by Linda Welch
He rises to take the cashbox to his wall safe and lock it inside. Returning to the desk, he lounges in the chair again and his moss-green eyes dip to the ledger. He ponders for a moment, then dials the rotary phone. Someone picks up after two rings.
“Tybalt here, Alain.”
“Tybalt, send someone to have a word with Glorius Welks. His floor manager is still abusing employees.”
“We had a word with him last month.”
“Have another. Reiterate that when workers cannot perform their duties capably it ultimately results in lost production, which I find upsetting. Remind him he was advised to dismiss Bluta, and as he cannot run his business efficiently, this once I will do it for him and he will pay me for the privilege. I think five-thousand drach is reasonable. Take Bluta outside the city limits, talk to him about relocating, and break something. Not his legs, he will need those.”
“Right you are. Consider it done.”
Alain smiles, though it does not reach his eyes, as he settles the phone in the cradle.
Carelessness, minor accidents, plus workers calling in sick; all result in a drop in production and most of the incidents are in the finishing department. Ninety percent of the finishers are women with slim agile fingers for delicate detail work. He did investigate but every occurrence appears to be legitimate. No one will speak up, they fear losing their jobs. Intimidated employees make mistakes which eat into his profits.
The information from Rain is worth the money he paid. She deserved the bonus and he enjoyed handing it to her personally.
His smile morphs into something kinder. Ah, Rain. He shouldn’t have given in to the impulse to discomfit her. He wants her to take him seriously. But her expression was priceless! Alain chuckles.
He has had many women in his long life. Some touched him deeply, but they eventually left him. Most could be clones, all beautiful and desirable, they melt at his touch. But they try too hard. As though his nature overwhelms theirs, they are too pliant, too willing to do anything for him. They have little personality.
Rain is fiery, willful and intractable, although her stubbornness doesn’t work in his favor. She can be abrupt, impatient, rude and crude; hard as steel one moment, compassionate the next. Rain is real, and exquisite to boot. She is delectable.
She has captivated him since day one. Over time, fascination became something stronger which sank claws into his heart. He doesn’t think he has ever felt quite like this.
A sharp rap on the door and Clide crashes into the office before Alain can bid him enter. “We have a problem, boss. The Greché came to Gettaholt and took Verity Upside.”
The Greché have as much right to be Downside as Alain’s Peralta vampires and his secretary Verity is free to go where she wishes, although he cannot imagine why she would want anything to do with the Upside vampire family. “Took? Perhaps you’d better take a breath and explain.”
It’s a joke, because vampires seldom breathe, but Clide is in no mood to laugh. He paces back and forth in front of the desk. “Gervaise Greché and a buddy came Downside last night and went partying. They were seen leaving The Medallion with Verity. A couple of people said she looked loopy but the bartender told me she didn’t drink much. They took her Upside.”
“Against her will? You’re sure?”
“I know it. They carried her through The Station, and the Station Master went with them.”
Alain’s nerves hum like swarming bees. The Station Master should have at the minimum questioned why a Downside citizen was carted, unconscious, Upside. The man must work for the Greché.
“How do you know this?”
“We got lucky. A guard took a bathroom break and came out as the Greché entered The Station. Verity was unconscious, bound, and over Gervaise’s shoulder, yet he greeted the Station Master like an old comrade and all three looked pretty happy. So the guard ducked back in the bathroom.”
“He didn’t try to stop them,” Alain states.
“We should give the guy a break. He doesn’t know what’s going on and the man is his boss. He puts his foot in it, he’s out of a job. He figures out something underhand is going down when the Station Master heads Upside with the Greché, but by then it’s too late. He doesn’t have the key to open the doors and go after them, the Station Master took it with him.”
“They would have killed him anyway.”
Clide spins back to the desk, plants his big hands on the edge and leans over. “They were talking about a wedding.”
