by J. E.
He hesitated just a moment but stood aside, holding open the curtained doorway for her. “Certainly,” he said, sounding at ease.
The kitchen was tidy and clean but obviously used regularly.
She brushed past him a little too closely before bending down to remove her right shoe. “I don’t know where I lost the other one,” she murmured half apologetically as she slowly worked her body in front of him. It was practiced, the way she tilted her figure just so, revealing a little more of herself as the hem of her red dress rose up as she set her shoe aside, leaving her barefoot in his home.
“You’re so kind... This place doesn’t seem like they have a lot of people like that.”
Dressed in a pair of tall boots, he set a kettle upon the stove, and lit the fire as he casually set about the tasks with practiced ease. “It does and it doesn’t,” he said as if that were wisdom. “They have kindness for those they know. But anyone outside of that? Well,” he gave her a light smile as he set up the cups, “caution wins out, Miss Anjasa.”
“But not with you,” she observed, watching him with a certain curiosity. She was a gorgeous woman, even dishevelled and worn out, mostly due to her elven heritage.
The kitchen possessed a small table with but two seats, and he pulled one out for her. “I suppose I’m a more curious man than I am a frightened one. And your arrival so early in the morning was certainly something to pique a man’s curiosity,” he explained, easing her to the table.
She let out a dry laugh as she sat herself down more primly than before, her face slowly losing its flush and returning to its natural shade. “Your security guard contrasts you nicely, then,” she observed as she leaned forward against the table. “I still don’t know how I got here.”
“Well,” he said with a handsome, pursed lip smile, “we’ll find that out eventually. But he’s not my guard,” he explained just before the kettle whistled, and he poured up the water into the two cups. She heard the opening of his tea leaf container almost at the same time she smelled it, a lovely aroma that wasn’t local, but not one of the expensive or exotic teas she was used to.
“Friend?” she asked as she tried to relax her body enough to look casual but natural enough that it still looked tense. She was an expert at manipulating the slight things about her body to suite her ‘role’.
He made the tea for her with a practiced hand, she noted. Adding in a tiny bit of syrupy sweetener he looked at her, eyes alight even in that dark room as he watched her. “Cream?” he asked simply, his body looking quite appetizing twisted at the waist as he was to see her.
“Yes,” she answered and was a bit taken aback by how breathy it sounded. It had only been a few hours, she chided herself. She had more control than this.
Where he had been miserly with the sweetener, he gave her a generous helping of the rich milk, stirring it in before bringing the two cups over. “Here you go,” he said smoothly, slipping into the seat across from her at that small servants table. “What brings you here from the elven lands and into tragedy, Miss Anjasa?”
She laughed a bit, accepting the hot cup graciously and taking a sip. She winced at the heat, but it felt cleansing at the same time. “Curiosity,” she answered simply.
Seemingly at ease in the small kitchen with her, he sat back in the chair and crossed his legs as he took a sip of the tea, unperturbed by the hotness of it. “Curiosity did not kill the elf. Not today,” he said with a bit of a wry but friendly smile. “Fortunately.”
She cracked a smile and tried to hide it, demurely, beneath her mass of wavy, black hair. “You never told me your name,” she said softly. “I’m guessing this place is yours?”
His exotically shaped eyes moved about the place, as if it were new to him. “Oh, I own it, yes,” he stated, taking another sip. He placed down the teacup though and touched a hand to his chest, “My apologies, Miss Anjasa. Quite rude of me to neglect introductions. But you can call me Zarach.”
“I’m the one that came pounding on your door at such an early hour,” Anjasa bit her lower lip. “I really owe you big time. Who was your friend, then?”
He shrugged his shoulders casually and smiled. “Just some worker from nearby. Occasionally I pay him to take care of some things for me. With this much property it helps to have an extra pair of hands now and then,” he said before taking another sip. “Where are you staying, Miss Anjasa?”
