by A. R. Miller
What in Hel’s Realm? Why the interest in Dara?
“She works in my salon and we’re friends, have been for some time now. Why?”
His shrug is fluid, noncommittal. “Just curious, the two of you seem...close.”
“I’ve known her since I started doing hair. She rents the basement from me.”
Something in his expression says I'll kick myself later. Amazing how a pretty face can make you stupidly open your mouth and insert your whole leg.
The bells on the door jingle, saving me from having to say anything else.
“Is that not your receptionist?”
In walks Jenny, draped around her escort like the cheap tramp she borrowed the outfit from. If the skirt were any further north and the top any farther south, she would be wearing a belt. From the neck up, it’s still plain little old Jenny, hiding behind a ton of makeup and porn star hair. I could excuse it if it was October, but it's June.
Her companion is another story, a suit clearly not off the rack, sleek, polished. I get the impression of an En, yet not, maybe his Talents are just weak. He looks like the type who would sneer at girls who look like Jenny did right now. There is clearly possessiveness about his stance, yet something tells me he’d toss her in front of a bus if it served his purpose.
My skin crawls. Do I not pay her enough? Has she caught the fever? Jenny hasn’t noticed us, but he has and the way he watches us makes me want to run screaming from the room.
CHAPTER NINE
I allow Ric to walk me home. It is just across the street, and he left me no choice. I draw the line at him coming up, leaving him at the side door. There is no telling what might happen if I let him inside my personal space. The shop I can handle, but not this. My hormones might take over.
Movement at one of the windows catches his attention and I follow his gaze. Just C.C. pawing at the curtains, but I have a feeling Dara was standing there a moment ago.
“Thank you for the coffee, but this is where I get off.” Where I get off? Amazing how stupid I can be so many times in one night.
“And thank you for such an enjoyable evening.” He leans ever so slightly toward me.
Is he going to kiss me? My heart flutters in anticipation as he leans closer. I do the whole head tilt thingy not even thinking about it and he reaches out and grasps my hand. What was that I said about being stupid?
“Goodnight, Miss Fey.” He smiles, one of those I know what you were thinking smiles, and leaves me standing there wanting to beat my head against the building.
I do the only thing any self–respecting woman would do, I stomp my way up the stairs verbally abusing myself the whole way. Childish? Yes. Do I care? No.
“Hormonally challenged idiot, first you get upset when he does kiss you, then you get upset when he doesn’t.” Arguing with yourself is one of those no win situations, it doesn’t matter which side wins, you still lose.
I reach the door still muttering, digging for keys I don’t need. The door is already open, an irritated vampire leaning against the frame. She’s seen my display on the street and probably heard everything I said on the way up.
She doesn’t say a word, making things even more infuriating, just moves out of the way and lets me into my own apartment. Who does she think she is my mother? What is she doing here anyway?
A bottle of wine and pizza sit on the coffee table next to a couple of DVDs. Damn, I’d forgotten movie night.
Sighing, I reach for a glass and the bottle. She holds out the other glass as I pour.
“Hot date?”
I take a sip and shake my head. “Nope, just coffee, but that was hot. Sorry, I forgot movie night.”
She shrugs. “With something that pretty dangling in front of me, I would forget movie night also.”
Unfortunately, she chooses the moment I take a drink to crack a joke. I don’t think snorting wine is the recommended way of assessing the bouquet.
“So was coffee informative?”
“Brand is here visiting a friend, I’m guessing the döckâlfar he was with last night. He has a place just outside the city limits. His buddy makes a hel of a marinara sauce and great martinis.”
“Personally, I prefer Chianti with my red sauce, but to each his own.”
“He is also interested in you.” I swear I see a flutter of something cross her face. Fear? Anger? Interest of her own?
“What did he say?”
“Just wanted to know how well I know you.”
“And?”
“I told him the truth, you work with me, we’re friends and you live in the basement.”
Her golden skin turns a sickly jaundice shade and her jaw tightens as she reaches for the bottle to refill her glass. “What else did you talk about?”
“Small talk mostly, then Jenny came in. Gods Dara, you should have seen her. Wrapped around some guy, dressed like, well, barely dressed.” I take another sip and shake my head. “She looked like she was going to be interviewed for that documentary about hookers.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Nope, she didn’t see us, but her date did. The guy was giving off some serious heebie-jeebie vibes. Made me wonder if I was paying her enough. I mean what if he’s a client, or her pimp? I also wonder if working with so many Ens has given her the fever. He felt like an En, but a weak one.”
“She is working and going to school, but I cannot see Jenny taking that up as a second career. As for her catching the fever, she seems too grounded.”
“Yeah, but I’ll review her salary tomorrow.”
CHAPTER TEN
I’m seriously considering closing up shop for the night. Shredding the Iowa Star without even finishing the article, I toss it in the trash. This time they are withholding the victim’s name, a minor, and the cops are keeping the details to themselves. I rub my hands over my face, not caring if my makeup migrates. It’s bad enough what that asshole is doing without going after kids.
