by Carol Roi
Diandra rolled over and hit the alarm clock's off button before it had time to ring. She glanced at the sleeping form beside her, then, reaching for the telephone, she quietly punched in a number. At the mumbled "Hello", she said, "Our Lady of Perpetual Help church, after 5 PM tonight." Hanging up the phone, she scooted up behind Blair, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning her cheek against his back, unaware his eyes were open, and he had heard every word.
Part 5
The blow to my head, for daring to spill water, sends me to the ground. I manage to crawl a few feet away from my tormentor only to have my flight halted by the heavy foot that steps down on my long, matted, hair.
"Enough! The God has decreed we're to have another bloodletting in his name. This one has been with us a long time; let her be the Chosen One."
I am hauled to my feet, roughly handled by the one I know is the leader of the tribe I've been held by for many seasons. Nearly ten cycles of the seasons, and I still haven't grasped their crude language, but I understand the intent when the leader throws me to the feet of the one who had killed all my fellow clan members. I am the last one. The last of the Celtoi.
The shaman, for I have no other word for him, treats me gently, helping me rise back to my feet. He gestures for me to follow him, and knowing what disobedience to this one would mean, I follow. He and his lifemate take me to the river and bathe me. It is the first time I've been allowed to wash the filth from my body since I came to be with this tribe. Afterwards, the man's mate drapes a soft, pale leather sheath over my head, dressing me.
For a while, maybe seven days, I'm treated well. No warriors come to claim me for a night's amusement. I'm allowed to eat my fill, instead of having to fight the wild dogs for scraps. The women of the tribe help me to tame my long hair, plaiting it, weaving beads through the heavy mass.
Night falls on the seventh day and as I carefully sip the cup of water the shaman's wife has given me, I feel a strangeness over take my mind. The cup falls from my hand, the leader and shaman rise to their feet and I cringe. I'm to be punished; I know this. Water is a blessing not to be wasted and I have done just that.
Dragged from the shaman's hut, I'm made to walk before the Leader, his hands tight on my upper arms. As we walk, I notice only the men in the camp follow us. I don't care; I'm having trouble keeping my feet under me. I dare to raise my eyes, to see where I'm being taken. I stumble only to be picked up and carried by the Leader. I fade out, my eyes closing.
The stone under my back is hard, rough and, oh, so cold. My eyes snap open at the touch slowly working its way up my legs. NO! I've been stripped of the covering that has graced my body, hidden it from eyes like those smiling cruelly into mine. The eyes belong to a warrior I've only seen, who has never taken me. The cold from the stone below my back seeps into my stomach. I try to rise up off the stone, only to feel, for the first time, the hands holding me in place. The pain from my center causes me to scream as the warrior who has mounted my body impales me with his hard flesh.
The pain increases each time the man plunges into me, my cries ignored by those holding me down so he can seek his release. With a final shudder, loud groan and a gush of unwelcome warmth, it is over. The warrior collapses on my body, pinning me between his heavy weight and the now warm stone.
A word from the Leader, followed by a harsher one from the shaman, and the man climbs off my body. I want to curl up, to bring my knees to my chest to ease the pain in my lower gut, but I'm still held. Four men, men who have used my body in a like manner, hold me by my ankles and wrists. I cast my eyes around to see the rest of the tribe's warriors and men gathered in the not quite darkness.
A gentle hand on my brow brings my attention back to the shaman, the one who has taken care of me for many days. He smiles at me as he begins to chant in a language even more unfamiliar to me than that of the tribe. The sounds falling from his lips are soothing, and I find myself relaxing, no longer resisting the hands binding me.
The words change, becoming hateful, harsh, and guttural. I open eyes I hadn't realized I'd closed, just in time to see the long, black blade rise above my chest and plunge downward. The PAIN&
I scream as I rise from the bed, my heart pounding furiously in my undamaged body. I stumble out of the bed, rushing for the bathroom, where I bring up the pitiful remains of my dinner from the evening before. Rinsing my befouled mouth out at the sink, I look into the mirror and see what I must have looked like that night, so long ago, when I died for the first time.
Long, matted, bed mussed hair the color of polished mahogany spills uncontrolled over my pale shoulders. Light brown eyes are filled with terror remembered, dark circles ring fearful eyes in a face which has lost its color. Taking up my brush, I set about getting the tangles from my hair, a task my husband would've performed for me once.
The phone in the other part of the suite trills out in the silence which has settled over the room since I awoke. Grabbing the long, black, silk robe from the bed as I pass, I walk to the living area and pick up the handset.
"Hello?"
"Our Lady of Perpetual Help church, after 5 PM tonight." The line goes dead.