“I have a room in the trade district,” she said lightly, finishing off her tea. She rubbed the back of her hand over her forehead and tried to tidy her hair. “Oh, I must look such a wreck.”
He rested down his own teacup and gave her a half—smile. “Nonsense,” he said, “you look lovely.” He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb, “Especially for a woman who has just braved such a harrowing set of circumstances.”
She laughed, the sound coming off as bitter. She looked down, her eyes hidden demurely, “What you must think of me to be so foolish as to accept a drink from a stranger.” She sighed before her gaze rose to his face and she gnawed on her lower lip.
“Hey, Zarach... do you mind if I stay here a bit? Just until I calm down?”
He stood up, “You’re a brave girl to accept a drink from a stranger so soon after what you’d been through.” With a soft smile he said, “And I would let you stay, of course. But I’ve some business to tend to. Ah,” he looked her over then smiled, “perhaps you should come with me. You’ll be in safe company—the safest, in fact—and I’ll see to it you get whatever you need.” The offer presented so tantalizingly, his face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile.
“I watched you carefully,” Anjasa promised him, but she looked hesitant. “Where do you have to go?”
“Oh, not far at all,” he said pleasantly. He extended one arm, “I realize you’ve lost your shoe, but I think there’s something here we can find to do you. At least until we come by a clothing store of some sort.” The wry smile he gave her was so disarmingly charming, the crook of his arm extended invitingly.
“Do you have a wife?” she asked as she slowly forced herself to stand, growing a bit more cautious as he became more friendly. “And... I don’t have any money on me. Obviously. I’m pretty sure they stole my purse, because it wasn’t nearby when I came to.”
With a shake of his head he said, “No, I do not. And you needn’t worry about money. Not today at least, Miss Anjasa. What kind of man would I be if I forced a damsel in distress to go without after coming to me for help?”
“Well, you’d be a lot better than most,” she offered. Her hand snaked in around his arm and she tilted her head back to look at him curiously. Sure, she’d told Loren she’d not be long but, well, these things sometimes took time. If he couldn’t be patient enough for her to work her magic, he didn’t deserve the money anyways.
With her hand upon his firm, strong arm, he guided her towards the front door once again. He opened a closet door beside the main entryway, and she saw there a strange assortment of coats and shoes. Women’s and men’s, bizarrely. “Help yourself,” he invited. “I have a lot of night time parties. A lot of...” he smiled wryly, “Successful night time parties. As you can see, last night’s left a lot of guests... disoriented by the end. I’m sure you’ll find something that fits adequately for now.” He gave her a bit of a courteous bow, “I’ll be right back.”
She laughed a bit, and was surprised to find the sound genuine. Ah, if only she could get the two to reconcile...Both cousins were appealing in their own way.
She dug out a pair of simply black heels that were close to her size, and slipped them on before looking around the entranceway.
Unlike the secure bars on the home, the place itself was much older. The style classic and understated, but she could see fine wood craftsmanship. Not the stonework of the wealthiest neighbourhoods, but it was obvious even to her that the humans who had built it did so with great care and dedication.
She was interrupted from her study as the silent man appeared behind her,
lowering a white as snow shawl about her shoulders, the fur so soft and delightful she barely felt it against her skin at first. “To replace your missing coat,” he said, and she saw he wore a large, simple black trench coat that covered his form in stark contrast to his pale hair and face.
“Well, I wasn’t at your party last night, was I? I swear this fur is mine,” she teased. Brushing some of her dark hair from her face, she looked up at him curiously, “So what type of business are we off to do then?”
He secured a hat from a rack nearby, a particularly wide brimmed hat that matched his coat. “Oh, just your typical sort of thing,” he said, tugging gloves on over his hands before opening the door, letting the bright outdoor light stream in. “Restaurant, inn, entertainment. You know the sort of place by now, I’m sure.”
With his arm extended again, he invited her to take it, a warm smile upon his face.
“If the order of those things was slightly changed, I’d assume you were asking me out on a date,” Anjasa teased, slipping her hand into his arm lightly. Her work could wait. She could spend all day looking for that piece of paper, or have him so smitten he told her all about it.
