From there Bianca turned to shoes, settling on what, Jess had to agree, were a very sexy pair of heels. She was almost embarrassed to put them on and walk around. Next was polish for her nails, makeup, a very few, very key pieces of jewelry—the selection process of which was also painfully slow—but she had to agree these were important details. They were trying to look as hip as possible, as worthy, and everything they were there on Earth for, their entire objective, depended on this. Everything depended on them getting into the club. After doing so many things up to that point by brute force or direct action it felt strange to be gearing up to be sneaky in plain sight. But it was the only way to keep eyes on their target. Jess could tell Bianca felt a huge sense of importance at her contribution to this part of the mission. It would be thanks to Bianca that they looked the part. Which meant it would be thanks to Bianca that they even got into the club at all, meaning Bianca’s decisions here could make or break the whole thing.
For her daytime outfit Jess got jeans, a colorful pair of sneaks and her own leather jacket. Short-waisted, black like Zac’s and super-hip girly tough. She put those items on as they picked them and left them on, preparing for the day ahead. Zac also got into his jeans and T-shirt.
Finally Jess got a stylish purse in which to put the tablet, then a large leather backpack for the club clothes they’d have to carry during their jaunt around the city that day. She rolled everything up carefully, neatly, and put it in the bag so as not to wrinkle, Zac’s jacket and slacks especially, then stuffed in their Anitran clothes, intending to dispose of those later.
At last she was done. Nani informed her the sun would be up in an hour and that the store opened a few hours after that, but that Jess might want to be gone before then so they could leave the store before others saw. Jess signed off and went up front to find Zac. He’d been walking around and was now standing at one of the counters, in his jeans, boots, V-neck Tee and leather jacket, looking drop-dead amazing, preoccupied with something. As Jess walked up she saw what, waving a hand through a misty cloud of competing scents. He’d gotten into the perfumes. She coughed a little. It was like the smell of an entire department store compressed into one small area.
“Smell this,” he beckoned. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. She set the purse and leather bag on the counter, noticing he had out nearly every bottle of perfume and cologne.
“They all smell so good,” he said. It was like he couldn’t believe it. She wondered what effect the mixtures of musk-ox sweat, mink glands and everything else that went into a modern designer scent had on his heightened sense of smell. Apparently it was extreme. He was completely infatuated.
“No perfume on Anitra?” she asked, taken by his enthusiasm.
He shook his head slowly, caught up in the next scent he’d just sprayed liberally into the air. “We have stuff,” he said. He held up a cute, little pink bottle. “This is my favorite. Should I wear it?”
She laughed. “That’s for girls.”
“I know,” he said, as if to suggest he wasn’t so dumb as to think it was a fragrance for a guy. Of course it’s for girls! “But doesn’t that mean guys are supposed to wear it? For girls to smell?” Then, when she couldn’t stop grinning he looked a little annoyed: “What then? How does it work?”
Impulsively she reached and put a hand to his cheek. The whole area reeked, many of the scents already on him. He’d been spritzing with abandon. She laughed again.
“Girls wear the girl stuff, guys wear the guy stuff.”
“Oh,” he said, then extended the pink bottle to her. “Can you wear it?”
She took it with a friendly wink, sprayed a bit on her wrists, rubbed them together then lifted her chin and dabbed her wrists gently on her neck. He looked at her inquiringly and she explained: “You don’t need much.”
He leaned in close and sniffed. A gentle sniff and she tingled—then shuddered as he sniffed closer. The combination of chemical pheromones thickening the air and his very sensual proximity, sniffing her neck so close, nearly touching her tender skin … was all at once too much.
He breathed deeply of the aroma.
She put down the pink bottle, diverting the suddenly arousing situation. “We should get one for you,” she said. Pretending to evaluate them she slid around a couple of the colognes, lifted and sampled a few.
“This one,” she decided. He took the bottle she handed him and sniffed it. Then, quite seriously, sprayed a little on each wrist, rubbed them together, craned his jaw forward—just as she had—and … dabbed his wrists gently on his neck.
She giggled.
“What?” he was genuinely confused.
She made herself stop giggling but couldn’t wipe the amused expression from her face. “Guys don’t do it like that,” she informed him.
He frowned. “How do they do it? Why do they do it different?”
“It’s fine,” she touched his cheek, again. “You’re fine. You’re totally fine.”
“Don’t let me make too many mistakes, ok?”
“You won’t. You’re fine.”
And for a moment she was smitten, looking up into his bright blue eyes, brilliant in the shadows as they reflected the light outside the store. So precious her tall, unstoppable boyfriend.
She turned to other topics. “We need money,” she said. “Check that,” she pointed to the register. “There’s got to be some Euros in there.” Zac cracked it easily, but inside was empty. This worried her, as there was no way they’d make it through this without real money. She didn’t want to have to break in and rob another store. Then she noticed a small safe under the counter, below the register.
