by Liz K. Lorde
"Michael," Rebbecca fumed, making me turn to face her. But my mind and the cursed muscle in my chest were stuck on Jane. On the way that the sun would make her brilliant hair glimmer. How her purple eyes would drink me in. "Are you trying to win the self-sabotage Olympics?" Her words were pointed, though they often were. What can I say Rebbecca. I'm a winner in all things. Her almond eyes briefly considered Jane, then moved back to me.
"Well," I started, sucking in air through my teeth. "I'm not going to dignify that with a comment."
"But you can dignify getting your dick wet over actually trying to keep our jobs."
Jane inched closer towards us, to my side. "I'm not sleeping with him," she clarified.
Rebbecca turned her head, shoving her phone into her pants pocket when it buzzed. "You don't have to lie, sweetheart." Her tone was condescending, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. "You must be a pretty distracting fuck for him to bring you here."
"Rebbecca," I cautioned.
Jane put her hands behind her back and smiled with amusement. "Jealousy is a bitter drink." Rebbecca just rolled her shoulders as if to say 'I'll fight you here and now'.
"We're not fucking," I told her with angered gravitas. "You need to treat Jane with some respect. If it wasn't for her honesty," I shot Jane a look, "it would've been more than our jobs on the proverbial chopping block."
Rebbecca drew in a tight breath through her nose, her breasts rising with her chest. "Look," she brought her gaze to Jane, "I'm sorry." It came out in a sort of half-assed grumble, and a part of me wanted to make her do it over. "But your father has been riding me better than a QC," quality control, "in a Bad Dragon factory." I raised a quizzical eyebrow. Why was Jane covering her mouth like that?
"This is me doing what my father wants," I explained, "not that I'm happy about it," I added beneath my breath.
"Really," Rebbecca was not convinced. “I can’t afford to lose this job, Michael. You know that.”
Jane shifted her footing, "I'm the ace up his sleeve," she added smartly.
"She's going to be trained in the ways of the wildly wealthy. You know, all the bullshit lifestyle sort of things that Jon lives and breathes," it wasn't that I didn't enjoy the finer things in life. But unlike my father, I knew that people were more than just the checks they cashed, or the weekly golf strokes that they aimed to hit. "Once she's ready, and given a suitable false identity, I'll present her to him, get down on my knees, tie the knot, and sit in the office I've worked for since I was a boy."
Rebbecca's eyes bulged, and her jaw fell. For a moment I was certain that I'd given her some kind of massive brain malfunction. "You--" she shook her head, "sorry. Sorry I'm just trying to wrap my head around," she jabbed a finger at my chest in emphasis. "How. Stupid. You are! I'm drowning in emails here from rich, beautiful women, that quite frankly," she sucked in a breath. "My boyfriend would kill to have even a night with. Let alone get to say 'I do'."
Jane cleared her throat, reminding Rebbecca that she was literally no more than two feet away. But her tirade hadn't finished: "Why, Michael," her cheeks were starting to redden from all the spent energy. "Why her? Who even is she to you."
"She's my (painfully gorgeous, contemplative) fake wife."
Rebbecca lightly stamped her brown shoe, "I think you missed my point just now." Her fingers went to the bridge of her small nose, and she pinched, looking down towards the ground. "These women are already falling in love with you, and they haven't even met you. You don't need some sham marriage." It was the image that they loved. Not me.
"Yes I do," I fired back, "I can't fall in love with them, so I don't care what they think or what they feel." I worked my jaw in frustration, "this legacy left me with the weight of the fucking world on my shoulders. Cupid could turn me into a pin cushion for all I care," I ranted, "it doesn't matter. Love doesn't work for me, and that's how it should be." Love died with me a long time ago. It failed me. And I failed her.
Rebbecca clammed up, seemingly able to hold her tongue for once. Jane was equally solemn, and I quickly came to realize that my tone, my words, caused for an awkward situation between the three of us.
"Come over tonight," I told Rebbecca, "we'll start this introduction again on better terms. In the meantime, let my father know that I've found someone. That he'll get to meet her soon." Just not too soon.