“Can’t they read the damn sign?” I mumble, hearing the jiggle of the door handle.
Lifting my head, I see Jenny relocking the door. Not something I want to deal with at the moment. She looks normal enough, casual slacks and blouse, hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail, a hint of makeup. Not a trace of the super slut I saw the night before, but still not quite right.
What to do, what to do. Talk to her about what I saw last night? Mind my own business? Go hide under the covers? That third option sounds pretty tempting. I seem to be falling into the, if ignore it, it will go away attitude.
“Oh, you startled me.”
She raises a hand to her chest where an interesting pendant distracts me. It’s gorgeous, like nothing I’ve ever seen before, golden knot work studded with gemstones that shimmer like fire. Fire and power.
“Keely, are you alright?”
Reluctantly, I draw my attention from the stunning piece to her face. My focus is blurry, like looking through a window in the rain. Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I have to close my eyes. A headache must be coming.
“Keely?”
“I’m fine, just the beginnings of a headache.” I open my eyes and everything is normal. As normal as life has been the past week.
Jenny steps behind the desk, looking at the appointment book.
“Your first client isn’t due until eight, why don’t you go up and take a nap. I’ll call and wake you about 7:30.”
Same sweet Jenny, I reach out to pat her hand and she pulls away.
“Sorry,” she says, “I’m just not a touchy, feely person.”
I nod, keeping my hands to myself. Jenny is always the first one to give a hug when needed, whether you want it, or not. Split personality? Last night she’d been walking on the wild side and today a reasonable facsimile of an executive’s assistant, both a contradiction of the plain, submissive college student I thought I knew. I shouldn’t leave her alone here after everything, but when Nyssa’s car pulls around the corner, I figure what the hel. She won’t be alone m
ore than a few minutes.
“I think I’ll take you up on that wake up call. Let the others know what’s going on when they get here.”
“No problem.”
Jenny makes a shooing motion as she takes my spot behind the desk and smiles, but it never reaches her eyes.
***
Sleep is out of the question—lack of time and fear of more strange dreams—so I just slouch on the sofa, C.C. draped across my lap. I feel as if I’ve been in this position forever, so when the phone rings I just assume it’s my wake up call. The Captain yawns and tries to keep me planted as I reach for the handset.
“I’ll be right down.”
“That would be up, not down.”
I laugh, not the voice I expected, but welcome more than she knows.
“Had a feeling I should call. Is something going on?”
Gods bless Annya and her feelings. She and I have been best friends since beauty school. Well, not at first. I hated her, she was so perfect, and come to find out she was scared of me. I was strange to say the least, still am, or so she reminds me.
“I saw The Sisters and they dropped a few none too subtle hints you might be up to your scrawny ass in trouble. Reinforcing the gooseflesh I get every time I think of you.”
“Who you calling scrawny, ya Swedish Injun?”
“You, you albino twit.” She laughs. “Now, out with it, what’s going on?”
“Too much to even attempt to tell you in the amount of time I have.” I look at the clock, nearly 7:30. “Here’s the basics. Have the papers there reported on this scum bag they’ve dubbed The Collector?”
“Yeah, what’s that got to do with you?”
“At least three of the victims were clients at the salon.”
Her pause is deafening and her tone not very reassuring when she does finally say something.
“You want me to come down there?”
“Hel no! I don’t want you anywhere near that kind of danger.”
She clears her throat. “And what about you? I’m supposed to just sit here and worry?”
“No worries, I’ll be fine.” Even I hear the tremor of uncertainty in my voice.
“That answers it. I’ll be down in the morning.”
“No, seriously, I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll let it slide for now, but if things get worse, I’m coming down there and dragging your skinny ass back to Sioux City.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I promise I’ll call, or email soon to give you all the details, but I’ve gotta run. My appointment will be here soon.”
“Well, be careful. I don’t want to hear about some jackass running around making dead tissue grow unless it’s you.”
“I’ll chat at ya laters, chicky.”
“Back at ya.”
It’s funny how a simple phone call can ease the tension and give you a sense of security, even if it might be false.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The usually peaceful drive to pick up stock at Witchy Weeds is disturbed by new questions brought up by my conversation with Annya. Is it possible The Collector isn’t just punishing Ens by taking their Talents, but able to use them? If just a small amount of hair, or a nail clippings could give a caster control over someone what would the missing body parts do?
Pulling into the drive, I’m greeted by Mel’s alarm system. Ranging in size from ankle–biter to knock–you–on–your–ass–and–keep–you–there–until–the–order–is–given–to–eat–or–release. I climb out of the ‘Stang to a chorus of thumping tails and head–butts to the legs. I step over those flopping in my path demanding belly rubs. C.C.’s not the only four legged critter intent on tripping me.
“Looks like you need something to help you relax,” says Mel, already reaching for the appropriate remedies as I step inside Witchy Weeds.