Could Zac open a safe? Safes were designed to be impregnable; super-thick iron hinges, thick sides and doors—even a small one like this—but her concerns were quickly put to rest. Under her direction Zac gripped the hinges to try and … peeled them away. She couldn’t believe it. It was a strain, and was perhaps the first time she’d ever seen him exert real effort, but the fact that he could even do it at all was unbelievable. She could not imagine the force it took to peel away that much iron—and so tight against the other part. He was only able to get his fingertips on it, only able to pinch it at the very tips, but away it came. The dull, floor-shuddering vibration the metal made as it groaned in protest—even as he pulled it apart—was testament to the huge power involved.
Zac was like a force of nature.
Inside was cash. They took what she thought they’d need, leaving the rest, her objective not to gain from this, only to get what they needed to complete the mission.
And that raised another small concern, at least when it came to their equipping for the event. In order to get into the club she and Zac—especially her—had to dress incredibly impractical for such an operation. The little black dress and high heels would be a huge hindrance. The idea, of course, was that Zac would take care of it all when the moment came, and that made perfect sense. In fact, looking the part was all she was needed for. Zac would capture Lorenzo. Zac would fight their way out of the club. Zac would contain Lorenzo and protect her and get them to safety, then it was over to Satori and Willet. Of course she’d be a huge part of the direction and tactics of this little op, live on the scene, but when you boiled it down her major role was to act as cover for getting Zac in. Eye candy, in a sense, dolled up like some wanna-be club princess. It was an odd feeling to be preparing for that as never in her life had she been anywhere just for looks, but it made her a little nervous at how impractical it would all be. These clothes would be horrible choices if she actually did have to do anything.
She finished stuffing the Euros into her purse.
“You wanna get some rest?” Zac asked. “We’ve got about an hour.”
Part of her wanted to get moving, but there might not be many opportunities during the day. There was a nice couch over by the dressing rooms.
“That’s a good idea,” she agreed. Zac didn’t need sleep. An hour might do her good.
>
She lay down and he sat beside her a moment. Kissed her on the forehead and pushed back her hair.
She looked up into his face, the stubble of his chin prominent in the shadows, like the beginning of a real beard.
“I’ll get you up in an hour.” He lingered a moment more, hand in her hair, then got up and went back to the front. She lay there in the darkness and quiet of the Spanish boutique, looking at some of the half-mannequins nearby. Wondering how long it would take her to fall asleep.
Soon she was dreaming.
CHAPTER 25: A DAY IN THE REAL WORLD
Boom! another explosion rocked the metal floor. Jess kept her balance and continued across the room to the archaic wooden door, the one she remembered—a door which was entirely out of place against the riveted green-iron surfaces of the room. Beside the door was a sleek, high-tech access panel, equally anachronistic.
The same memory, she reeled as the absolute reality of the scene overwhelmed her as before, artificial though she knew it to be. Sensations were too strong, too detailed. It was like being there.
Carefully she played it through.
There were no windows. Diffuse light came from the same unknown source. The door before her was covered in the complicated runes that, despite their alien curves, looked strangely familiar. She felt she could very nearly read them. The same battle as before took place outside, rocking the walls, pulsing blasts that throbbed with each hit. Another and she steadied herself.
All was as it had been.
Looking down she saw she was dressed in the same armor, in one hand the long, curved sword of blued steel. She studied her hands more closely. Were they even human? Nearly too perfect, too exquisitely formed; pure, unblemished skin, not a freckle or other mark to be seen. She took a big pull of the acrid air. Tactile feedback, the wall beneath her palm, the armor against her skin ... all of it too real.
The panel.
She turned to it as the battle outside continued to intensify. The vibrant edge to the dream remained.
“This way!” a male voice shouted from across the room. She whirled as he called out: “I’m not leaving you!”
Standing there was a man she recognized. She gasped.
I know you!
Tall, pale, an almost elven face, complete with pointed ears and sharp, angular features; shock-white hair pulled tight into a ponytail that swung high from the back of his head.
Kel.
Perfection he was, a nearly androgynous handsomeness that caused her breath to catch in her throat.
“Come!” He held out a hand. He wore the same style armor as her; black, slightly ribbed, alien. “I’m not leaving you!” His eyes were bright yellow, intense in their demand. She knew this man, wanted to trust him. Wanted to go with him. Only …
There was something else. Something else needed to be done.
As before the panic came, surging, and she struggled to manage it. For a terrifying instant she remained locked in that other reality, the Kel warrior calling to her, voice distant. Then …
Another.
“We’ve got to leave,” the new voice said, far more calm than the last. Beckoning her awake.
She sat with a gasp.
It was Zac.
“Easy,” he said. “You were having a dream.”
He helped ease her to the edge of the couch, gently putting her legs over. He’d been kneeling, hand on her shoulder as he tried to rouse her.
“It’s almost morning,” he said.
She shook feeling back into her head; rubbed her face. More vigorously. The intensity of the dream kept getting worse.
She looked over her shoulder, out the barred windows to the narrow street. Lamps were still on, though their illumination was fading in the gray-light of the approaching sun.
