by L Ann
The girl was that engrossed in apparently counting how many steps it was from one side of the room to the other, she bounced off his chest when she failed to notice him standing in her path. Glaring up at him, she rubbed her nose which made Kane's lips want to twitch into a smile, but he managed to contain it and, instead, stared down at her with a cool expression.
"What kind of idiot stops right in front of someone without warning them?" she demanded finally.
"I suppose that depends on the kind of idiot who keeps her eyes on the ground instead of looking where she's going," he responded, curving a hand around her arm and leading her to a corner seat.
"Where is your sire?" he asked her, pushing her into a sitting position.
She looked at a point somewhere to the left of Kane's shoulder. "Not here, obviously."
Silently praying for patience, Kane let a smile touch his lips. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea, maybe?"
"I am old enough to drink alcohol, you know!"
“And just how old would that be?” Kane asked.
“Anyone ever tell you it ain’t polite to ask a woman’s age?” She tried standing, barely managing to rise an inch before Kane clamped a hand over her shoulder.
“With most women that question never comes up,” he said. “But that’s an answer, more or less. I would say twenty... twenty-five tops.”
"What does it matter, anyway?" She continued to struggle under his grip. "And why do I have to sit down?"
"Civilised people have a conversation sitting together."
"We're not having a conversation, you're interrogating me," the girl replied sulkily.
Kane gave her a silky smile. "Not yet, I'm not. But we can go down that route if you'd prefer.
“Nothing?” After a beat’s pause a head-tilted sigh followed his rhetorical query and Kane returned to his desk, “We’ll do it the hard way then,” he flipped the TALK button on his intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Thoth,” a female voice responded.
“Have the two S.O.’s escort our guest to more secure accommodations,” he caught the young woman’s gaze, flashing a grin that left no doubt as to the definition of secure accommodations. “Looks like she’ll be staying with us for awhi—”
“Alright Alright!” the girl blurted quickly, curtailing Kane’s commentary.
Kane held for a lengthy moment, fingers poised over the intercom while he scrutinized her. “Standby for a minute, Agnetha,” he said finally and flicked the MUTE switch.
“Your move,” he told her.
“You’re a bastard,” she spat, springing out of the chair to begin pacing again.
“And you’re stalling,” he fired back, “And my patience meter is damn close to the zero mark.” He let another minute or so elapse, then cleared his throat loudly. “Your sire, I believe was my last question.”
“She’s dead, OK?!” the girl snapped, hugging herself tightly as she whirled to face him. “I got no fucking sire. Satisfied?”
Other than one eyebrow raising at her outburst, Kane didn't react. Instead, he reached out to push the TALK button again. "Agnetha, could you send in coffee, please?"
"I don't want coffee," the girl muttered sullenly.
"You mightn't, but I do." He resisted the urge to rub his temple. "If I ask what happened to your sire, will you tell me?"
"What does it matter?"
"In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't." He paused when the door opened, and his assistant walked in carrying a tray. "Thank you." Kane waited until the woman had set down the tray and left, closing the door quietly behind her. With unhurried movements, he lifted the coffee pot and filled a cup. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"
The girl's eyes locked onto his and he waited expressionlessly for her to make a decision.
"Fine!" she said abruptly, dragging her gaze away from his. Kane filled the second cup and watched as she added cream and two heaped teaspoons of sugar before curling her fingers around it and raising it to her face. The look of unrestrained bliss as she inhaled the scent, eyes half-closed, almost drew a smile from Kane. Instead, he took a sip from his own drink.
"Did you really think I wouldn't feel you trying to lift my wallet?" he asked, deciding to go with a new tact.
She shrugged. "It's a fifty-fifty chance with anyone."
"Have you stolen from other people here?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I said no." Her eyes clashed with his over the rim of her cup. "The people who come here can afford to lose a few dollars here and there."
Kane gave his head a sidelong tilt of affirmation. “True enough. But those same people can also afford to pay someone to rip off your head and shit down your neck. Don’t assume that all the club's patrons are prissy, high-born purebloods who wouldn't say boo to their own shadows. A lot of them are turnbloods who came by their money the old fashioned way - murder, blackmail, racketeering, and other even nastier vocations. And the only thing that keeps them from practicing their nasty skills in here is the fear of something even nastier...” Kane paused, grinning wolfishly in response to her quizzical expression. “Me. No fights, No politics, No weapons, No hunting, and... .absolutely no hustles, of any kind, which puts dipping on the top of the list.
“And I asked you a question,” he added. “Matter of fact, I asked two.”
As he spoke, her expression changed from quizzical to scornful as she raked a hard-eyed look over him - from head to toe. "I doubt anyone would find you scary in your thousand-dollar suit and with your manicured nails," she told him.
In the next few instances, the girl watched as Kane set his cup on the desk. “Let’s leave my suit” ...and then stood barely an inch behind and at her right shoulder, lips poised at her ear... “out of this” ...then stood, again, at his desk, hoisting the cup with an amused grin... “shall we?”
It took a moment or so to catch herself, to recover her sagging bottom lip, doing her best to conceal her astonishment at how fast the man behind the desk had moved.
