Black Tie: Book One of the Sparrow Archives

by Kieran Strange

  Cabe’s broad, tense chest released the breath it had been clinging to in a mild rush of relief. Good... grief. But good. Elliot Wright might have been an attention-seeking asshole, but at least he wasn’t an idiot. He was actually somewhat surprised.

  “Well then,” said Dasilva, taking a deep and cleansing breath as she sat back a little in her seat. “I only really have one more question for you, and this one’s a little more… about the aesthetics of your abilities than the others, I suppose.”

  Cabe could see Elliot’s grin even from the angle behind him he was sitting at, and he could only guess what sort of question the C.E.O. thought he was about to be asked.

  “How do you… do it?”

  “It depends on my mood. Typically on my back, girl on top, fingers knotted behind my head as she does all the work.”

  “No, Mr. Wright…” Dasilva shook her head, feigning embarrassment. Cabe went through short periods where he didn’t actually believe she could blush on cue, until she proved him wrong again. “Your visions of the future, the things you see…? Can you do it at will, or does it sort of come on at a certain time?”

  Elliot’s delicate lips twitched a little at the very corners, and mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Come on, now, Ms. Santos. A magician never reveals his secrets… it would ruin the illusion. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think there’s all that much about you that is an illusion, Mr. Wright,” said Dasilva with both affection and respect loaded into her voice like the bullets into a revolver. The last punch she pulled would be to reaffirm for their charge that whatever he was trying to hide, whatever he had been omitting or lying about during this session, it had gone completely unnoticed. “You seem to wear your real self very much on your sleeves.”

  Cabe smirked to himself behind the cover of his sweet, fruity beverage. Gabriella Dasilva, folks. Sealing it with a kiss.

  “How long do you really think you can keep him safe?”

  Despite the din, Emiko’s cold, calm voice was able to penetrate his left ear. He turned with a slight start; he hadn’t even noticed anyone occupy the stool beside him, and her presence was enough to yank his attention away from Elliot and Dasilva.

  “I’m... I’m sorry?” Had he actually heard her right? His face screwed up a little, waiting for her to either repeat the mildly concerning statement he had made before, or correct herself and convey what she had meant to say.

  “Elliot Wright. How long do you think you can keep him safe?”

  Cabe’s face slowly fell, mirroring the downward sinking motion his stomach made. Something about her wasn’t right. Before, he had presumed she was some sort of finalist in the Miss Resting Bitch Face U.S.A. pageant, all sass and sarcasm. Now, her eyes were dead, her tone was flat, and there wasn’t a single snort or sneer in sight.

  But she was staring at him, eyes unblinking despite their lack of emotion, waiting for his answer. Waiting quite intensely, it would seem. He had brought his glass to his lips to give himself some time to think before answering, so he swallowed what he had sipped and placed it carefully back down on its coaster.

  “As long as it’s necessary. That’s kinda what I do. My job, ‘n all that.”

  Emiko still didn’t blink. Her dark eyes were locked with Cabe’s beneath her bangs, her face devoid of reaction. “Your job. What you’ve been trained to do. To protect Anomalies.”

  Cabe shot a look over his shoulder. Elliot was distracted with Dasilva, completely unaware of what was being said several feet from him. He turned back to Emiko with a frown.

  “Not just Anomalies. I mean, this assignment, yeah. But I’ve bodyguarded all kinds of people.”

  “Bodyguarded.” Emiko said the word slowly, chewing it over, her eyes finally closing in a single, slow blink before reopening in just as intense a stare. “That’s part of your training, yes. Part of what they’ve trained you to do. But you were specifically trained to handle Anomalies, Agent Sparrow. We know that’s why you’re here, guarding Elliot Wright.”

  It was hard not to react, but he managed it. She knew his name. And she knew at least part of why he had been assigned to this post. He donned his best poker face and returned her hard stare with one of his own.

  “So, you’ve done your homework. Color me impressed. Since you’re so acquainted with me, maybe you’ll fill me in on who this ‘we’ is?”