Time to get back to reality.
* *
“Looks like they’re leaving the store,” Bianca studied the street map on the monitor screen. She watched as the blip for the tablet moved away from the boutique, locking their location clearly on the ground. Using the tablet coordinates she could zoom in pretty tight with the Kel optics and, if she scanned the street view closely, could just make out the top of Jess and Zac’s head, moving carefully and joining other, slowly gathering pedestrians as the city began to wake. Without the tablet to guide her it was tough to keep them in focus, but with it telling her where to look she could see them in real-time, making their way through the narrow streets. She watched a while, then, as they stopped at some little café, tables just now being set up on the sidewalk—probably to grab some breakfast—she began feeling a little too voyeuristic and decided to turn it off.
“I could go for some waffles,” she said absently and put a hand to her belly. The Kel “food” aboard the Reaver was enough and she felt fine, no hunger, but her taste buds were in revolt.
“Waffles?” Nani, as always, was busy looking at screens and studying tons of information. It was practically all she did.
Bianca remembered their brief night in the small club back on Anitra; how Nani had actually been fun to hang with. Almost night and day with the present, typical, scientific Nani.
“Yeah, waffles. They’re usually for breakfast. Round, though sometimes square. Made of batter, which I’m not sure what that’s made of. You put stuff on them, usually syrup and butter.” She closed her eyes and made a yum sound, licking her lips.
“Sounds tasty,” Nani agreed.
“Oh, it is. I want one so bad. I know Jess has the dangerous part of this, but in a way I’m jealous she’s down there getting to eat real food.”
“You think she’s getting waffles?”
Bianca considered it. “Don’t know if Spain does waffles. But whatever she gets it will be better than what we’re eating.”
She expected Nani to defend the Kel food, but instead the blonde scientist actually took a moment to look wistful. “I know,” she said. “I could go for something with flavor too.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Bianca came closer and sat by her. “We get through this, we get this all sorted out, and I’ll get you some of the best food Earth has to offer.”
“Waffles?”
“Yes. Definitely. Waffles.”
Nani smiled, and Bianca could see she was excited to see that day.
Bianca was too.
* *
Daybreak brought with it a beautiful, crisp, spring day. It was absolutely gorgeous. Jess sat across from Zac at a little ironwork table covered with a heavily starched, gleaming white tablecloth, watching as the small wait staff set up for the day. People were beginning to move on the sidewalks, cars in the street. She and Zac each had coffees—café con leches—and were looking over small menus printed in Spanish, waiting on their waitress to return. The dream was still vivid in her mind, the fear of the new day and the challenges they would face later that night, the fear of all she’d done to get herself there, of being back on Earth where she could be found, all the troubles of her life weighing on her but, as the sun found its way onto the white-washed walls of the buildings across the street, illuminating the quaint beauty of the rambling Spanish town—pretty red and white flowers brilliant in a window box, the smells of the café behind her, the sounds and life of a new day … as the warm, delicious coffee coursed through her and she looked at Zac and he in turn admired this new world … as these things overtook her the gloom and the fear receded and she began to feel human again. And, in short order, experienced her first joy of the day. She was in Spain, with Zac, and they were about to have a wonderful time.
The waitress returned. Jess was able to communicate the basics and, with a mix of excitement and enthusiasm from Zac—he was so dying to try the chocolate croissants—they managed to get in their order, the waitress left and when she was gone Zac asked:
“What’s that?” he pointed over her shoulder.
She turned and followed his finger, to a poster on the wall a few doors down.
“A poster for bull-fighting.” She linger
ed, trying to read some of the Spanish words.
“How does the guy fight it?” Zac asked. “Aren’t bulls way bigger than a man? The picture makes it look like he’s waving a cape at it.”
“He is. They don’t actually fight the bull. It’s kind of a dance. As the “fight” goes on they stick pikes in the bull to make it weaker, and to show that they can, I guess. It’s all for show.
“At the end the guy, he’s called a matador, drives a sword through it and kills it.”
She turned back to Zac. “I think it’s supposed to prove the manliness of the matador or something. The Spanish like their bulls. They run with them too.”
“Run with them?”
“Another tradition.”
Zac looked around at the buildings, the people, the cobblestone streets and sidewalk. “There’s so much history here,” he seemed to marvel. “Our Emperor came from here. He told us this was Heaven, with no other details, but now that I see it … it’s just another world like ours. More than ours. Everything is so rich, so alive.”
Jess took another sip of the café con leche, savoring the smooth, milky warmth. It felt so good coursing through her, bringing with it a gentle buzz of delight. She sighed.
Zac looked incredibly perfect sitting there in his black leather jacket with his dark hair. An absolute hunk, frankly. She felt pretty cool in her jacket too. Kind of Euro suave. He stared at the poster, lost in deeper thoughts, and she followed his gaze back and looked more closely at the bold colors. The rough lines of the original painting made it look like it was painted using a putty knife.
Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3) Page 26