Alain’s muscles lock and his chair catapults him into the edge of the desk. “No.” Heat boils through his body as anger he has not experienced for a long time consumes him. Hands bunched, he forces down the rage with effort. He needs a cool head. Verity will be lost to them should they not take immediate action.
“How long do we have?”
“No more than a week, and that because the Greché will call in their people and make it a formal affair. You know how they are with ceremony.”
“Put a team together.”
Clide’s head shakes briskly. “Won’t work. They’ll plan a huge shindig which calls for using one of their houses for all the guests. We approach the wrong one, they’re warned. They’ll zip her to another location.”
Alain holds up one hand, palm out. “Give me a moment.”
Clide bobs upright and flings his long body into the chair which faces Alain’s desk.
Alain props his chin on his hand, eyes slitted as he deliberates. It comes to him. He drops his hands. “Tell me, what if we know where Verity is being held beforehand?”
“No way we can.”
Alain smiles again, unpleasantly. “Call Rain and request her presence.”
Clide’s eyebrows pop up. “Rain?”
“The difficulty lies in not knowing where Verity is and our inability to search their houses without their knowledge.”
Clide grins. “But a wraith can.” He shoots upright. “I’m on it.”
*
Castle drops me off outside my place. I get out of the car and lean in the window. “Can I bring my laundry tonight?”
His eyes flick up. “Take it to the cleaners, the self-service machines are free.”
“But I hate sitting there for hours.”
He faintly shakes his head as though vexed. “Bring your own detergent.”
I don’t fancy the pastries anymore so toss the bag in a public bin on the street, shuffle upstairs, unlock the door, go inside and am about to flop in the chair when I remember I’m soggy.
The phone rings as I head for the bathroom. I pause long enough for the machine to pick up.
Clide’s voice lacks its habitual drawl. “Rain, I hope you’re there listening to this. You’re needed fast as you can, or as they say Upside, stat!”
Like hells! Ten minutes later, after a hot shower, I dress in the remaining clean T-shirt and jeans and head down to Angelina’s place.
Six apartments occupy each floor of my building, except the ground floor which my landlord Angelina has in its entirety. Angelina is very old and has been Downside a long time. She refuses to say how long because it would indicate her age and Angelina says a lady never divulges her age.
She owns more than a dozen enterprises and could live in a mansion; perhaps she is too lazy to move. Angelina knows many people of consequence and is privy to information kept from the majority of Downsiders, and of more interest to me, has an inner sense which detects disruptions in Downside’s magical balance.
I buzz the intercom. Angelina replies immediately. “Yes?”
“Angie, it’s me.”
“Come in, Rain. I’m in the tub.”
The door opens with the hiss of hydraulics. Angelina made some amazing modifications to this floor to create a fortress and her personal little den of iniquity. Half the floor is her living area of pale, barely there blues and aqua greens accented with delicate rose and vibrant coral. Gigantic turquoise fern burst from terracotta pots on the tiled floor. An archway in her rece
ption room leads to a small, comfortable living room and doors from there to kitchen and bedroom. Splashing sounds come from another arched entrance on my right.
The other half of Angelina’s space is designed for recreation and to accommodate her special needs. Her “tub” is a glass tank the size of a public swimming pool. Small round drains riddle the cool tiled floor. Angelina floats in water made slightly murky by bath salts which infuse the air with the scent of anemone and ginger. Her long, bright, gleaming copper hair cobwebs on the surface. Overhead lamps like giant pearls bathe her iridescent scales as her tail arches gracefully from the water.
She lifts a milk-white arm and says languidly, “Rain, how nice of you to call.” Her pale skin is flawless. Thick copper lashes dip over huge almond-shaped eyes the color of a deep Upside ocean when sunlight first bursts on it. “Entre, my dear. Make yourself comfortable.”
I need information, else I would not be here. I avoid Angie as much as possible. She’s one of the most dangerous type of Mer: a Siren. Male, female, Angelina doesn’t care. If she gets you into bed, you eventually leave it as a shadow of yourself, both physically and emotionally sapped.
I perch on a white leather stool. “How are things, Angie?”
