Summer-1960
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The hypocrisy Alice felt, pretending to sip champagne to celebrate the long overdue opening of the Home for Foundling Children, was nothing to the sensation that her brain was slowly becoming over-cooked oatmeal while she listened to the inane conversations around her.
“I mean, really,” a newly-married young woman said. “How was I supposed to set up house with place settings for only eight? It’s impossible. So, I told my mother...”
Smile plastered to her full lips, Alice searched the crowd for anyone that she could convincingly extricate herself to go talk to.
Her efforts were soon rewarded at the sight of a tall, familiar, blond man. His navy-blue eyes were also scanning the crowd, and when they met hers, Lionel’s crooked smile deepened and he raised a glass of champagne to her. The tailored, dark blue suit fit him so well that Alice wondered why any other man would bother trying to wear a three-piece suit, as it wouldn’t look half as good.
She could see Lionel surrounded by three of Jet City’s most eligible debutantes. They laughed and flushed, their eyelashes fluttering at alarming speeds. They all had the full breasts and small waists that made them treasured specimens of female beauty, their pedigrees were impeccable, and their ambitions perfectly bland in comparison to any man they would marry.
As she continued watching him, she could see that he barely spoke, though he nodded a lot. His smile, which was usually so lively, looked as stiff as her own, and it struck Alice that he was even more bored than she was.
“That sounds so awful,” Alice said, realizing too late that she had interrupted the newlywed’s story. “I’m sorry, but I see someone that I simply must speak to before he leaves.”
With the woman’s dainty mouth hanging open, Alice took off toward Lionel.
When she’d left the loft two hours earlier, her dark curls were perfectly tamed in the bob she’d become accustomed to and Alice prayed it still looked half as good, as she felt the tell-tale tickle of frizzing hair. Her dark green heels gave her a bit more height than usual and the sleeveless emerald-green cocktail dress hugged the curves of her breasts and hips, in a way that made her feel proud of her figure, almost sensual in comparison to the tiny-waisted women in the room. Still though, she wished the ceiling fans were doing a better job at keeping the room cool, as a trickle of sweat fell from her underarm down the side of her body. As she navigated the press of bodies to the center of the room, where Lionel was, the oppressive June humidity seemed to get worse. Alice briefly wondered if her mascara was running down her cheeks and how the hell the rest of the women didn’t seem to have a trace of perspiration.
Whoever thought it had been a good idea to have a cocktail party in the afternoon, in the middle of summer, should be shot.
Lionel’s eyes danced as she came near, causing the two women with their backs to Alice to turn. They just barely managed to conceal their jealousy.
“Miss Seymour,” said Mary Ansel, the niece of Mrs. Grace. “This is quite a party.”
Alice smiled, trying her best to make it look gracious.
“Thank you. We wanted to reward the hard work of so many who helped my aunt’s dream finally come true.”
“Your aunt was Mrs. Diana Miller, then?” said a round-faced blond with a feline look in her green eyes.
“Yes, she was.”
“And did you always want to take her place doing...this?” asked another, a redhead, who wasn’t trying to hide her contempt in the least.
“No, actually, but I had little choice.”
“Didn’t I hear that you have a degree in something...what was it?”
Alice felt her smile tighten. “Business.”
“Yes,” Mary said, her smile dripping condescension. “It is lucky that you had the prescience to have something to fall back on so early in life.”
Alice glanced up at Lionel, whose grip on the champagne flute seemed a little too tight, even as he expertly held his fake smile. She’d get no help from him, not that she needed it. Wading through the thorny sea of society judgment was something she and Mrs. Frost had gone over quite a lot lately.
She forced her smile wider, showing her straight white teeth. “Fall back on?”
“You know,” said the redhead, “because you’re not married.” And what was unsaid was louder than ever: and you’re not likely to be.
“Yes, I see. Well, what can I say? I believe that a woman who uses her intellect, rather than exchanging it for a matched kitchen set and twelve place settings of silver, is someone who will one day look back on her life and be satisfied.”
“As opposed to what?” asked Mary, her eyes blazing.
Alice shrugged. “I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me in a few years.”
“I suppose we will,” the blond said, leaning closer to Lionel.
“Ladies,” Lionel said, three pairs of adoring eyes turned to him at once. “I am sad to have to leave you, but I must speak with Miss Seymour for a moment.”
The blond was downright hostile in her look, while Mary and the redhead gave Alice a chilly smile. Each made their farewells to Lionel as enticing as possible, before being swallowed in the crowd of cocktail dresses and three-piece suits.
Lionel blew out his lips and drained his champagne.
“Thank you. I think my step-father must know how much I hate these events, and that’s why he keeps sending me in his place.”
“It’s strange he donated so much to the renovation project when he doesn’t even live in Jet City.”
“He donates to a lot of charities, good for taxes and press releases.”
Alice nodded. “You don’t have to stay.”
He smiled down at her again and offered his arm. She felt like the winner of some unspecified prize as she took it.
“I can’t abandon you to the sea of boredom just yet.”
“How chivalrous.”
“I try. Now, when do you leave?”
