her glass in two sucking gulps, then refilled both their glasses.
‘It’s all good. Plenty more where that came from.’
The corners of his lips turned up and parted a little, and he did this squishy thing with his nose. In the end he managed to look more like he smelled a dead skunk, but she got the gist. It was an attempt at a smile.
‘We’ll work on that,’ Kira said. ‘But well done.’
‘Kira.’
Th
at was it. Just one word, but she nearly lost her mouthful of champers all over the snow-white leather.
‘Yes.’ Hiccups followed the rapid swallow of bubbles. ‘That’s me. I’m Kira. That’s awesome. Say it again.’
He gave her a look, a furrowed brow that said in clear face-talk, Don’t treat me like a dickhead. And in that disapproving dip of his eyebrows, there was no more denial. What she thought she’d glimpsed before was now plain as the nose on his perfect face. Inside that suit of impossible abs and behind those eyes to die for, there was something alive. Zombie boy was most definitely not a zombie.
Non-zombie boy tipped the glass to his lips and sucked it back in one go.
Two hours later, and two more bottles of bubbles, the scrambled eggs were cold as ice, but Kira shoved them in her mouth regardless. She was drunk. Not unusual but very unintended. It was just after eleven in the morning, which would normally have been a great time to start drinking. Curling up in the enormous king-plus-size bed seemed a much better idea. Two hours of shut-eye on the plane hadn’t really cut it.
‘Are you feeling anything?’ Kira shoved the eggs against her cheek so she could talk. Champagne on an empty stomach was such a bad, bad idea.
‘I feel no different.’ Azrael refused to let her change the channel from the shopping network. He had a serious thing for special-occasion jewellery. Shiny stuff was giving him a hard-on. Well, not literally. She didn’t think. He was sitting on the floor close to the TV, and every time the ads were done he ignored her. She got it. That sparkly shit was so damn pretty, Kira was seriously considering buying a tiara; but what she really wanted was to keep talking. She sat down beside him, plate in hand.
‘So the words thing,’ Kira said. ‘What’s with that? Did you like pull the knowledge out of my brain or something? Some kind of synaptic connection that means you know all the words I know. Sorry, dude, you are going to know a lot of really fucked up words.’