Rebbecca folded her arms over one another and pushed a breath through her nose, "I'll do what I can. No promises I can make it tonight," she said, turning to face Jane. "I really hope he doesn't hurt you," the way she said it cut something in my chest. She said it with haunting sincerity.
I'm not going to hurt her. We both know what this arrangement is for.
When Rebbecca left, it was just me and Jane.
Why did my heart have to beat so damn fast.
Chapter 12
Jane
Michael strode ahead of me through the elegant entrance foyer, and I had to keep a hurried pace to keep beside him. "Was that your assistant?" I asked, continuing my way through a spacious cream-colored hall. Expensive, modern and abstract paintings sat on the walls, all vying for my attention.
“You’re right on the money,” Michael replied, “she can be a very... forceful woman. But she works hard. Harder than anyone else I’ve had,” he informed, looking over his shoulder at me. “This job is all that she has, so I hope you can forgive her, uhm, relentless passion.”
You don’t have to be rude to be passionate, but giving someone the benefit of the doubt, if anything, was important to me. “She does seem to have a lot of it,” I twisted my lips into a smirk. We continued down the simply elegant corridor, passing by a few white doors flanking either side of us. My shoes tapped along the silvery gray slate mosaic tiles; the flooring alone probably costs more than I make in a year.
When my eyes grew tired of drinking in the wonders of the Smoak mansion, they turned to the backside of the man himself. His hard, defined muscles all on display in just that dark-gray vest over a light-gray shirt.
When we reached the far end of the hall, to our right was a breath taking Great Room; there were two people occupying it. A woman that I couldn’t recognize, and the butler from before, Joshua Redwood.
Michael looked to me, and the world became smaller. “I’ll have to change,” he informed me in that gravel voice, like it came effortless to the man. “Don’t let Mags divulge too many of my secrets,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes, winking at me.
“Well you better get dressed quick then,” I teased, “I’ll wager a guess that you’ve got dead hookers in your basement.”
Michael smirked, and a small, short laugh escaped him. “I thought you were a reporter,” he remarked, “not a professional person of ratiocination.” I raised my eyebrows at him, silently consenting to my lack of understanding. “I’m complimenting your detective prowess,” he explained, his face quickly becoming a mask of seriousness, “jokingly of course. There’s no dead hookers down there... at least none that I know.”
I laughed to myself, “I think you would know if someone was buried beneath your feet.”
Michael nodded, and motioned for me to continue into the Great Room with him. The woman whom I did not recognize, Mags as Michael called her, held an intellectual and graceful beauty. The woman had immaculately kept hair; it was a pull-through brain with five to six thick knots, colored brown with streaks of chestnut. She sipped on her tea before placing the cup back on the hardwood coffee table. I found future me being envious of the clothes that she wore; dressed in a red, long sleeve, v-neck blouse. They were joined by a pair of dark green, slim fit ankle pants.
Michael parted from the room, vanishing off to change; when he did as such, the ever genteel Mr. Redwood turned his head and smiled at me in greeting.
Smiling in kind at the man, I made my way like a soft breeze to Mags’s side on the L-shaped couch.
She put her book on her lap and reached an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in for a ca
sual embrace. “Our heroine made flesh,” she said softly, giving me a light squeeze before pulling back. “Sorry,” she offered with a whisper of a laugh, “read too much. You must be the girl Michael’s spoken of.”
Continuing his work, Mr. Redwood chimed in, “Master Chatworth.” His tone came out with the authority and instruction of a helpful teacher. “Wits are as sharp as her sight,” he commented.
I turned my head to him, “You can’t know that,” I replied teasingly, “we’ve hardly spoken.”
“Master Smoak required my keen knowledge on the mystics and the Occult before giving me this position. Riveting stuff, I’ll say.” I wasn’t certain if I should believe him.
Mags rolled her seemingly stiff shoulders, “The rich never make things easy,” she japed. “Magdalene Orville, for the record, Miss Chatworth.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I replied, “how come I didn’t see you before?”
