The careful removal of the shirt fabric from the drying tear in her flesh was suddenly too much. She grunted, and tore the sleeve down off her arm by the collar. It stung, badly, and a wave of nausea rippled through her. She teetered. Shiro stood and caught her with one hand on the naked skin of her back.
“Holly,” he said, close to her.
She blinked, clearing her head, feeling woozy. Her vision cleared and she held perfectly still, suddenly highly aware of how close Shiro was to her. He’d said her name, not Ms. Drake. “Thanks. I’m OK.” Where had her flinch gone? Why hadn’t she instinctively panicked? She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. “Sit down. Let’s get this over with.”
“Yes. Of course. But Ms. Drake, you’re dripping all over the rug.” He pointed out.
Holly sighed. “Right. Can’t have anything nice.”
Shiro grabbed the ointment off the table, dipped his fingers in it, and quickly applied it to her shoulder. “You’re done with this shirt. Correct?” He took it from her hand, wiped the ointment and blood from his hand. Then he selected a bandage from the box on the coffee table. “This one ought to work perfectly.” He wrapped it around her shoulder and she let him. He was standing so close to her. His breath was on her face. The scent of his neck close to her. It was drawing her in. There was a haze of confusion in her mind at the absence of the normal panic that being close to men had been causing her. An urge stronger than her instant distrust had seized control of Holly. She attempted to pay attention to what he was doing with the bandage. Her gaze followed his long, lithe fingers as they worked. The problem was that her thoughts were swirling around other ideas about his hands and what she wanted from them.
And from his neck, the musk, the warmth.
He smiled at her as he finished wrapping the bandage, then gave her a soft pat on the back. “There you go. No more blood everywhere.” He chuckled.
“Thanks. If Odeon were here, he’d have done it faster, taken better care of me,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood. Her mood, at least. She took a step back, to completely break the spell. “I just need a drink. You need anything?” Holly retreated into the kitchen. She inhaled and banished the thoughts that suddenly clouded her mind. I’m a rock. A rock. I need nothing. Except a drink.
“Certainly. You have something for someone, not Odeon?” He laughed. “One of those wines you picked up would be delightful. Unless it’s what Odeon would drink. And in that case, I suppose a disgusting beer would work.”
“Great. Beer it is.” Holly removed a bottle of wine from the bag and found a corkscrew in a drawer. Some remainder of what she’d been feeling while standing beside Shiro lingered, though she felt weak and embarrassed. And irritated. And there was still a whirl of desire spinning in her gut like a windstorm ripping across Ixion. “That was ridiculous. Odeon wouldn’t drink Centau wine. Anyway, I’ll help you with your injury, Shiro. Thanks for patching me up.”
“Definitely. Now, Ms. Drake, what do you think that was all about?”
Holly hadn’t paused really, to think of it. She did now as as poured the dark red, almost black wine into a glass for Shiro. A few days prior, Holly had purchased an outfitting service to bring everything in that she’d need. Utensils, dishes, the sofas, rugs. That had been easier for a woman living on her own, than doing it slowly, piece by piece. She considered Shiro’s question.
“A warning. They want me to know that they know it’s us that are hitting them where it hurts. Money.”
“My thoughts exactly. Trying to frighten us into leaving them alone.”
“It could almost work.”
“But?”
“I’ve been scared before. I’m not scared of them.”
“Somewhat reassuring, if not a bit crazy.”
Holly took his glass to him and sipped her own. It was a Centau wine made from a fermented root, spicy and tart, with a bitter finish. She put her glass down, steeled herself, and grabbed the ointment. “Ready?”
“Yes, almost.” He took a long drink of his wine and put it on the table, then leaned back to give her access to the long cut along his abdomen.
“Its only in the skin, mostly. Not very deep. So that’s good,” Holly explained, squinting at it. She scooped some balm onto her fingertips and spread it gingerly across the torn skin. His stomach flinched, and he gasped. Holly pulled her hand away.