Kane sank into his chair and leaned back. "Enough games. Sit down."
"I want to leave."
"And I've just shown you that if you try, I will be at the door long before you get to it. I want answers from you. Sit down!"
She glared at him defiantly for a second longer, then with a heavy sigh flopped down into the seat facing his desk. "Happy now?" she demanded.
"Did you take anything from any of my guests?"
"No." She stiffened at his disbelieving look. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me!"
Kane didn't reply. He watched her steadily, eyes tracking every movement she made - the way her fingers twisted in her lap, her eyes darting from window to door and back again. He recognised the movements - an attempt to map escape routes. He mulled that over in his mind - he could put down her need to escape, to being caught attempting to steal from him, but that would mean she would know of his reputation and that didn't appear to be the case. If she had known who he was, she wouldn't have targeted him in the first place and, for all the faults she had shown so far, he didn't put her down as being that stupid. Which meant what? he wondered.
"It's not often people break the rules of Shadowfall." He broke the silence abruptly. "Our justice is necessarily harsh."
"Harsh?" she repeated.
Kane nodded. "It's not like we can report a crime to the local police, is it? We have to deal with these things in-house. Usually a first offence, if minor, will get someone a proverbial slap on the wrist and sent packing with a lifetime ban from the premises." He watched her reaction to that carefully, and nodded to himself when he saw the quick flare of fear in her eyes, quickly masked. "A major offence typically results in death."
"D-death?" He waited while she digested that information. "There's no middle ground? What about imprisonment?"
"Imprisonment is not really effective, is it? Not for our kind." He took another sip of coffee. "So, shall we try again? Maybe with something simple this time. Tell me your name." He
could see it in her face - the calculation of whether giving up her name was worth it or not.
"What do you need it for?" He watched as she leant forward and placed the coffee cup on the desk and then grip the armrests of the chair, poised to flee, and smiled.
"Here's the thing," he told her. "I can't just let you walk out of here without punishment. But if you give me your name, tell me how many people you have stolen from while you have been inside Shadowfall, and what happened to your Sire I will let you walk out without argument." And there it was again, he noted, the flicker of fear at the mention of leaving.
"I didn't take anything from anyone else!" She half-stood, hesitated, then sat back down again. "Just you."
"Just... me?" he repeated slowly.
The girl nodded. "You have security cameras. I only entered the club a few minutes after you. I-I followed you in. You can check out your footage to see I'm not lying!"
Kane nodded and reached for his intercom. "Agnetha, bring me the security cams from the lobby for this evening please." Receiving confirmation of his request, he rose to his feet and moved around the desk, leaning against the edge near to the chair where his unwilling guest sat. "Let's assume, for the moment, that you're not lying. Why did you target me specifically?"
"I knew you'd catch me," she muttered.
That wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, Kane conceded to himself. Schooling his expression to bland amusement, he quirked an eyebrow. "You wanted to be caught?" Settling one hip onto the desk behind him, he folded his arms. "I can see this is going to become more complicated than I thought. Why don't we start at the beginning?"
She sighed, then nodded. "Alright, yes."
“You’re not from around here – from Seattle,” he said. “That much I can tell from your accent.”
“New York,” she announced, with just a split second’s hesitation.
“Not originally. Midwest, I’d say...”
“Ohio,” she shrugged. “Cincinnati,” she paused a moment, then resumed. “As far back as I remember, at least. It’s where my Dad was from. He was in the Army, a drill instructor. I was three years old when he retired and that’s where we moved to.”
“How’d you wind up in New York?” Kane asked.
“Originally, me and my best friend, Grace, she nodded. “We took off the night before my fourteenth birthday. Planned on going to San Francisco first, then New York after,” she heaved a pained snort. “Wish I had, now.”
"What changed?"
"Grace said she knew people in New York, so we would be able to find work." Her gaze turned introspective as she thought back. "The work she was talking about wasn't the kind of work I was prepared to do, so we split up a week or so after arriving."
Kane was confident that there was far more to that story than she was telling, but decided that, for the moment at least, he needed to get to the bottom of why she had turned up in his club. "How long before you met your sire?"
He received a brittle smile in response to that question. "Four years."
"And how long ago was that?"
"Three years ago. There was a place, somewhere long-term homeless could go for a meal and to warm up. Most of those kinds of places are run by churches or religious groups, this one wasn't. No one was really sure who was behind it, but the people there didn't preach or try to save our souls. She - my sire - would be there most nights. She would teach anyone who was interested basic reading, writing and math. She even managed to find jobs for some." She leaned forward for her coffee, and murmured a startled thank you when Kane reached it first and handed it to her. He watched the delight on her face as she took a drink and then the blush that rose up her cheeks when she caught him watching with mounting fascination. "It feels like forever since I drank proper coffee instead of the cheap instant stuff."
"It's Columbian and expensive." Kane shrugged. "That's really all I can tell you about it." He took the empty cup from her and placed it on his desk. "So, three years ago your sire came into your life," he prompted.