  “You needn’t worry, Agent Sparrow. ‘We’ isn’t WrightTech. Your cover is safe. I’m just here to give you a message from a... concerned third party.”

  Cabe’s lips drew themselves into a thin, stern line as he realized what the fuck was actually going on here. “Where are you sitting?”

  “I’d rather not draw attention to myself. I don’t want to cause a scene.”

  “That makes two of us,” said Cabe firmly. Now he was convinced he wasn’t talking to Emiko herself, his tone had taken on a much cooler, rougher vibe. “I’m presuming then that I don’t need to be worried about either of my charges here being harmed?”

  “No. The delicate cherry blossom will be released as soon as we are finished here.”

  “You know, WrightTech does have a customer service line. If you have a racist message for Mr. Wright, that’s probably gonna be your best shot at getting it to him, mate. ‘Course, it’s the holidays, so they might be busy...”

  “We aren’t here for Wright, Agent Sparrow. We’re here for you.”

  “Me? I’m... flattered.” And confused, he thought, feeling a little more ill at ease. If some sort of telekinetic Anomaly decided to occupy Elliot’s P.A. for a couple minutes, he had presumed it was case-related.

  “You should be. We’ve studied you intensively, Agent Sparrow. We’ve seen what you’ve done for this movement. We’ve seen the wounds you’ve taken, and the lives.”

  “Lives? Now, hang on a tick –” Cabe protested, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing Dasilva’s attention. “I’ll have you know I’ve got a clean slate. No deaths on my watch, at least not yet anyway.”

  For the first time, Emiko’s lips quirked up into the tiniest of amused smirks. “Not yet... quite.”

  “Yeah, and it’s gonna stay that way, too. At least if I have any say about it.” Cabe fixed her with a firm, unyielding look, hoping that wherever Emiko’s mind-controller was, they could somehow see it. “Nobody on either side has to die. So if you’re here to threaten me, don’t waste your time. Aren’t there legitimate protestors and activists you should be out there bothering instead of me?”

  “We’re not here to threaten you, or to bother you. We’re here to give you a message.”

  “Yeah, you already said that,” he griped back. He picked up his drink and took a deliberate swig, more than was polite or expected with that sort of a beverage. “So why don’t you gimme the message and bugger off, so I can enjoy –” He nodded toward the stage, where three of the performers were chorusing a chilling a Capella tune, backed by the rolling toms of the drum kit behind them. “– whatever the heck this drug is.”

  “We know you have a tendency to lighten everything you’re afraid of with humor. As I said before, we’ve studied you intensively. But we must advise that you take our plea seriously, and without your usual comedy routine.”

  Well... there wasn’t really much one could say to that. Cabe settled back on his barstool, nursing what remained of his cocktail, and motioned openly with his free hand.

  “All right, mum. Plead away.”

  Emiko, too, drew herself up straighter. “Resign from W.A.R.D..”

  Cabe coughed up a snort of laughter. “One more time?”

  “Resign from W.A.R.D.. Before you take this fight too far.”

  Shaking his head – possibly in an attempt to shake off some of the shivers this conversation was giving him – Cabe huffed a breath and leaned sideways on the bar. “Okay, now I’m definitely convinced you’re talking to the wrong person. Trust me, there’s no ‘fight’. This is my job. I get orders, I get it done, I get paid. I’m not... there’s
no activism or ‘fight’ here. I’m just a guy with a job, trying to get by in a shitty economy.”

  “Agent Sparrow, we must insist –” He jumped a little as Emiko’s hand fell on his arm. “If you care about your country, if you care about her people, if you care about the world – you will resign from W.A.R.D., and distance yourself from all Anomaly activity. Effective immediately.”

  “I...” Cabe closed his mouth and thought for a few seconds before he responded. “That’s not something I can do right now,” he said in a thin, low, gravelly tone. “So I’m gonna have to send you away with a firm but apologetic ‘no’. Sorry you came all the way out here for nothing.”