Either way, she’d win.
The Lord to be laughed, escorted her out, locked his door and gate then took her down the street from whence she came. She even passed off the little cafe, where she saw the rather morose Loren staring into his coffee. Suddenly the young man didn’t look as appealing as he had before, not when compared to the confident and dashing man at her side, whom bore a pleasant smile as he guided her down the street.
How fast he faded without her compliments to perk him up. “So, I guess you’re a businessman, then?” she inquired gently, probing him.
The large hat he wore kept the midday sun out of his face, but she could see him much clearer all the same as he smiled down at her. “Oh yes,” he remarked. “Something of an entrepreneur, you might say. I have multiple business interests that range across the city.” He shared the information with ease, not seeming to care to hide anything with how easily he answered her.
“So why... do you live where you do? I mean, surrounded by... ruffians.”
He gave a deep, amused laugh. “Oh, multiple reasons,” he said, patting her hand atop his arm as he guided her along, approaching a rather curious building. It was built into—or out of?—the cities old wall, and bridged both sides of the divide. Part poverty, part simple working class commoner. “I believe it’s important a business person keep close ties to the foundation of their wealth, primarily.” He flashed her a wink, “Never lose perspective, Miss Anjasa.”
She laughed, genuinely. “A hero of the working class, is that it? With your rich night life and rescuing damsels in distress?” It made her green eyes sparkle with a bit of excitement and life that she hadn’t felt in a while.
With another hearty chuckle he guided her on towards the strange building, with its weirdly angular rooftop that sprouted out of the stonework of the old wall. “Not quite,” he stated, opening the door for her in a courteous fashion. The sound a piano playing emanated from inside.
Once beyond the doorway she could see that she’d entered the most curious club she’d yet to visit since entering the human lands. The floor had numerous tables and booths, a massive bar, but multiple stages as well. The clientele was sparse, but she could tell it was no simple inn and restaurant. Some of the customers ate or drank, but obviously the true nature of the place had yet to kick in. Even the piano player seemed to be idly passing some time rather than performing seriously.
She drank it all in inquisitively, feeling something deep in her stomach warm. She didn’t move away from him, but her eyes went everywhere; over the patrons, over the room. Finally, her gaze returned to him, curiosity and some apprehension lingering there.
Loren and she had a late start to the day, and it was already about noon. With so large an establishment and so few customers around at lunch time, she could guess that the true business of the establishment had to be concentrated in the evening. The lingering, faint scent of exotic aromas with a tinge of perspiration even gave her a sense of familiarity.
The dashing Lord to be on her arm, however, simply guided her to the far end of the bar. “Here, Miss Anjasa,” he said cordially. “Take a seat and order whatever you care to. Food, drinks. Whatever.” He gestured to the bartender behind the counter. “Anything she wants,” he commanded simply.
Her worries dimmed a bit as she looked to the barkeep and gave a small smile. “I don’t imagine you really do coffee and bread?” Her voice was a bit quieter, as if she didn’t want to disturb the mid—day gloom.
“Of course, missus,” said the man, wringing a towel between his hands.
Zarach reached out and touched her chin ever so gingerly, guiding her gaze back to his smiling facade. “I just have some business to take care of in back. I shan't be long. Indulge to your heart’s content,” he added with a smile. “The breakfast special is close to decent. And they make it all day... for me,” he added with an uneven grin.
She fought back the urge to lunge for him, but something about that presumptuous and kind motion knotted her stomach. It was possessive and gentle all at once, and she even felt herself begin to flush.
It wasn’t like she had any real loyalty to Loren. At least, not in so far that she actually had genuine compassion for anything other than his money. From what she could tell, this man deserved it far more. At least he worked a little, Even if it was seedy.
Perhaps especially because it was seedy.
“Enjoy, you’re safe here,” he said at last, walking behind the bar to one of the back doors, giving her a momentary glimpse of a hallway beyond, a room full of mirrors and little else.
