What She Doesn't Know

by Tina Wainscott

  He looked away for a moment but surprised her by dropping down in front of her. “Please, Atir, don’t break my heart by questioning my intentions.” He feigned a devastatingly hurt look that had her again reminding herself this was an act. “Please sit, my love. I have something for you.”

  She was in serious danger of falling for this act. When she sat down, he gently took one foot and slid on a gold pump.

  “Is it a good fit, my queen? You know how I love to please you.”

  She shivered, remembering how he had pleased her last night when she’d finally let him take control. Then she realized he was talking about the shoe sparkling on her right foot. “Where did you get this, my lord?” She wiggled her toes—a little tight. “It’s a perfect fit.”

  “My mother was, after all, queen of Carnival.”

  She remembered seeing these shoes at Brian’s house. “You didn’t tell me you had these.”

  “I was hoping you’d back out.” He gently put on the other shoe and ran his finger down her calf. He stopped himself and reached beneath the coat on the desk for a gem-covered necklace. Only he set it on top of the scarf on her head. A rhinestone dangled at her forehead.

  She let him pull her to her feet and looked at her reflection in a mirrored picture on the wall. “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.” He touched her chin again. “I am proud to have you at my side. But I shall never recover if anything should happen to you. My heart would crumble into pieces, and my blood would cease to flow. Do you understand, Atir, how much you mean to me?”

  She felt her eyes water as she nodded, then mentally kicked herself again for getting drawn in. He was looking right into her eyes instead of looking away as he did when he said something he meant. Let him think she was acting, too.

  She placed her hand against his cheek. “I shall place my heart in your hands for safekeeping. I know you shall take good care of it. I will forever treasure your words, spoken from your own heart.”

  He leaned down and captured her mouth with his, a gentle kiss reminiscent of last night. Gentle though it was, it still stirred her body. His hands possessively settled on her waist.

  “Chris, I realized something last night. Before”—she gestured between them—”The anger I felt for my mother and father, the nosebleeds I got whenever I was in an intimate situation with a man, it was all a way to stay comfortable. Letting that go meant I had to take a chance by restarting a relationship with my mom. Overcoming my nosebleeds meant having to open myself to hurt and rejection. It meant stepping out of my safe zone. Believing you’re inherently bad, that those in your life will end up hurt, keeps you in your comfort zone, too.” She put her finger over his mouth. “Don’t say anything, just think about it. It took some time to settle in.”

  He acknowledged her request with a nod and turned to pull his coat from the desk. It was long and black, and fit well with the costume. When he slipped it on and hung the sword inside, he reminded her of the Highlander. She was living the fantasy of one of the episodes, where the immortal Duncan MacLeod protects his lady love, knowing that someday he will have to go on without her as she ages and he does not. She sure missed that show, but she regularly watched the DVDs.

  She blinked and brought herself back to reality. Or this alternate reality, as it were. She would not need her television shows anymore, at least not in the addictive way she had. They would pale in comparison to what she had experienced here.

  He tucked both the handcuffs and the recorder into the pockets of his coat. “I want you to keep your cell phone with you.”

  She patted the fabric at her waist. “It’s already clipped to my waistband. I’ll put the pepper spray on the other side.” He handed her the canister, and she clipped it on. “The knife I’ll wear on my ankle.” She used a knit headband to secure it.

  He held out his hand, and she slid her fingers between his. “Are you ready, my queen?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He helped her into her coat. “From here on, we are only Atir and Alta. There’s no turning back.”

  She shook her head. “There was no turning back the day I arrived…in Xanadu,” she added.

  The lobby was crowded, the bar off to the side jammed with people. For a moment, she felt odd. There were only a few people dressed in costume, and when a man let out a low whistle, she felt distinctly out of place. Then she remembered that Atir didn’t care what people thought, did not have to live up to anyone’s expectations. She smiled at the man, hitched her shoulders, and walked out beside Christopher.

  She once again felt right in place. Well, in an out-of-this-world way. He walked just behind her, and whenever she paused to stare, he ended up bumping into her. She wasn’t so distracted that she didn’t enjoy that hard body, though.

  “This place is…wild,” she whispered, gawking at a midget wearing a thong and a sheer pink cape.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. You’re not the only queen in this part of town today.”

  Three transvestites swayed with more sensuality than Rita had, and she’d been born a woman! A group of four people had set up a band on a corner, and the woman wore a cardboard box over her torso. For any passing male, including Christopher, she opened the doors on the box and gave him a peek. Not that he needed it. In the block they’d traversed, Rita had seen four women baring their breasts for beads.

  Even in their fantasy garb, she and Christopher barely rated more than a glance. No wonder strange people migrated here. You could be anything you wanted.

  They turned a corner and headed north. He tucked her arm beneath his, all the while keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for occasionally becoming distracted by an outrageous costume or a spectacular chest.

  A man up ahead was wearing chaps. As they neared him, he turned sideways. His butt was as bare as a baby’s bottom.

  “Er, excuse me sir, but you seem to have forgotten something,” she pretended to say to him as they passed. She reveled in Christopher’s laughter.

  “I forgot how crazy it is,” he said.