"Not really into my life, just at the shelter I went to occasionally. She was visiting it long before I found the place. But she seemed to like talking to me. Long after most others were sleeping, we'd sit outside if the weather was good and talk." Her voice softened. "It was on one of those nights that she offered a new life to me."
"And you jumped at it?" Kane had heard this story many times in his lifetime.
The girl laughed. "No. I turned it down. I saw nothing but a lifetime of living on the streets. Imagine that stretching out into eternity. Immortality held no appeal for me."
"Yet here you are. Something obviously changed your mind." He watched the tension creep back into her body. Her fingers began to twist again, while her eyes flicked around nervously. Yet, when she spoke, there was no sound of fear in her voice.
"Yes. I was attacked. Close to the shelter. Three men." She paused to take in a deep breath. "They used knives to keep control. It's always knives, isn't it?" Kane knew she didn't want an answer to that question so stayed silent. "Anyway, afterwards one thought I'd seen enough to be able to recognise them. So, he stabbed me. I was dying, bleeding out. She found me. Said she smelled the blood a mile away."
“What was her name?” Kane asked. “Was just wondering,” he reacted to her flinched reaction. “I know a few people in New York.”
"Iona," she supplied.
“Sounds familiar. I’ve heard of an Iona... Sciorra. A pureblood from the House Maggio. If she’s the same one, the homeless shelter sounds like something she’d do.”
"I don't know anything about any Houses, but Sciorra is right." She glanced down at her hands then up at Kane. "Iona turned me. She said I'd lost too much blood and would have died otherwise. She took me back to her apartment and spent the next two months trying to housebreak me." Her lips quirked up into a quick smile. "The woman had the patience of a saint."
"Had?" Kane leapt onto the past tense. "Of course, you said your sire was dead."
"Yes. She was killed about six months after turning me."
Now, Kane set himself. Now to the meat of the matter.
“Do you know the circumstances of her death? How or why she died?”
"She died because of me. If she hadn't turned me, she would still be alive. I was woken up by yelling. An argument between Iona and a man. He wanted her to give me to him. He said she owed him. She refused. So, he killed her and took me anyway." She rose to her feet and began to pace. "For a week they kept me locked up, then one of them came in and tried to..." she paused and glanced toward Kane, who hadn't moved from his position at his desk. "Well, it doesn't matter what he tried to do. He made the mistake of coming into the room armed. You don't live on the streets for years without learning a trick or two. I left him bleeding and ran. That was almost a year ago."
And there it was – the reason for all her nervous mannerisms and hyper-vigilance. She was being pursued... hunted, and they were more than likely getting close.
Raising a hand to excused himself, Kane keyed the intercom. “Agnetha – could you contact Pantera and ask her to come see me at her convenience? And call Housekeeping. Have them open up one of the guest suites, top floor South.”
“Yes, Mr. Thoth,” came the immediate reply.
“Unless you have other plans,” Kane arched an eyebrow, “you’re welcome to stick around awhile.”
She paused in her pacing to throw him a surprised look. "When I picked you, I didn't realise you had so much sway here. I just thought you would take me to security."
"Wasn't the end result you needing somewhere to hide for a while?"
"Well, yes. I figured that security would hold me for a day or so," she replied slowly.
"Then what does it matter? I can still make that happen, you'll just be in a little more luxury." He pushed away from his desk and intercepted her path. "I just have one more question."
The fear in her eyes was quickly masked. "And that is?"
"Your name. What is your
name?" He smiled at the obvious relief his words brought.
"Oh ... yes... of course. Carrie. My name is Carrie."
“Carrie,” he thrust out a hand, his smile kicking up a notch. “Kane.”
Carrie gave no visible recognition of his name, her attention on the hand in front of her, looking at it like it was a snake about to strike. Kane found himself holding his breath as her own hand slowly - ever so slowly - reached out and clasped his.
Interlude
SOAKED TO THE SKIN, HER WHITE T-SHIRT plastered against her slim frame and her thick dark hair hanging heavy down her back Magdalena strolled along in the rain, barefoot, boots in one hand. She was completely oblivious to the looks she received as she happily splashed along, kicking through puddles and laughing gleefully as people jumped out of her way.
There was something so refreshing about the rain, she felt, it had washed away her maudlin mood of earlier and she had to resist the urge to sing as she danced happily along the pavement.
So intent was she on the way the water felt against her feet, she failed to notice the tall well-built man who'd stepped in the centre of the pavement and was watching as she gambolled toward him.
With the exception of the little let-down earlier, so far everything had gone pretty much to plan. The courier had sent his package which showed up at the local watering hole - The Needle Eye - on schedule. A full five minutes ahead of schedule, in fact. All that was left to do now was feed and peruse the package. He would recon the city tomorrow. When the weather was better, hopefully.
Rain. If there was one thing he hate more than rain it was lots of rain. And the Pacific Northwest seemed to have more than their share of it. It started to drizzle the moment he crossed the Oregon-Washington state line. An hour later it was coming down it buckets and sheets and didn’t let up once. Now, at least, it had eased into a moderate splatter. But for him, even that was too damn much.