She hadn’t been sat there long before the meal was served up to her. Coffee, bread—both toasted and not—with eggs and bacon on a separate plate. “In case ya wanted ta heed the advice o’ the boss man.”
“Boss man, hey?” she laughed, taking a bite of the toast before smearing it with some fruit jelly. She pushed back her hair away from her elven ear and tilted her head to the bartender, “What’d you do to get stuck on the day shift here? I imagine this place is a riot at night.”
Despite her allure—or perhaps because of it—the man shifted a bit awkwardly. “I work here day and night, mostly,” he said. “If’n ya need anythin’ else, ma’am, just give a knock on this here bar, an’ I’ll come from out back.” With that he promptly scurried into back as if terrified of her.
It took only a moment to calculate it wasn’t her he was scared of. The way she was escorted in by the ‘boss man’ and treated special, it was clear some bonds of ownership had been laid upon her in the eyes of the wary old worker. He was near petrified that he might say or do something that’d offend and get himself in trouble.
She didn’t know why it amused her, but she did understand the terror that ran in a current beneath her ribs. She knew to be wary of men that frightened others so thoroughly. More importantly, she knew how rarely she was able to listen to that instinct. The same behaviour that others found frightening, she found irresistibly alluring, and she squirmed in her seat as she drank her coffee.
Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice as one of the patrons who had only just entered walked up along the bar. He was an ordinary looking sort of fellow, dressed in work breeches and shirt. A commoner. He gave a distinct whistle as he eyed her with the sort of lewd appreciation the bartender would only have dared in his dreams. “I ‘ad no idea the ol’ Puss’ had hired on an elven dancer,” he remarked, eyes wide with devilish thoughts as they roamed down over her.
“Hold it in your pants,” Anjasa crooned. “I’m not hired yet.” The compliments made her glow inside, and she realized how much she’d forgotten about her past. Sure, she could never forget what happened to her, but she had forgot how good this part of it could feel. The chase. The desire. The need that went above just lust.
Something about bringing money into the picture
just made it seem so much more primal, in its own way. It made it seem real. It quantified the lust and determined just how far it ran.
“Also, that’s a horrible nickname. Ol’ Puss’?” she chided.
The man gave a big toothy grin and laughed at her remark. “The Pixie’s Puss,” he said wryly. “Leastways, that’s what she used to be called. These days it’s the Prancin’ Pixie’s. Public indecency laws or some such.” He rubbed a hand off on his pants, “But you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout gettin’ hired, missy. I say you’re a damn shoe in.”
“Well, maybe you could be my first customer when I am,” she teased, going back to her toast and finishing it off daintily. “Isn’t it a little early for you to be lookin’ for pixie’s pusses anyways?”
With a sleazy sort of looking grin he replied, “With all due respect, missy, ain’t never too early for that.”
The little interlude was interrupted by the sound of some loud thud from the doorway Zarach had gone through, and quickly after the bartender came out, wide eyed and alert. Looking to her then the ogling patron he said, “S’Lucas!” he brushed over towards the man, muttering lowly to him. She couldn’t make it out but judging by the way the patron’s eyes went to her with wide eyed alarm then trailed away sheepishly, she could surmise the gist of it.
“Come ‘round back here,” the bartender beckoned the man. “Got a barrel ya can haul out for us.”
Wow, wasn’t even dating the man and already he was cock blocking her. Still, she was on a mission so it was probably for the best. Besides, she was still supposed to be traumatized from the night before. She grinned as she took a bite of some meat, the grease only appealing to her because of the coffee at her side.
She ate away in peace, the other patrons buried in their own food or drink, the bartender and ‘S’Lucas’ too busy in the kitchen to pay her any mind. She could hear more sounds coming from that back door though. Another thud, some raised voices. From where she was she couldn’t make out anything clearly though. It was clear Zarach must have gone into that hall and vanished into one of the many rooms beyond, after all.