“No, it’s ok. Finish. Please.”
She did, and then selected a bandage and pressed it against him.
“There. You’ll be fine.” She took her wine and moved to one of the arm chairs and sat down. Holly held her glass up close to her mouth, hiding behind it. Shiro sat up and took a drink from his own wine.
“A very good choice, on the wine, Ms. Drake.”
“Thanks.”
He cleared his throat. “Now there was one other reason I wanted to speak with you tonight.”
“Something other than the housewarming party?” Holly’s tone was laced with sarcasm. His change of tack alerted some latent, jealous part of her brain. She could sense his real intention. She knew what he wanted before he said it.
“That was the primary reason, and I was in the neighborhood, but now that I have you alone, with no one else from the crew to interfere.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“It pertains to Aimee Voss.”
“Of course it does.”
He watched her face, carefully it seemed. “She would be an excellent addition to the team.”
He was predictable, if nothing else. The subject of Voss instantly made her cringe for all the things that his proximity had aroused in her. The gall. The audacity. She should have punched him when he had the arrogance to stand so close to her, and somehow overcome her learned instinct to want to run when a man got close to her.
Her thoughts weren’t professional. And it bothered her. She was the leader of their crew, not a woman on the prowl.
It was the stress of managing so many things that depended on her—important issues like the lives of the children being kidnapped and the safety of her team. She was living too much in her head, a thing learned from the pressure of living with Graf, as much as simply how Holly worked.
“So you think Voss would work well with us?” Holly asked, deviously leading him down a path that would allow her to shut him down.
“She has the Skelty Key, plus whatever other devices and connections that could support our work.” He began to button his shirt up, which suited Holly just fine. It was difficult for her eyes to not wander.
“Thanks for letting me know your thoughts about Voss.” Holly began. She was irritated about many things, but suddenly the idea of slamming Shiro just because she could seemed to be poor in taste.
“I would love the chance to work with her. She’d be an intriguing addition.”
“I got that.” Holly took a big swallow of the Centau wine. It was beginning to make her head feel light. She remembered suddenly that she hadn’t eaten yet. She put the glass down, out of reach, so that she didn’t drink too much on an empty stomach. She was already acting strange enough. “I don’t like to be immovable, Shiro, but I don’t trust Voss. And I don’t think I ever will. There’s something devious about her. We have a team. I trust everyone pretty well. Adding her would change the dynamic.”
“Yet isn’t that how it is to form a team, to add a crew member? Always?”
“She’s a wild card, Shiro. She looks out for herself and no one else.”
“Isn’t that what we all do?”
Holly hesitated, surprised that she’d need to explain this. “No, Shiro. I don’t put myself first. I put the team first. And I don’t think anyone on the crew puts themselves first. You put the team first as well. We all do. At least, that’s how it looks to me.”
He nodded, looked around as though uncomfortable and spotted a bookshelf. He rose, and carried his wine over to the shelf. “I didn’t realize you liked antique books, Ms. Drake.” He bent to read the titles.
“I just have a few. I like to spend time in the Earl’s Crown.”
“Why didn’t you mention it when we were at the bookstore?”
She shrugged, watching him bend to read the spines. “I think I admitted something to you there, at least. Maybe not. There was a lot going on.”
“This is interesting. Shakespeare. Tolkien. Bronte. Holly Drake, a book lover.” He straightened and looked at her from across the room, something distinct in his eyes.
Her belly coiled like a cat around her name on his voice again. She really wished it would stop affecting her like that.
TEN
THE next morning, Charly stood next to Holly at the windows overlooking the Surge Club bar with an honest-to-god piece of paper in her hands and a pen, and held both out to Holly. “Sign it.”
“What is it?” Holly snatched the paper out of Charly’s hand. “‘I, Holly Drake, agree to not move the current crew headquarters from the premises of the Surge Club and the upper room, known as the Bird’s Nest, for the time being and will not proceed to find a location without first discussing any possible change with Charly.’”