Hanging up the phone, I notice I have some time to waste as I don't have to be at QuestScape until eleven. It's only eight AM now, and I feel tired. A little nap, to reclaim the rest I lost thanks to my recurring nightmare, seems to be in order. Jan-Michel LaFollet, my bodyguard, will be here around ten, so I have about an hour and a half to try to recover. Shrugging out of the silk, which pools around my feet, I slip back into the large bed. The satiny smoothness of the sheets lures me back, to the first time I heard the voice of the woman who I'd just spoken to on the phone&
It happened, again. Why me? Why have I been chosen to suffer like this? To feel my heart ripped apart, my body torn asunder so many times yet to live and not bear the wounds? My thoughts stop as I realize the smells of this place are not the same as before. Not the smell of earth, but spicy sharp smells. And I'm clean! They haven't bothered to do that since the first time! No! Not again!
The coverings tangle in my feet, but I fight them, only to fall to the hard floor. A soft voice calls out, the same voice from when I woke up before. In my fear I scurry like a scuttle bug into a corner, putting my back against the cool, smooth, stone walls. Unlike before, the first time, my hair is loose, flying about my face, obscuring my view of the owner of the soft voice. Crouched in a tiny ball, I slowly raise my hand and brush hair from my eyes.
She is beautiful! Her long, dark brown hair is swept up in a curious style, her white clothing is almost blinding in its cleanliness! It is her voice I hear, soft words, encouraging me as she slowly, carefully makes her way towards me. I nearly laugh as I get the strange idea she is as scared of me as I am of her. The laugh dies in my throat and I start to cry, tears falling from my face and the sobs, too many years held back in silence, break loose from me. I know not why, but I feel I'm safe here with this soft voiced woman, and as I cry, I feel arms close around my body in a way that reminds me of the last time my mother held me. The tears flow even harder, as the long forgotten memory of my mother's tenderness is rekindled in the gentle arms holding me now&
The sound of the travel alarm clock pulls me back once again to the present. Damn! Nine-thirty! I rush to the bathroom. Jan-Michel will be here shortly and I have to be ready!
As is his wont, my bodyguard shows up early, but I'm ready, almost. I'm pulling my waist long hair up into a French twist as I let him into the suite. I've chosen to wear the color of mourning, all black, from the long sleeved, silk shirt, to the long tapered suede pants and the matching boots. "Morning, Jan-Michel."
"You should be more careful about who you let walk into your suite." His eyes sweep the rooms, looking for gods-know-what, before returning his gaze to me. "You had the dream again, didn't you?"
His insight takes me by surprise. But then again, he's been with the company for over five years, acting as bodyguard to myself and Azir for three of th
ose. I decide to evade the probing question. "Have we enough time to grab a latte before meeting with Mr. Ventriss?"
I turn away from him to hide my smile at his exasperated sigh. "Fine. Don't tell me. Lee, I don't know what happened to you, what causes your nightmares, but you have them every year at the same time& "
"Enough!" I snap at him. The hurt hiding in his hazel eyes immediately makes me regret my churlish behavior. "Jan, I'm sorry. I'm a little upset this morning, I don't need to be taking it out on you."
"I worry about you, Lee. And I'll admit, it's more than just professional behavior on my part. Since Azir was killed, you just aren't the same woman."
"I know, I know. But I have to honor the contracts Azir and I made." I reach for my long coat, only to have the man hold it out for me. After shrugging into the coat, I turn to see him holding out my sword to me.
"Never, never leave home without it, mi'lady."
For the first time in a long while, I laugh, truly laugh. It's nice to have someone who knows about Immortals working so closely with me. I take the blade from his hands, not for the first time noticing the blue tattoo in the inside of his left wrist. Yes, Jan-Michel LaFollet is a Watcher. My Watcher, and Azir's, too, before my husband had been cut out of the Game.
Secreting the sword in its hidden sheath inside my coat, I gather up the briefcase and files I need to present the owner of QuestScape with my plans for testing his security system.
Less than an hour later, after stopping on the way to grab a double strength Irish Cream Americano latte, I'm sitting across a table from Mr. Norman Ventriss, owner of QuestScape.
"I'm sorry to hear of your loss, Ms. Sadih& "
"Eolia. I've given up my married name, Mr. Ventriss."
He fidgets in his seat, his hands restless on the table. "Sorry, I didn't know. I just assumed," he shrugs off his mood and tries to smile. "So, I understand you're here to honor the contract I made with WindHawk Securities?"
WindHawk is the company Azir and I built from the ground up ten years ago. It seemed a great way to take the skills we had learned as spies in the two great wars, and the smaller conflicts, to good use. Industrial espionage is a growing concern, especially among companies like QuestScape and the other major player here in Cascade, Complexium Communications.
"Yes. Have you told anyone in your company you've hired outside investigators?"
"No. But depending on how well your team does its job, I may have another contract for you."
I smile, nodding towards LaFollet. "That will be completely up to LaFollet here, Mr. Ventriss."
Jan-Michel takes a half step forward, moving in closer to my back. "I'm afraid WindHawk is quite booked for the next few weeks, but I will have Ms. Eolia's secretary get in touch with you later, to see if we can fit your request in."
"I understand. You have a plan to show me?"