“Why? Did you have something more fun we could do in mind?” she said, looking up at him with a playful grin.
He really did look amazing in a suit, especially when he blushed.
“No,” he said, his voice losing a bit of its cockiness. “Your uncle said you were planning on seeing Douglas tomorrow. You’ve been going to see him a lot lately, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Alice’s stomach dropped into her toes and she felt like hitting him. Why did he always have to kill any moment of flirting that he wasn’t in control of?
“I want to finish what we started and be done with it. Douglas keeps dragging it out.”
“Want me to go with you?”
No, I want you to take me out back and see how fast you can unzip my dress.
The thought took her completely off guard, as well as the accompanying vision she had in her mind of Lionel doing just that, and a lot more. She coughed, wishing for a glass of water.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded, keeping her eyes down, afraid that if she looked up he’d be able to read her thoughts.
“I thought you’d gotten over being nervous about seeing him,” Lionel said.
“I have,” she said, grateful that he had misread what was going on. “And I think it’s almost time for my speech. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
Alice knew he was staring at her in confusion as she walked away. She hoped that there was also just a little bit of disappointment, too.
Mrs. Frost was standing near the small raised dais, leaning on her serpent-headed cane. Alice thought she saw a look of intense pain cross Mrs. Frost’s wrinkled visage before she turned away, her shoulders hunching. As Alice was about to reach out to her, Mrs. Frost’s shoulder’s straightened and she turned back around, a deep frown etched on her face.
“There you are,” she said, her beady eyes scanning Alice’s appearance.
“This gathering is ridiculous, you know,” Alice said, not even trying to hide her contempt toward Mrs. Grace as the
woman walked by.
“Yes, I do. But if you want to keep improving the city, you need to humor the peacocks with the purse strings.”
“You have purse strings, why can’t I just humor you?”
“Because your charms do not work on me. I see you managed to offend some of the younger peacocks.”
“It wasn’t hard. My very existence offends them.”
Mrs. Frost sighed, pressing her lips together. “If you would at least attempt to be civil, then we could begin work on some significant projects. Your aunt knew how to get what was needed.”
“Well, she’s not here. You have to make do with me.”
“I am trying to do just that, but you resist every lesson!”
“Because this,” Alice waved a hand at the afternoon party, “isn’t what I want. I want...well, you know what I want. This is your idea.”
“A public persona is important.”
“And being a bookstore owner wasn’t good enough!”
“Not by half!”
Alice turned away, her face flushing with anger. She hated this woman half the time and the other half wanted to hate her, but couldn’t, for some reason.
Maybe because Aunt Diana trusted her. But I’m not my aunt, and no matter how much she tries to make me be her, I just can’t!
Guilt laced with more anger suffused her and Alice had to step away for a moment to calm down.
“I will never be what you want me to be,” Alice said when she came back.
Mrs. Frost tapped her cane on the hardwood floor.
“We want the same things. But, not unlike someone else I know, you are too stubborn to see that right now. One day, and I hope it is soon, you will.”
Not likely, you old bat!
“Now...” She handed Alice a piece of paper with a simple speech on it. “Smile, and speak clearly, just as we practiced.”
“This better be the last one of these for a while,” Alice muttered to herself.
“And by the way,” Mrs. Frost’s voice took on an even more annoyed edge. “The board has not received your quarterly reports for the charities and Atlas Books. If you cannot keep up with this part of your duties, it would be best to tell me.”
Alice clenched her hands, bending the paper with her speech on it.
“I sent those over to you a week ago.”
“Then, why have I not seen them?”
“I don’t know.”
At that moment, Mrs. Grace ascended the dais and took command of the room. Her pinched face was doing its best to seem happy at having to introduce Alice, but it was obvious she’d rather be working at a soup kitchen just then.
“We will sort this out,” Mrs. Frost whispered. “In the meantime, send along another copy.”
Alice nodded, shoving any worry she might’ve felt about the missing financial books to the back of her mind. As she climbed the few steps up to the podium, she tried not to think about the mission that night, or Lionel’s eyes on her.
Taking a deep steadying breath, Alice began.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming to celebrate the opening of the Diana Miller Home for Children.”
Alice, Lionel, and Marco perched on the roof of an empty warehouse, the lack of a moon, and a few deliberately broken street lights, hiding them nicely. The night was clear, the faint scent of salt on the warm air.
“Criminals don’t have a lot of imagination when it comes to locations, do they?” Lionel said, as they stared at a darkened warehouse.
It was only a few blocks away from their first mission together, though to Alice’s eyes it looked identical.
“You’d think, after a few times of getting busted, they’d find some variety,” Lionel continued.
“Never gave it much thought,” Marco said.
“You’re grumpy tonight,” Lionel said.
“No, I’m focused.”
Lionel shrugged.
“There,” Alice said, pointing at the thin man that had just exited the warehouse.
He walked three paces, lit a cigarette, and adjusted his hat.
“That’s the signal,” Marco said.
