Second Door to the Right

by Nikki Hyson

  Spatula raised, Gary stepped out from behind his grill. “Get out.” Dripping grease on the tiled floor, he took a step forward. “I’ll not tell you again.”

  Sid, the plumber, bristled, amusement melting as the old man took charge. “Now wait a minute. I just got my food.”

  Cris remained seated, a new hole burning into his stomach. This could go south in about two seconds. Cursing himself for swiveling the chair, he couldn’t help but watch. They’d never believe he didn’t care if he rescued her every time danger whispered her name. There’d be no end to this damnable purgatory if he didn’t stay out of it.

  Haydee requested permission with a glance. Gary gave it with a nod.

  “Bloody hell.” Less an oath, and more an admission of the inevitable, Cris didn’t even realize he’d said it aloud.

  Jerking her head around, Haydee looked straight at him. Actually looked at Cris; for the first time as if she knew him. “Stay out of it then,” she snapped, cutting him from the moment entirely.

  Two steps leveled her with Sid’s table. Four plates already lay shattered on the floor; the result of his failed attempt at humor. Lifting the offender’s untouched plate, Haydee looked Sid up and down. “Yer done, Mate.”

  In slow motion Sid’s double order fell from its plate, every mouth growing wide until they snapped shut as one, with the smash of china on tile. “Get out.”

  Indignation fired into rage. The plumber stood, jowls trembling under the weight of building reprisal. “You shouldn’t have done that, Lass.”

  Arms folded across chest, Haydee stared back. Foot tapping, she lifted her chin to the door. “I said, get out.”

  Sid leaned forward, nearly touching her. A fist opened, fingers going wide as if itching to take hold of her.

  Cris stood.

  Haydee held up a hand, palm out. “I’ve got this,” she said without a glance.

  Cris held his place.

  “Now. I can tell you’re spoiling for a fight, Sid. Maybe just hopin’ one of these fellows will oblige you.” Haydee moved her hand to a breath away from the man’s chest, slowly pushing on air.

  Not a spoon stirred. Cris doubted many were breathing.

  Haydee straightened just a bit more, if that were possible, the top of her head nearly on level with his chin whiskers. “I’m not going to let them. I think you’ve been having a whole string of miserable Mondays and just want your body to hurt worse than your heart.” She paused, something inside the big man shifting. Sid gave ground, shoulders bowing under the weight. “Leaving here with an empty stomach isn’t going to help. But that’s your choice.” Nearly gentle, her smile softened at the corners. “Wanna start over?”

  Sid hesitated, unable to look away from her dark eyes. Perhaps afraid to look anywhere else.

  Haydee looked out the front window to where the white van lettered with a plumbing logo usually parked. The space stood empty. Looking back at Sid, compassion replaced any lingering bits of ire. “Sit down,” she offered. “Gary, get him another order.”

  Silence reigned. The nutty, charcoal tang of burnt meat suddenly lifting a few gazes in the direction of the kitchen.

  Her gaze snapped to the owner. “Gary.”

  Gary nodded. “Coming up.” He retreated, rescuing a rasher of bacon before it scorched entirely.

  She laid a hand on the wide shoulder, pushing the plumber back into his seat. “Sit,” she said a second time. Taking a knee, she began picking up bits of broken china.

  “I should help.”

  “Later. Can always use help with the dishes.”

  The bells at the front door jingled. If the man understood she’d just offered him a job, Cris didn’t know. He glanced down at his half-eaten meal, interest flagging. Spearing a mushroom, he pushed it through the crusting bits of yoke. The once desired bite squeaked between ground teeth.

  Rochefort claimed the stool beside him. “So, you do still care. They were starting to wonder.”

  “Did you pay him to do it, or just fire him like Lily?”

  “What difference does it make? He doesn’t matter.”

  Cris nodded briefly. “Or her. What now? The usual. Wipe her of the last ten years and send her back? Bring out another one to test me?”

  “Is that the usual? As you’ve said, I’m still new to all this. Scarce a decade and all.”