“My services are not so daily required,” she explained, taking a sip of her chamomile tea. “Michael and our sharp friend Redwood keep things tidy, usually.” She cocked her head, gaze turning pensive, “I should probably be a bit more mad with them, I suppose, for cutting my hours.”
So she’s the head maid of the house, “Well surely it’s not just you and him that keep this place running?”
“Oh no,” Magdalene said with a scoff. “No, we have Pinestro for the kitchen three days out of the week, and more for special occasions. When Michael’s holding some occasion,” her lips curled at the mention, and her eyes narrowed. “This place flips between heaven and hell like that,” she snapped her fingers for effect, “on those nights.”
“So, parties, then?”
Mr. Redwood let loose a private laugh, and Magdalene brought the tips of her fingers to her lips. “That’s one way to say it,” she said beneath her breath cryptically. I wondered what just might have happened on those peculiar nights; just how many women had he slept with in this lord-like manor?
Or, perhaps, he was doing something more sinister? It was impossible to imagine, and it made my stomach turn just at the thought. Surely his staff would know the activities of their boss - they seemed good fellows.
Damn, did Ligotti have any weight to his words? I should tell him about what happened, probe him about the picture I’ve been so vividly painted. That thought echoed through my mind, and weighed twice as strong in my beating chest.
Chapter 13
Jane
The stables smelled as wonderful as an elementary field trip to the landfill capital of the state. Certainly not what I used to think about when I was younger. Still, seeing Michael dressed the way that he was, that was a plus. And although the pony’s didn’t have horns or poop out rainbows, they were still simply majestic.
Michael looked over to me and gave that cocksure smirk - hitting me right below my stomach with a dangerous pang. “This girl’s your’s,” he boasted.
I stepped forward to look at her through the beautiful, rustic wooden posts. She was ghostly white, and she swished her luscious tail of silver through the air; here and there on her face were off-white marks, and her big dark eyes looked into me. Michael guided the powerful creature outside of the stable, and held onto the reigns, signaling me to hop up on the orange saddle and slip my shoes into the stirrups. I’d never been in the saddle before; but if he believed that I could do it, then I don’t see why I can’t exceed expectations.
Michael stepped over towards me in the moments that followed, sensing my hesitation. When he grabbed my hand, his fingers left kisses of fire. He guided my hand to the horse’s side and made me pet it, letting go a moment later. I ran my hand along her mane, feeling how silky smooth it was to the touch. Moving down further as I stroked, I could feel the strong muscles behind her velvet soft hair.
“Her name is Silver,” Michael revealed, and she shook her head and flung her exquisite tail. “Raising her cost me as much as buying her,” he informed with a sly bitterness, “when I was in sojourn to Italy, I won her off of a bet from a retired made-man in a high stakes game. I planned on gifting her to someone...” Michael’s face became a pained mask, and he drifted off.
“She’s absolutely gorgeous,” I remarked, putting my shoe awkwardly into the stirrup, adjusting until I had it right. Bringing my hand up to the horse’s neck and side, I threw myself over and upright on the steed.
Settling on the saddle, the hard wooden, rawhide surface bit at me. Grabbing hold of the reigns, I tried to find my center, Silver trotting in a lazy circle. “Whoa now,” I said, the horse wanting to get away from me; that was when Michael vanished back into the stable.
He appeared a moment later, atop a ferocious charcoal black destrier and it’s coat shimmered with light. The beast looked majestic as they trotted towards me.
Michael raked a hand through his short black mess of hair, tousling it handsomely with little-to-no effort. He brought his black destrier to my side, and our horses began a leisurely trot.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Michael asked.
The saddle was rubbing up against me in all of the wrong places, but I didn’t see it fit to tell him that. “It’s not so bad so far,” I replied, twisting one side of my lips upwards. “I’ve done things more dangerous than this.” In my head I could still see all the neon lights of Chaos washing in and out around of me, the roar of my motorcycle bouncing from the streets and the buildings; my heart pounding in my chest, all just from a basic need to feel something.