  “Don’t worry yourself. It wasn’t for nothing.”

  Emiko was sliding off of her stool, and despite their promise that no harm would befall either of his charges, discomfort nestled in Cabe’s stomach as he anticipated the conversation turning nasty.

  “Well... I’m glad you see it that way.”

  Emiko nodded, and turned to walk back to her seat – but paused. Without glancing back at him, those controlling her offered the agent one last piece of advice.

  “The question you really need to ask yourself, Agent Sparrow... is how far are you willing to go, to fight a war that isn’t even yours?”

  And she was gone, back into the bodies that had packed themselves up against the one side of the bar, waiting for service.

  Twenty long and agonizing minutes of thought later, Elliot had finished flirting, and was giving Dasilva his private cell number and a plastic business card, should she wish to join him in his own personal suite later. Cabe’s eyelids sagged and his nostrils flared in annoyance as he witnessed the man whom it was his personal responsibility to keep safe gave a perfect stranger an invitation back to his place of residence. He was not in the mood for this right now.

  “Don’t bother dropping by after two,” Elliot was saying as he stood from his stool, with Cabe a fraction of a second behind him. “I’ve got a business trip up North tomorrow, and I need at least seven hours of sleep before I can deal with Canada.”

  “Too cold?” asked Dasilva.

  “Too polite,” replied Elliot, pulling a face. He snapped his fingers without turning to his bodyguard and then he was on the move; Cabe decided to take that as his cue to follow his new boss. As his loafers picked themselves up off of the hardwood, his gray eyes flickered around the area Emiko was sitting in. There was a drained glass at her left, and she was still typing on her phone even as she stood up and draped her coat over her shoulder.

  “Marco,” Cabe called to her, as Elliot began weaving his way further through the growing crowd. He didn’t mean it, but his voice caught just a little, causing it to crack in the middle. He had no idea what she was going to say when she saw him again... how much of their conversation she was going to remember.

  “Polo. Asshole,” came the short response, complete with a full roll of the eyes, and several seconds later Emiko was pushing her way past his taller frame, following closely behind her young employer.

  She didn’t remember a damn thing.

  Five

  “Comfy, Peaches?”

  Cabe didn’t even realize he was gripping the seat beneath him so tightly that his knuckles had gone white until Elliot addressed him. Slowly, he uncurled his hands, letting his short nails withdraw from the tiny little crescent-shaped marks they had dug deep into the white leather.

  “Sir?”

  He’d been holding his breath, he had no idea how long for. It burned between his breastbone and his skin, scalding his lungs, and he released it slowly and carefully to avoid drawing any more attention to how unbelievably tense he was.

  It wasn’t his fault; some Sparrows were never meant to fly.

  Elliot was smirking at him, reclined and relaxed in the surprisingly cozy leather couch which lined the centre of the left side of the craft, mirroring the one on the right exactly. Between them was a low table, upon which were two glasses of champagne in specially-depressed coaster divots. The flute closest to Cabe was untouched.

  “I asked if you were comfortable,” the young C.E.O. repeated, leaned on one elbow, expression somewhat bored. His eyes were sparkling almost cruelly, as if he was taking some sort of personal pleasure in just how twitchy and uneasy this journey was making his new bodyguard.

  Which he probably was. It was Cabe’s fault that the flight had taken off with only himself, Mr. Wright, and a trusted veteran pilot on board. It was Cabe’s fault the busty, fiery-haired flight attendant hadn’t passed an appropriate background check and he had refused to allow her on board. It was Cabe’s fault Elliot had been forced to pop and serve his own champagne, rather than having the new girl who came highly recommended do it for him, all tits and tittering.