We haggle over the security test plan for forty-five minutes. Poor man seems shocked to learn there will only be one entry person, and that person will be me. I calmly explain I like to keep my hand in the trade, that I have been trained by the very best, and it seems to calm his concerns. He gives me a target, a development lab on the forth floor, with several electronic checkpoints to get through. If I can make it inside the lab, there will be a zip-drive on the table furthest from the entryway I'm to secure, get out of the building, and hand over to him at his private home.
"The information on the drive, it's fake, correct?"
"No, Ms. Eolia, it's very real. And just sensitive enough to make my security people shit their pants when they realize it's gone missing."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Ventriss. That's not the agreement we had." I stand up, ready to walk out of the room.
"Wait!"
I slowly turn back to face the man and lower my voice. It's the voice others have been known to call my 'freeze them in their tracks' one. Pure frozen helium. "Yes, Mr. Ventriss? Please don't waste my time, it's too valuable."
Ventriss nods his head, "I understand, I was just hoping to up the odds a bit. I've never hired outside security experts before."
I look over to Jan-Michel. It's rather obvious he believes the man is lying. Hell, so do I. A barely noticeable nod from my friend tells me he's willing to listen to Ventriss and make his recommendation later, in private. "That's no excuse, but I'm curious now, so please? Go on."
"The lab you'll need to attempt access to is where my programmers are working on several different projects. I'll leave the dummy prop in there for you to pick up. Just please? Be very careful in there, some of the equipment in that lab is highly sensitive."
"Fine. I'll be extra careful around it then." I conclude the meeting and Jan-Michel and I walk out of the QuestScape Corporate Offices into another dreary mid-afternoon in Cascade.
"I don't trust him, Lee."
"Really, Jan-Michel? Neither do I." And I don't. I just know that somehow, some way, the man is going to try to screw WindHawk, and me, over. I'm already thinking I should just check his security measures, not taking the dummy, and get the hell out of town. But I have other business to attend to here.
"Does the sun ever shine on this city?" Ah, his way of letting me know he's not happy about the meeting we just left.
I smile weakly at his words, as he hands me into the rental car. "Only if we spend a good amount of time in the local coffee bars and bookstores." I glance at my watch. Noon. In five hours I'm to meet with Diandra. Before I do, I have to ditch my watchdog.
Part 6
Okay, so it is a little vile, what I do to Jan-Michel. But, damn it, I can't take the chance he will try to stop me from meeting with Pallas. We argue over whether or not to honor the contract with QuestScape, and even though I have a bad feeling about the whole thing, I finally convince LaFollet we should do the job. In fact, I think I'll just leave one of my business cards in the lab, instead of taking the prop. Maybe with a nice little note on the back? I hold back the giggle fit threatening to bubble up in my throat. When we have finished perusing the antique bookstore where he has somehow found an old Chronicle, we stop for a coffee at a place known as Coffee Heaven. Since I have been kind enough to lend Jan-Michel the money to purchase the Chronicle, he shows it to me. Before our ordered coffees arrive at the small table, a double shot espresso for myself and a thick, sweet, Turkish blend for him, he excuses himself. I wait until he has disappear into the men's room, then I carefully, under the guise of adding a dollop of cream to his cup, slip the potion in. By the time we leave the Coffee Heaven, I'm going one way, with a new bodyguard, while the ambulance takes him to Cascade General Hospital.
He will recover in a few hours, the cramps and uncontrollable vomiting over with, and I'll have to deal with a pissed off Watcher/Bodyguard. Ditching his replacement, John David, is easy enough. The kid is still too green.
The last of the watery sunlight has faded as I pull the car to the curb, two blocks away from my destination. The walk will make me late to the meeting, but I'm not sure what is in store for me. Our Lady of Perpetual Help is located in a section of the city that can only be described as 'rundown' and that is a charitable description.
We're not far from the shore of Puget Sound, and there is a fog rolling in, hugging the ground in a strange, soupy mist. I walk towards the church, my eyes and ears wide open. I don't think Diandra would cross me, but&
Damn. Okay, then again, maybe the bitch would double cross me. Secreting myself in an alley across from the building, keeping to the deepening shadows, I watch the small figure enter the alleyway beside the church. Unless Diandra has been working out, it's not her; the shoulders are too wide. I hear a car coming up the street and duck further back into the shadows as it passes. The fleeting impression of the buzz I get from all other Immortals teases my spine and I observe as the Jeep pulls into the parking lot beside the little church.
She steps out of the car, her head twisting on her neck as if searching for something. Clearly she has felt my own presence. With a small shrug, she slams the drive
r's door shut and walks into the gray stone church. She knows I'm here. Now to find out who the other one, the figure in the alleyway next to the church, is.
I changed my shoes earlier, opting for the black, soft-soled shoes I picked up in Hong Kong, and they hide my progress well as I cross the street and enter the alley. It doesn't take me long to spot my prey. Smoothly, quietly, I pull my sword and sneak up on the man looking in the window of the church. Placing my blade alongside his neck, my voice a mere whisper, I confront this furtive foe.
"Move, and you're dead."
His hands, which had braced his weight on the windowsill, rise in surrender. "No problem."