Feel anything.
“Oh,” Michael intrigued, “is that a challenge, Chatworth?”
“If it is,” I countered, “don’t think I can’t rise to it.”
There was a devilish glimmer in his eye, then, and I cared for it very little in that moment. He was going to make me regret what I said. “Hold on tight and follow my lead,” he instructed, “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
I nodded my head, and within seconds Michael hurried his great steed, encouraging Silver to gallop at a thrillingly brisk pace alongside of him. We hurried across the clearing of green, hooves stamping into the ground, crushing the blades and rustling the soil below.
The burning sun beat down on us through the clear blue skies, a flock of royal blue Mountain Bluebirds gliding through the wind in perfect formation. Michael turned his head to look over at me, checking on me just as he promised that he would - I wasn’t nearly so satisfied with that. I squinted my eyes a bit at him, and tried to contain the laughter that was boiling inside of me; I pulled on the reigns of Silver, making her take a hard turn to the right in the direction of the Wester Woods. The weight of the horse shifted, and the energy of each stride that she made, I could feel as it pushed through my body.
We broke free from Michal’s lead, and I hurried Silver along to try and put some distance between us; it didn’t take me long to start feeling cocksure, so I continued to race my way towards the many soldiers of trees.
Within the breadth of fifteen feet, I could hear the thundering of Michael’s destrier behind me. I peeked over at him, catching a glimpse of the horse’s powerful muscles; it’s coat gleaming in the sun with a thin sheet of sweat. Another twenty feet, and I could feel his presence looming directly behind me, the weight of it exciting and propelling me to go faster. Something escaped me from the chest, and a few heartbeats later I realized I couldn’t contain my joy.
I cursed, I laughed, and I whined all in the span of a few breaths when Michael finally passed me; he was giving me a wild look that ignited something sinfully delightful between my legs.
Controlling his steed with absolute precision, Michael cut in front of me, slowing Silver and causing my heart to damn near jump in my throat. He turned then, and Silver promptly followed. “You’re a feisty girl on a patient horse,” he called out, our horses following one another in a circular motion at a trot.
“You’re just lucky I let you catch me,” I boasted, knowing I was well and full of myself.
Michael gave me a cool look, never taking his e
yes off of mine. Why was he looking at me with those eyes? Eyes so beautiful as his shouldn’t be filled with such passion for someone like me.
Still, it felt good.
“We’re turning around,” he insisted
“Oh, is that what we’re doing now?” I called back, pulling on the reigns of Silver, encouraging her to move.
“You don’t know those woods like I do, Jane.”
There was a nagging feeling in the back of my skull, that impulse to be spontaneous; to defy and to challenge. “Alright,” I said in a promising voice, keeping a playful look on my face. Just as we were getting ready to turn around and traverse the fields some more; I let Michael take off at a gallop. Once so, I tugged on the reigns, nudging Silver’s instinct to follow Michael’s steed, and having us take off for the Wester Woods once more.
He was going to be furious with me, but his anger had me curious. Besides, how dangerous could it be?
Silver picked up her speed, and her hooves pounded into the ground with a beautiful rhythm. Behind me in the distance, I could hear Michael booming out my name, sending a thrill of delight through my body. We closed the last of the distance to the trees, and I slowed Silver down to a controlled canter.
We slipped into the thicket of trees, and I tried to slow down, but Silver was not so responsive to me now. The ground became rough and uneven, jostling me around on the horse’s back. Each stride made the saddle bite into my rear, put pressure on the small of my back while I wrestled with riding her right.
Silver was doing a fine job of avoiding the numerous trees - but they were quickly beginning to feel suffocating. Each one that whipped past me sent fresh chills down to my core. I kept trying to look back and see if Michael was following me, but there never seemed to be a good enough opportunity.
When the treeline became too narrow, I guided her towards the left, pushing out a hard breath and sucking in another. She moved sharply left, avoiding the treacherous path and maneuvering in such a way that the roots and rocks below us weren’t a problem.