For the past two months, they’d been trying to find a way to bust a drug distribution ring. One night, while patrolling, they stumbled upon a petty thief who was willing to tell them all about it in exchange for his freedom. They made it clear that if he mugged anyone or broke into anyone’s house again they would hunt him down, and, so far, the man had kept his end of the bargain.
The particular warehouse the man had led them to was supposed to have a safe with the name of the person behind the majority of the drug trade in Jet City.
Lionel jumped down into an alley with Alice in his arms. Marco soon followed, his grappler making it possible for him to swing down the fire escape.
“I really need to thank Rose for this,” he said, putting the grappling gun in his shoulder holster.
“Not to mention the body armor,” Alice said, with a playful smile.
“Yeah,” Marco said, with much less enthusiasm.
After several close calls with chest wounds, Rose had made a chest piece for Marco from the same material she’d constructed Alice’s. He grumbled about it at every opportunity.
The new suit, however, Marco didn’t mind so much. Instead of a plain dress shirt, Rose had made him a collarless black shirt out of a ballistic nylon that wasn’t overly stiff. Over that, he had a dark gray vest made of the same specially-treated leather as Alice’s suit. It zipped up to his collarbone, and with the under-armor, helped protect his torso. His new shoulder holsters held two grappler guns. And instead of having to worry about losing his brass knuckles, Rose had made gloves with the weapons inside of them, along with forearm guards. His pants were the same ballistic nylon as his shirt and were tucked into armor-reinforced boots that laced up to his knees. He’d flat out refused to wear a cowl, so Rose made a custom-fit mask and put a harmless, light adhesive on it to keep it from being easily ripped off.
Rose surprised all of them when she produced a smoky gray leather duster to top off the suit.
“How am I supposed to fight in this?” Marco had asked.
“It adds an air of mystery. Figure it out,” Rose had answered, before turning back to her work bench.
She’d been right and Marco had indeed figured it out.
Once Lionel had gotten a look at Marco’s new costume, he pouted for a full ten minutes until Rose brought out his new one.
Instead of a simple mask, Rose had made Lionel a blue leather cowl that concealed his light hair as well as his identity. The rest of his suit was ballistic nylon that somehow managed to cling to his muscled body. The suit was actually quite simple, with just a blue shirt, to which the cowl was attached, and a pair of dark red pants, but on Lionel it was heroic. Rose somehow found reinforced, off-white, knee-high boots that fit Lionel’s huge feet, and after pestering her for two weeks, Rose also made him a pair of off-white fingerless gloves that, as Lionel put it, completed the suit quite nicely.
They ran across the street and to a small door on the dark side of the warehouse. Alice hoped their snitch had remembered to lock all the others to keep anyone from getting away. Once inside through the door, they were in a small entryway filled with empty boxes. The labels said the boxes were supposed to contain canned meat, but when Alice saw the tiny symbol at the left corner of the box her heart stopped.
“Look,” she whispered.
It was a leafless tree with three stars above it. Most would see that and think it was a harmless little drawing, but Alice had learned in the last few months that the symbol she was looking at was a code for the drug, Fantasy.
“Jackpot,” Lionel said.
“We should’ve brought back up,” Marco said, his eyes turning black.
“Why?”
“There’s ten men, and a couple of them...it’s strange, there’s something not right.”
“Like they’ve been sampling the product?” Alice asked.
Marco shook his head
. “I don’t know, they’re definitely erratic though.”
Lionel moved into the lead position. “Can you take them out from here?”
Marco’s shadows appeared and began weaving themselves in and out of his legs and arms. After nine months, she’d gotten more used to Marco’s powers, but sometimes they still made her skin crawl.
“Not the drug users. But, I may be able to take care of three of the others.”
“Do it. Let me handle the users. Alice, you...”
“Take out whoever comes at me?”
Lionel smiled. “Yeah.”
Alice double-checked her darts, which she had started to call serpent bites. They’d come in handy often, and Alice had begun to count on them in a fight.
She crept into the warehouse, keeping to the shadows of the stacked crates and machinery around her. When she was in the middle of the warehouse, whispers of conversation started to become clearer.
“Please, I just...I need more!”
“I’m sorry, we discussed this,” said a man with a deep baritone voice. “Phantasm decides who gets what, and when. You’re not on the list.”
Alice was wondering who Phantasm was, when she heard the muffled sounds of someone grabbing another, then a struggle.
“You need to calm down,” said the baritone. “You remember what we do with rabids?”
“I remember!” The man’s voice was getting hysterical. “But, I’ve still got enough in me to make this interesting. We both do!”
Alice was close enough by now to see the men. They were standing at the bottom of a wide set of metal stairs. The man with the baritone voice had his back to her, his black suit straining at the enormity of his body. He was facing four other men. Two of them were sweating far more than the humid night warranted, their eyes blood shot and wild. They were each being held back by men who appeared to have nearly as much muscle as Baritone. What Alice found surprising was that the two sweaty men were relatively small, compared to the others, yet the muscled men were having a hard time restraining them.
What are they on? I’ve never heard of Fantasy giving people enhanced strength.
Serpent's Sacrifice (The Vigilantes Book 1) Page 18