“Cool, er, thanks for reading it aloud. Now sign it,” Charly urged, prodding Holly’s arm with the pen.
Holly hissed and leaned away. “Careful. I got stabbed there.”
“It was a mere flesh wound,” Shiro teased, from where he stood brewing up a pot of coffee and one of kasé. It had become his ritual every day when he dropped in.
It seemed everyone had a ritual, including Darius, who always came in and went to his desk, popped on a set of headphones and listened to god knew what on his v-screen. Odeon’s ritual seemed to be reclining with his feet up and dozing, which was precisely what he was doing—he stayed up late quite often, playing at clubs, including the Glassnini bar.
Holly glared at Shiro across the distance. He didn’t see and she brushed his levity aside. “Yours was a flesh wound. You had your sword out, I’m still wondering how the Shadow Coalition goon got you with a tiny knife while you were waving your sword at him.”
Shiro just laughed and hit the button to grind the long, dried kasé pods. She’d only seen him irritated once—the day he’d threatened to walk out on the job.
“Sign it. Siiiiiign it.” Charly poked Holly in the other arm with the pen.
“Charly, I’m not going to sign this. Why? Do you really think I’ll move us if you’re not cool with it?”
“Then why do you keep looking?”
“You mean, I should have an answer for that when you had me followed by my own crew member, then had him intervene and tell me what a mistake it would be to move at the moment? What’s your excuse? You could just talk to me, for god’s sake, Charly.”
“This is me talking to you. I wrote this contract because I need to know that there are some things that are permanent right now. I sank my money into this club. Having you move out right now would mean that I miss on the planning sessions. And,” she sighed, letting the pen drop to her side. “This.”
“This?” Holly asked, spreading her arms to indicate the room.
“Yeah, you know. The team hanging out here. Chatting. Laughing. Gambling, fighting. I’m the only one of us with a real job. I can’t always leave it in Torden’s hands, either. That’s not fair to him. He doesn’t like telling the other servers what to do.”
She felt for her friend. Though she wanted to move out of the club—Holly longed to set up something better for the team—maybe that was a mistake. Who knew how long the tips from Dave would be coming. Maybe they’d stop. Maybe everything would fall apart soon, and sinking money into a new place was a terrible idea.
Holly lowered her voice. “Look, Char, I feel like it’s unfair to you to keep using this room for the crew’s stuff. And Torden. I bet he hates it as well. And all of us drink all your liquor and any of the food you have around. We eat it all. This isn’t fair to you and I don’t like taking advantage of friends.”
Charly nodded. “I know you’re like that. You were like that in prison, girl. But, maybe you can just pay a bit of rent.”
“Oh yeah. Rent. That could work. But, is that enough? Where can you go to get away from the confusion down on the floor?”
“You guys aren’t here all the time. Not like I don’t have time alone.”
“What about Torden? And all the alcohol and food we drink?”
“You kidding? Torden loves having you around. He’ll start running a tab on everyone’s drinks. Easy as cake.”
“Fine. You win, Charly. You can keep being the center of the crew’s universe.”
Shiro came to stand beside them. “Is it done, then, Charly? What a relief. The rift between you two was becoming a distraction.”
“Rift, Shiro? Was this a rift?” Holly looked back and forth between their faces.
“Ms. Drake, would you care for a cup of coffee or kasé?”
“Changing the subject, Shiro?”
He turned on his heel and sauntered back to the brewing drinks. “Kasé then, Ms. Drake?”
“Charly,” Holly said, crossing her arms and tapping her heel at her friend. “We’ve been through too much to let little things like this come between us. I’m baffled, sincerely baffled.”
“I just haven’t had time to talk to you about it. Shiro asked what was bugging me the day I sent him to follow you. And I had that gala here with the uppity snobs of the city. I couldn’t leave.”
Darius stood suddenly and turned from his comps, knocking his swivel chair back. He took his tweed driving cap off and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Everything all right Darius?” Shiro asked.