  He should’ve known Elliot would have an eye open for some form of vengeance against him, given that all this was in fact his fault.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, who wouldn’t be?” Cabe asked, each word primed with the stingiest layer of sarcasm. As if to prove a point, he raised one hand to motion to the interior of the WrightTech private jet – which, to be completely fair and honest, didn’t feel like the interior of a private jet. Black shutters were pulled down most of the way to shield them from the low sun reflecting off of the snowy mountain peaks, something Cabe was actually extremely grateful for. The interior was a glossy black to match, with chrome fixtures on the furnishings and new-feeling carpet beneath his feet. Toward the back of the craft was the bathroom and a drinks bar, and toward the front was their assigned seating for takeoff, landing, and patches of turbulence.

  Not that Cabe would’ve ever left that seat, if it were up to him. He would still be velcroed to it by the time the pilot told them they were starting the descent into Montreal. He would be buckled in securely, memorizing how to properly handle the exits and how all of the survival equipment on board could most quickly and efficiently be collected in the event of an emergency. He would be practicing the ‘brace’ position and reiterating to himself that he was supposed to don his own mask first before attempting to assist anybody else.

  Unfortunately, the moment the pilot had turned off the seatbelt sign, Elliot had swung in from the cockpit and instructed Cabe to unbuckle and follow him toward the back of the craft for a drink – to celebrate their first business trip together.

  “I bought it after the old man croaked it,” Elliot replied, casually lacking eye contact. “The company used to own a Boeing 757 he had converted for luxury. Theatre at the back with a huge screen and reclining seats, beds and couches... I sold it. I’ve always chosen speed and efficiency over comfort and ego. Though I do wonder who inherited dad’s old Boeing... some cantankerous old buffoon who prefers comfort and ego over speed and efficiency, I’m guessing.” He chuckled.

  “Ego isn’t everything,” Cabe mumbled.

  “Wait ‘til we get over the prairies, we’ll really open her up,” he was saying, far too distracted to even hear the comments from ‘the help’. “Not quite sonic, but close. Point-nine-two-five Mach.”

  “Only thing I’ve ever travelled on as fancy as this was a Warner band’s tour bus,” Cabe said, “but I had to sign all these waivers saying I’d never talk about it again. But no, it’s... it’s totally comfortable.”

  Elliot let out a short bark of laughter and half-lidded his eyes in amusement as he reached for his flute. “Oh, trust me, I don’t doubt the facilities. You just look… extremely un-comfortable. You’re not an uneasy flyer, are you, Cooper?”

  Cabe raised his head deliberately to meet the younger man’s eyes. Everything about Elliot Wright screamed self-indulgent arrogance. He would interrupt you if he felt what he had to say was more important, which was the majority of the time, or if he was simply fed up with listening to you. Cabe had been interrupted now on several occasions, and each time was just as embarrassing and infuriating as the last. When you entered a room with him, or he entered a room with you, you felt his eyes on you – or at leas
t, you felt their cold, silent judgement. When you were under his microscope, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about everything you said and did – even as a well-trained and veteran agent who had clocked almost as many work hours undercover as you had done under your agent name.

  Cabe just had to remember that he was dealing with a man who, for all he knew, had been groomed to read his business associates from the time he was old enough to shake hands. Every twitch, every movement, every action, would tell Elliot something else about what was running through Cabe’s head at that moment. And, from the ruthless look in his cold blue eyes, he was thoroughly enjoying using that skill to his advantage in this situation.

  “Extremely, sir.”

  “Really, now?” Elliot made a soft ‘hmph’ noise. “Well, considering you’ve been assigned to a jet-setting celebrity who travels at least thrice weekly for business, your skill set must be extremely impressive behind this... humorously embarrassing flaw.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Cabe ground out in a forced monotone.

  “No thanks necessary, Peaches. So, has this been a lifelong affliction? I imagine you don’t visit home often.”

  “The United States is my home, sir. I lost contact with the English side of my family when we moved to Nebraska.”

  “Your mother was British?”

  “My father.”

  “You moved here for family?”

  Cabe offered up a somewhat scrutinizing look. Why was Mr. Short, Bitchy and Handsome suddenly so interested in his personal life? Questions aside, he didn’t see the point in angering his new charge over something so trivial, and he had nothing to hide. He certainly didn’t want Elliot thinking that he did.