Gods love her and her ability to know exactly what I need without asking. Peace and relaxation literally flow over me, possibly from spells carefully woven throughout the store, or the paraphernalia covering the shelves. More likely, the vibes Mel herself radiates.
All the credit for the products used and sold at Fey Creations goes to Mel. Her ingenious use of nature has produced a line that anyone can use, barring allergies, of course.
Most Ens have a real problem with commercial cosmetics, maybe it’s the man-made substances, but an all–natural mix seems to work. When you look back at the history of cosmetics, things like berries for cheek and lip color, or crushed stone for eye shadows were used. Those ideas had to come from somewhere. Maybe they had been lost after many Ens stepped behind The Veil. Who knows? I’m not arguing with something that works.
“So what’s got you so bunged up? Work? A man, or lack thereof?” A mischievous grin plays at the corners of her mouth as she begins pulling boxes of supplies for the salon.
Mel is the type of person who could brighten any situation. I don’t even mind her teasing me about my lack of male companionship. Hippy chick through and through, from her tie–dyed apparel to her one–length nutmeg tresses, becoming more gunmetal by the year. Not my fault. She feels that to color what nature gave her would be a sin.
“None of the above.” I grab some much–needed cooking herbs and spices and add them to my personal pile. “If anything is bothering me, it’s all the strangeness going on lately.”
She nods, slowly writing up the ticket. “The Collector.”
“If you haven’t already noticed three of the victims had their hair done at the salon. Not sure about the most recent, since they haven’t released a name.”
She nods again, sliding two bills in front of me.
“And one was a long–time client.” I sigh, fishing the change out of the bottom of my coin purse for my purchases. “I guess I’m just wondering why.”
Checking the total of the order, I fill out a check for the salon supplies.
“Why it was your client, or why the connection to Fey Creations?” she asks before helping me tote the boxes out to the car.
“Both,” I reply, moving a brick over to keep the shop door open. I grab a box and follow her out, the questions from last night rearing their ugly heads.
“Mel, is it possible to use body parts, like the ones taken, in some sort of spell? Maybe to gain control of the Talent?”
“Why do you ask?” Her frown makes me feel like an under aged kid asking hypothetically how get a bottle of vodka, knowing you are probably going to try.
“No special reason.” I scrape my toe against the dirt. “It’s just something a friend said over the phone last night.”
She stands with arms crossed waiting for me to finish what sounds like a bullshit story.
“She said she didn’t want to hear about anyone making dead tissue grow unless it was me.”
Mel rubs her hands over her face. “There are rumors of spells that can harness Talents allowing another to use them. Personally, I’ve never heard of anyone actually achieving it, but yes, I suppose it’s possible. Is that what you think this Collector is doing?”
“I don’t know what to think, but the possibility of it scares me.”
“Me too, kid.”
***
Having put it off long enough, it’s time for my least favorite task at the salon. Disposal of all the hair, nail clippings, or any other remains from services rendered. The smell of burning hair is often compared to burning chicken feathers. If this is true, then burning En hair is more like burning chicken droppings. The smell has to be removed with magical air fresheners. All the little green trees in the world won’t cut it. My gorge rises at just the thought.
Oddly, light traces the edges of the backroom door and there’s a faint rustling. Now I’m no superhero, just stupid and protective of what’s mine. I debate between a broom and a pair of shears, deciding on the broom, more distance between me and whoever is invading my space.
I move toward the storage room and push the door the rest of the way open with the broom handle then pull back to swing. The slight form hunched
over a pile of bags meant for disposal, turns squeaking like a trapped mouse, hands clutched over her head.
“Hel’s Realm, Jenny, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Sorry,” she whispers, between gasps.
“No harm done, I probably scared you as much as you did me.” Slightly embarrassed I lower the broom. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”
“Not until this afternoon, I thought I’d help out a little more, take these out to the dumpster for you.” She points to the bags piled in the corner.
“I take care of those, you know that.”
“I’m sorry. I was only trying to help.” Jenny lowers her head, hiding behind a veil of hair.
Leaning my mighty weapon against the wall, I place an arm around her shoulders and gently ease her from the room. “In a way I’m glad you’re here, I wanted to talk to you.”
I position her in front of the dryer chairs and motion for her to sit as I take the next one over. She perches on the edge of the chair, hands clasped tightly in her lap, head bowed.
“Jenny, you’ve been with us over six months now and I’ve neglected to give you a review.”
So far so good, only a slight tightening of her shoulders and she manages to look at me, even if her head is still bowed. What in hel is going on with this girl? Yesterday, self–assured professional, before that whore galore and now the submissive belle of a BDSM ball, I wonder how many personalities are stuck in that little body.
“You’re doing fabulous, especially considering you hold down a full time job and go to school. Because of your performance, I’ve decided to give you a raise. An extra couple of bucks an hour will show up in your next check.”
“That’s all?” Moisture gathers in those big brown eyes.
Not exactly the response I expected and I’m sure it shows. “Were you expecting more?”
“No! No, that’s not what I meant. That’s all you wanted to talk to me about?”