He pulled his headphones off and looked at Shiro. His expression was troubled. “Oh yes. I’m fine. Just need a drink.”
“The kasé is almost done,” Shiro said, motioning at the machinery. He was leaning against the table, his arms folded over his stomach, but gingerly held away from where the stab wound was.
Darius shook his head, and began crossing the room for the stairs. “I mean a real drink, man. Anyone else want a real drink?”
Tempting as it was, Holly remained silent. Darius vanished into the stairwell, and soon Holly saw him through the windows overlooking the bar, down on the floor ordering a drink from Torden.
Charly watched him too. “What do you think has gotten into him?”
“Good question.” Holly frowned. “Maybe it’s the jobs. They’re coming close together. It’s a lot of stress to deal with.”
“Could be that. Could be. But damn, the pay is sweet.”
ELEVEN
LATER that night, something unnameable woke Holly from a dream. A very good dream with Elan, her former colleague and someone she had once considered . . . a savior, of sorts.
She rolled to her side and stared out at the city that now glowed only softly in the light of the gas giant. The spires outside her window were filled with darkened windows behind which inhabitants of the city slept and dreamed.
Holly had done a relatively fine job of forgetting Elan after they ended the affair and he moved off-moon. She’d settled into a holding pattern in her life with Graf and nursed the irritant that she’d done something very wrong at the center of her core, until it became a bright and beautiful thing. An object that gave her hope.
It was never ugly, what had happened with Elan. She refused to believe that it was. Humans would say that it was—they would label it a litany of ugly terms and Holly would have a hard time not believing them. They would never know the weight that pulled her down during the middle of her marriage with Graf, and the violence, and Holly would never blame them because she’d been in denial about it herself. She deserved it. He hadn’t meant it, when he punched and kicked her in the back or the side, in all the places where no one would see.
Elan had seen the bruise-marks. And he’d touched her gently. Always. And yet . . . she had walked away from him, and back to Graf.
Guilt, maybe. The condemnation she felt for herself that came from the uns
poken reprimands from human culture. She longed for a way to explain it all to herself, to feel that finding refuge with Elan saved her, and was therefore fucking OK. There were rare moments when she’d watched from afar the way the Centau handled relationships, family, children, lovers, and she wanted to adopt their easy acceptance of these things. No condemnation. No attempt to destroy the inclination to love, to leave, to nurture hope rather than shame.
But she was human. And there were no human terms to exonerate her actions.
And yet. Something was happening in her, now. She didn’t know what. She woke from a dream of Elan, a feeling in her gut bright as a thousand stars. She lay in the dark in her new condo, the curtains open, Ixion casting shadows on the spun bamboo rug on her floor and across her comforter. The pleasant dream of being in the arms of someone gentle faded slowly. It had begun as a nightmare of running from Graf, and then somehow in the dream, she had reached Elan.
And she was safe. Finally.
Her communicator buzzed beside her on the nightstand.
Holly sighed—she kept it on at night in case the official called her with a tip. Or rather, Xadrian.
She answered when she glanced at the screen and saw that it was Meg. “Hello? Meg?”
“Hey sis. Sorry to wake you.”
“It’s no problem. Is everything ok?”
“No, it’s not. That’s why I’m calling.”
Holly yawned. “Shit. Well, what is it, Meg? It’s not Lucy, is it?”
“No, thank Ixion,” Meg said, sighing heavily. “Just as bad. God, Holly I don’t even know how to say this. It’s Charm. She’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared? Since when? When was the last time she was seen?”
“Yesterday.” Meg’s voice sounded brittle, like it was about to shatter into tears. “Look, can you get Odeon Starlight, your Druiviin friend, and come here?”
“Why?”
“Charm is Druiviin. Her parents are distraught and distrusting of Gabe and me. I could use Odeon’s help. And yours.”
Hands of the Colossus Page 7