  Cris wished he could ignore the bite of sarcasm, but he read the underlying message. He couldn’t let it pass. “And yet you live in the Professor’s pocket and have Hyde’s ear. I know. So, what are you trying to say?”’

  Rochefort ignored the jibe. “It isn’t your love for her they use against you; just her presence. As long as she lives and breathes outside her pages they know you’ll do nothing to endanger her.”

  Cris took a deep swallow of his black coffee, cup returning to the counter with a too hard rap. He felt more than one customer jump behind him. Sid’s confrontation had rattled a few. What would you pitiful lot do if the danger was real?

  Rochefort claimed one of Cris’ sausages, eating it in two bites. “It’s only when you reveal that you still care.” Almost pity in the sideways glance before he stole a slice of marmalade gemmed toast from Cris’ plate. “Only then do they take her memories. All over again. Make sure you don’t dare try something.” He shrugged. “She saved your soul once. They won’t risk her loving you.”

  “All over again.” A twitch of lung caught against a rib on the next inhale. Cris winced. “She isn’t a different one, is she? She’s been the same one over, and over, and over again?”

  “You thought he used a different copy each time? Hmm. Interesting.” A crunch of toast, a thoughtful chew, then swallow. The musketeer’s brow hitched up a bit. “What did you think happened? To her?”

  Cris didn’t have to speak it. The memory of those screams still echoed inside his skull from the last time.

  “I see.” Rochefort lifted the last sausage from the plate. “You thought they burned her.” He took a bite. “No. The Oracle scrapes her clean. Then they start over.”

  “The first time…” Cris couldn’t finish.

  The clink of china pieces against a plastic tub marked her path back to the kitchen. Rochefort supplied the words Cris couldn’t. “She’s your Haydee. From your book. Always has been.”

  Cris couldn’t help himself. Never could with her. He looked. “Why are you telling me this now?” Catching a fleeting glimpse of white apron on pink skirt, the words snagged on the tear in his heart. “What purpose?”

  Rochefort took the last bite, chewing deliberately.

  “They’re worried about me.” Understanding, Cris faced him. “They want to make certain I don’t side with Jas. That sum it up?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Nice to know, I’m so well trusted, after all this time. Tell the Professor he needn’t ruffle my pages to get my attention.”

  A question flicked across Rochefort’s face. For a moment Cris considered that some things not even the Professor’s right hand knew.

  “I’ll tell him,” Rochefort promised slowly.

  Cris faced forward, rubbing closed eyes until spots erupted like starbursts against the night sky. A mind written for strategy formed several possibilities, discarding nearly all as the seconds passed. Only one dared at the edges of genius, but danger ran deep beside it. Exhaling slowly, Cris opened his eyes. “Please, just leave her alone. Give me that, and I won’t come back. She won’t get close.”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Standing abruptly, Cris pulled money from his pocket. “That’s all I ask.” Tossing it beside his plate, he left the diner without a backwards glance. Hesitating at the curb for a single beat against traffic, Cris jaywalked across, towards the café’s picture window.

  James and Lily ate slices of pie on the other side of that window. She looked up first, Cris reading James’ name on her lips. His friend followed Lily’s gaze out the window, their eyes locking for a split second. Pointing at his watch, Cris flashed
two fingers for the audience of one watching at his back. James nodded.

  Cris mouthed a single word of warning, then cut sharply to the left. He continued up the street and back to James’ loft. He’d done enough for one morning. Sleep might not come, but a few hours of silence could be equally sweet. If only his brain would give him rest, but it never quit racing. Crossing the flow of traffic, Cris cursed all writers.

  19

  Her interest in a particularly delectable slice of rhubarb a la mode suddenly gone, Lily studied James. Eating with determined focus, his gaze never lifted from the plate. Her frown gained strength. “Who’s Rochefort?”

  “Not who. What.” He scraped the last, lingering bits from the plate. “Cris wants me to get some cheese on the way home. We’ve a meeting at two. He’s in charge of the wine.”