  For a few minutes, she could forget what waited ahead and get distracted by the wild life. “Look, it’s Neptune,” she whispered, nodding toward a man wearing a shell over his “jewels” and a fishing net draped over his shoulders. And not a stitch more. He had to be in his fifties, and the sunny air was not much warmer than that. She met Christopher’s gaze, and they shared another laugh. Despite the fact that he had been acting earlier, she knew he had the capacity to feel. Making him realize it was a whole other matter.

  A young, good-looking man wearing one of those chap-bare-butt things eyed Neptune’s butt and said, “Oh, I gotta grab that.”

  Christopher leaned closer. “Don’t be surprised if your own little tushie doesn’t get grabbed.”

  When she realized he wasn’t kidding, she moved in front of him again.

  “Always thinking of yourself,” he muttered goodheartedly. “I’m in more danger of getting grabbed than you are.”

  She looked back at him. “Better your tushie than mine, your majesty.”

  He gently pinched her cheek, and her heart swelled. How could a man be so wrong and so right at once?

  Three men dressed as nuns and carrying cups of beer went running by as Rita and Christopher neared the parking lot. Within a few minutes, they were out of the harmless zaniness and on their way to Xanadu. This area of town was empty compared to what they’d just left. Their mood darkened as they pulled up to the warehouse. They had arrived early, and so far no one else appeared to be present. He parked off to the side of the building.

  “I’m going to leave the car unlocked with the key under the mat, just in case. If anything happens, run out here and get help.”

  “All right,” she said, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. She knew what he was doing; he wanted her out of the warehouse at the first sign of trouble.

  “It’s cold in here,” she said when they walked inside.
“I don’t suppose there’s any heat.”

  “I doubt it. But I imagine it’s going to heat up real fast in here.”

  He walked up behind her, put his arms around her, and pulled her close for a few minutes. The hum of fear going through her veins disappeared, and she closed her eyes and sank into him.

  “Better?” he asked, breaking the spell. “Don’t want my queen to be cold.”

  She rolled her eyes, finding it so hard to convince herself he was only acting. Or was he? “Mm, thanks.”

  “The only player we can trust is Vitar, but cautiously. I tracked him down to an address in Texas.”

  “White face, vertical brown stripe,” she recited.

  He lifted her chin, and she hoped for another stage kiss. “Atir, I want you to be very careful. Stay close to me.”

  “Yes, your majesty.” She could see he did care about her, and that he was worried. “A kiss for good luck?”

  He leaned down to grant her request, but before their lips met, the door creaked behind them.

  “Alta, it is good to see you again. I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

  The game was on.

  CHAPTER 26

  A man dressed in shimmering blue robes approached Christopher and clasped his hands. “It is good to see that you are all right, your majesty. We have been worried for you.”

  “Citar.” Christopher thanked him and introduced Rita. The man seemed to accept him as Alta.

  A couple wandered into the warehouse dressed in deep shades of pink, a couple of matching jewels. “Astar and Cosmo,” Rita whispered.

  Soon thirty or more people had trickled into the room. It reminded him of the tableaux, all of the colorful costumes and animation. Once again, he was trying to steal away the crown from the golden prince. No, worse, pretending he was the golden prince.

  He put his hand on the sword beneath his coat, reassuring himself that it was still there. Rita was at his side, being greeted and welcomed by curious citizens. He had decided to make the announcement about Atir the way Brian had planned: at the commencement ceremony that evening. That was all they knew about the rituals of the Gathering from that short script Brian had left. He slipped his arm around Rita’s waist and held her close as more people filtered in and surrounded them. If he lost her…he didn’t want to think about that.

  You have to think about it. Her life is in your hands. Everything crowded at once, what he’d felt when he’d held her the night Sira had slipped her ketamine, what she’d done to him last night, even his words to her that morning haunted him. Who was Christopher LaPorte?

  He wasn’t sure he knew anymore. The hard man who pushed away love and warmth, sure he would destroy it? A man holding onto superstitious beliefs to protect not others but himself? Or the man who had made love with Rita last night, who had felt that protective shell splinter apart?

  “Christopher?” she whispered, watching his inner struggle.

  He didn’t know how to put any of it into words, especially not now. Strangely enough, all those words wanted to tumble out to spill at her feet. She knew his darkest shadows, had seen the coldest, hardest part of his soul. Yet she stood there now with compassion in her eyes. And love.

  “Your majesty, the city looks stunning again,” one lady who looked like one of the Cats said.

  “We are so glad you’re back. Xanadu wouldn’t be the same without your leadership,” another said.

  Both he and Rita asked if anyone had seen Vitar, but no one had. Nor had anyone seen Sira.

  “Oh, but I am sure she will be here. You know how she likes to make an entrance, your majesty,” one man in a vibrant orange cape said with a mischievous smile.

  “She’s not going to miss this,” a woman in silver lame said. She surveyed Rita. “It’s going to be a most interesting Gathering.”

  Christopher glanced up at the clock he’d spotted earlier. It was made out of papier-mâché and fit the decor of Xanadu. The Gathering would officially start in forty minutes. With every person they met, he had to endure their adulation. Brian had apparently taken his role as king very seriously.