  The tip of her tongue loosened, ready to denounce this transparent lie. A flicker of movement caught her eye instead, redirecting focus to the diner across the street. Someone was just leaving.

  Fair haired, tall, and on the athletic side, he might’ve been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. His stride carried him to the end of the block. Lily watching, he hesitated. Turning, he looked back across the street, directly at her and James, and smiled. Moments later, the stranger had gone.

  Lily shivered, that smile driving a tremor deep under her prickled skin. James covered her hand with his own. Perhaps trying for comfort. Perhaps he only meant to distract. She didn’t care which. Refusing either, she pulled her hand free. “Rochefort,” she said. Lily met his eye, daring him to lie again.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Nothing to worry over.” He shrugged. “A rival of Cris’. They both try for the largest accounts. Sometimes I get caught in the middle.”

  “But Cris is worried.” She lifted a hand, stopping the denial before his lips could fully part. “No, I read it. He’s worried about this Rochefort, and so are you.”

  His smile twitched. “Difficult to deceive a writer.”

  Silence followed. Waiting for the truth, Lily said nothing. She considered prodding, but opted for a touch of surprise instead. “My father would like to meet you.”

  Pie finished, James considered her words for a long moment. He pushed the empty blue plate to the center of their table. “He doesn’t think you and I are…” Faltering, he cleared his throat.

  “Nothing more than friends,” she promised briefly, letting him hang again.

  Picking at a nonexistent crumb, his brows lifted slightly. “Then he likes to meet all of your new friends?”

  “No. I think you’re the first one from the city.”

  James waited for a deeper answer, his eyes flashing a request she flatly denied. A brief snort of impatience huffed out, reminding her of Amos when she was too slow with the leash. “Maddening girl.” His annoyance rubbed against an equal measure of amusement. “Why then? What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing really. He has a few quirks. It can be difficult to explain. Some thoughts border on obsessive.” Reaching out to the journal he’d left on the table, she pulled it near. “Sometimes it’s just easier to comply.” The ribbon bookmark placed a hold somewhere before the one quarter mark. Lily smiled. “You have been writing then.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think of it?”

  It took James less than a beat. “Liberating.” The single, defining word hung between them before he circled back. “So, he’s taken an interest in me then?”

  Glancing up, she nodded. “Yes.” No longer a game of riddles and unanswered questions; genuine fear touched a corner of her heart when she met his blue gaze. Who are you to interest Dah so? What business could James be in where every move must be noted and measured against some hidden standard?

  A shiver ran through her for a second time. Were they only watching him or am I of interest too? Lily didn’t like that last thought, or the idea that she could be bringing danger home for supper. Still, she’d promised, and her gut knew Dah wouldn’t forget her vow. “Will you come?” she asked.

  “If I can. What day?”

  “Saturday evening. We’ll drive out that afternoon and come back Sunday morn.”

  “I think I’m free. Let me check?”

  She nodded, not relieved in the slightest. “Thank you.”

  He read her too easily. “What worries you more? What I’ll make of your father, or what he’ll think of me?”

  “Right now? I’d say it’s a tie.” Needing a break, she rose. “Can I get you some more coffee?”

  “Tea, if it’s not a bother.”

  “Not at all.” Gathering cups and plates with practiced efficiency, she skirted an elderly couple and a businessman. The morning crowd, thinned since she’d ordered pie, still held quite a line in the queue. Slipping past a chattering toddler and laptop fixated college student, she put a five in the tip jar.

  “One tea and a drip, Ted,” she said when his eye flicked her way.

  He nodded. “Got it. Can you start at ten? Allie’s sick again.”

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, she calculated the minutes. “Make it a quarter after? I’ll have my coffee, then run up, and change.”

  “Sure.” He didn’t spare another moment on words, turning instead to the nanny with the now fussing toddler. “Free cookies to kids under five. Which kind would he like?”

  Lily waited for her turn at the sugar and creamer station. Rifling through the tea bags, she found herself gravitating towards the black leaf blends. Which would he like? Hesitating, she noticed an herbal medley.

  Earl Grey.

  Same voice as before. The muscles between her shoulder blades twisted into tiny knots, stiffening until she could scarce turn her head. “Save him from what?” she whispered, beyond caring if she drew a stare. She needn’t have worried. There were no looks.

  Nor were there any answers.

  Nerves vibrating on too high a frequency, she snatched the tea bag and hurried back to their table.

  He slit the tea packet open. “How’d you guess?”

  “Just lucky.” Wrapping her hands around the hot porcelain, she let the coffee warm her fingers. At least it could serve some purpose. Her stomach would never tolerate it now.

  James hoisted the tea bag up and down, all the while studying her face. “What’s wrong, Lily?”

  “Sorry to cut our breakfast so short, but someone’s sick. They need me earlier then I thought.”

  “Quite alright.” Reaching out, he claimed the journal still resting near her place. It slipped easily into his pocket. “I enjoyed the pie.” Blowing across the curls of steam, he took a scalding sip. “When’s the next write-in?”

  “Wednesday night at seven o’clock. Coming?”

  “Yes. I think I will.”

  Nodding absently, she gripped the cup. Thoughts whirling, she reached out to the specter haunting her thoughts. Who is James? How do you know him?

  Silence.

  Frightened, and angry because of it, she demanded, What do you want from me?

  “Lily—?”

  The soft utterance cut through all questions and speculation. Lifting her gaze from fingers still fighting a tremble, she met his troubled eyes.

  “Don’t…” he tried, but broke off. A war passed across his gaze, starting and ending within the space of two heartbeats without revealing the victor. Chagrined, James shook his head once. “Get some writing done tonight.”

  “I’ll be squirreled away by eight.” Surprised by the lightness in her banter, she continued. “After this past weekend Amos will be happy with only a couple miles.”

  “Good.” Draining the barely brewed tea, James rose. “Until Wednesday then.”

  “Until then.”

  Dipping his head, James patted a hand to the pocket safeguarding his journal. Reassured, he claimed his cane from the back of the chair, limping his way out of the café.

  Lily watched, gaze tracking his progress until he rounded a corner across the st
reet. She knew the corner and frowned. It led back to the blue door on Adeline.

  Gathering tote bag and cups, she slid the chair back with a nudge of her heel. “Whatever you want, whoever you are,” she said a touch shortly. “I’m done with riddles.”

  She paused, giving the enigma one more chance. Neither riddles, nor answers, offered themselves up on a breath or thought. She left the café with more than a passing growl.

  20

  The Professor didn’t lift his eyes from the desk, or the ream of papers littering the top of it. Rochefort’s report had faded into silence some minutes before. Near the desk, Edward Hyde twitched impatiently in his seat. The Professor drew a breath for the sigh he felt certain to come.

  “I think it’s time to teach Cris a lesson,” Edward said, silence stretching too long to be tolerated. “Time to wipe the girl again.”

  The Professor exhaled the sigh. “To meddle with her now would be redundant. He understands the lesson. Leave her be.”

  “I want him punished. He has no respect for the Guild. He constantly looks his defiance upon me.”

  Professor Moriarty thrummed his fingers across the scarred mahogany desktop. “Sometimes I think it would have been better to invite Henry into the Guild than you. Will you never let sense temper your passions, Edward? There is genius in you. All you have to do is embrace it.”

  Hyde scowled, his large, smooth face taking on hard and unnatural angles. “You chose me to run the Guild. You chose me to keep them in line. Why doubt my methods now?”

  “Because chaos knocks at the front door, and your answer is to grant it an audience. Listen, and listen well, Edward. Leave Cris alone. Let him manage Hook as he sees fit. Do you understand?”

  A growl threatened at the back of Hyde’s throat. They stared at one another before a sufficiently obedient, “Yes,” passed between his teeth.

  “Good. I have word the writers are rested enough to pull a class through today. Will you see to their induction? Get them sorted?”