  “All that adoration. Can you handle it?” Rita asked when they had a moment to themselves.

  He opened his mouth but stopped his words when he realized he was going to say the adoration he needed could only come from her. Was he getting into this role a little too much? “I think so,” he answered to both questions.

  He understood how easy it was to lose yourself in a role. That’s why he’d accidentally stabbed Brian, living up to the role of the bad prince. Back in Brian’s office, he’d slipped right into the role of being Rita’s king. As each word had come from his mouth, it had opened something inside him. More than anything, he needed a clear head in the next several hours.

  A gong sounded through the warehouse. It was time.

  He ran his thumb over her lips, wishing it were his mouth instead. “If you feel anything weird, let me know. We have to be prepared that Sira will try ketamine again.”

  “You be careful, too. You may be king, but you’re human.”

  “Too human, cherie.”

  He didn’t know how many people were crowded into that large room with the strange chairs, but he figured at least forty. Rita was nudged away from him as more and more people pressed close to ask him a question or to merely say how glad they were that he was feeling better. He kept an eye on her, though, as he danced around questions. She was asking questions of her own, undoubtedly as to Vitar’s and Sira’s whereabouts. Only two people knew he wasn’t really Alta. He was searching expressions for suspicion and hostility.

  Someone turned on music, a strange concoction of flute and sitar.

  “Where is Vitar?” he finally managed to ask the group of people around him.

  One man searched the room. “I saw him earlier.”

  “What does he look like? I’ve forgotten,” a woman said.

  “He usually wears a vertical stripe down his face and layers of robes. And he has an “A” tattooed on his finger.”

  “He really should cover it,” another man said. “It’s an intrusion. And Dracon wears a watch. A Timex. You must address these matters, your majesty.”

  As his citizens launched into others issues that threatened the fragile fantasy, Christopher couldn’t help but feel empty.

  How much was real?

  The question haunted him. Here he was in this make-believe world, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, looking for two killers. He looked at the people surrounding him, listened to their passionate ideas and plans. This was real to them. To Sira, it was life or death.

  Someone was pushing his or her way toward him from the back of the room. A man, he surmised, by the potbelly and hairy arms. He tensed, noting that the man wasn’t going anywhere near Rita. A glittery green horizontal stripe crossed the man’s golden face. And a Timex. Dracon then. He obviously had a serious issue of his own to discuss.

  “Alta, your majesty,” he greeted without warmth. “I have heard the most disturbing rumor. Sira says you are shutting Xanadu down.”

  Rita wasn’t going to play hero. She had tangled with Sira once before and didn’t much like the result. Her goal was to find the woman and alert Christopher. He would draw her in and cuff her. She wished Connard had called them back. Hopefully he would come at their call for assistance, even if he only half-believed them. She touched the cell phone at her side.

  From across the room, she met Christopher’s gaze. The man was absolutely gorgeous, standing inches above those who crowded around him. She’d glimpsed something else in his eyes that had her heart beating faster. Something had changed, and she didn’t dare hope he had come to care about her as deeply as she cared about him. Maybe she was being taken in by his act. He had probably been good at taking on the role of the bad prince. Perhaps he was just as good at taking on the role of the caring king. And caring man.

  Masquerade.

  She pushed away those thoughts and focused on the people around
her. They observed her with curiosity, and some even greeted her. Not many new members were let into Xanadu, and that made her an oddity.

  “I am looking for Vitar,” she told one woman wearing elaborate snow leopard makeup. Casca, she guessed.

  “I haven’t seen him yet.” She surveyed Rita. “Shouldn’t you be searching for the Tailor? He is the first person you should meet.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Rita shook her head at the nonsense these people subscribed to. Rules, rituals, anonymity… creepy.

  The rising sound of conversation caught her attention. Those around Christopher were urgently questioning him. One man was raising his voice in disbelief.

  Before she could head his way to find out what was going on, a man whispered, “Atir,” from behind the fabric wall. She tried to trace the voice. “Over here.” She saw a face peeking out from between the folds. He looked around furtively. “I am Vitar. I must talk with you and Alta.”

  He wore a hood over his head and had a wide, brown stripe going down his face. His lips were hidden in makeup, as were his eyebrows and eyelashes. His brown eyes blended into the stripe, too. She tried to remember the gardener/janitor’s features, but they were too generic. Vitar was taller, however.

  “I told one of the others to instruct Alta to join us in the meeting room where the High Council makes their decisions,” he said. “We’ll be safe to talk there.”

  She looked over at Christopher, who was being pulled deeper into conversation with the small crowd. She wouldn’t be able to drag him away now, not by the intensity of their voices. He glanced her way for a second but was drawn away again. Then Vitar pulled her between the folds. As she grabbed for the pepper spray, he put a finger over his lips. “I don’t want Sira to see us.”

  She relaxed, though her fingers still clutched the holster. “Have you seen her?”

  “Oh, she is here. She’s wearing her usual outfit, a brilliant green body suit covered in rhinestones and feathers.”

  “And the black and gold feathered mask?”

  “Yes. But she’s clever.” He looked around again. “She could be anywhere.”