“Fabulous, darling.” She rolls in the water, under, over and up. “You look somewhat tense.”
“I do?”
A flurry in the water and a male head and shoulders emerge. He thrashes his long dark-green hair, scattering beads of water, and smiles at me.
“I didn’t know you have company. I can come back later.”
Angelina waves a slender hand. “Nonsense.” She glides through the water and puts her arm along the guy’s shoulders. “Rain, meet Micah. Micah, meet Rain.”
I know of Big Micah. He leads the Wain pod down in Belladonna. He doesn’t look big to me, tall and slender, with marvelous hollowed cheeks and dark skin with a barely perceptible green tinge, but I imagined a bulkier guy. “No really, I’ll come back when you’re not … busy.”
Angelina swims a few strokes from Micah. “Rain, you are so prissy.”
I almost miss the glint in her eyes, but not her tail rising from the water.
“Angie, don’t you dare!
I dive off the stool as Angelina’s tail slaps down and water geysers everywhere. On my belly on the tiles, drenched, watching water trickle over the floor and down the drains, Angelina’s laughter tinkles in my ears.
I can remain wet or fade out. But I’ll come back naked, which will delight Angie and give Micah an eyeful, so I sit up and try to squeeze water from my hair. My clothes cling like a second skin.
Still chortling, Angelina glides to the side of the tank, grasps the top rail and hoists up using the power of her arms alone. Although not a shifter, as in the family of shapeshifters, Angelina and her people do change their physicality, part lamnidae when in water but totally human on land. Instead of a tail, two slender shapely legs support a sensual body. As she stands on the steps, water dribbling off her trickles in thin rivulets from the top of her head down to her toes. She is dry by the time her delicate high-arched feet step to the tiles.
As rain is often my companion and I’m therefore frequently wet, I envy how water evaporates from a mer’s skin when they are on dry land.
Angelina walks down the three shallow steps as Micah surges from the water and hauls himself out. Grinning at me, he steps over the pool’s rim and postures on the top step.
Now I know why Angelina calls him Big Micah.
Mer folk have no shame, but Micah goes one step beyond, he flaunts his considerable endowments like he expects me to applaud.
Angelina throws a towel at him. “Shame on you, Micah.” But she follows up by giggling behind her hand.
Still grinning, he catches the towel, wraps it about his loins and leaves the room, no doubt heading for Angelina’s bedroom.
Angelina languorously sways into her living room, where she drapes her long body on a sofa upholstered in tufted rose silk. I slop from the tub room behind her. Her finger-and toenails look like abalone, her skin from the hips down is an iridescent spectrum of pale color which shimmers in the cool pearly light. She poses in all her glory, one arm beneath her silken copper hair, one leg angled over the other. “What can I do for you, Rain?”
She knows I don’t call on her without good reason. Sure, we are amicable, but not friends. I don’t stop by for girlfriend chats.
“Do you know if a powerful sorcerer is in town?” The sorcerer who called the hellion had to be nearby to bring it through.
Angelina’s delicate copper brows arch. “No. Why do you ask?”
I don’t want to get the lovely furniture wet so sit on the floor facing her with legs crossed and hands resting on my knees.
After I tell her what happened, Angelina swings her legs over the side and plants her feet on the floor. “I did feel a ripple in the ether. With the flow of magic and crime in Gettaholt, fluctuations are not unusual; I found the almost constant disturbance most distressing when I first arrived, now I let it roll off me, I barely notice.” She frowns. “But this definitely drew my attention. Not that I knew it was a hellion. I sensed something evil rise from the dark place.”
“We think we were set up. Someone is out to get us and they’re desperate.”
“They must be, to call a hellion.” She leans over her knees, distress etching her face. “Rain, what have you done?”
Sheesh. Why does it have to be my fault? I flare my eyes and flip my hands up. “Nothing!”
“You do know securing the services of a sorcerer of the higher arts is extraordinarily expensive, and how dangerous a dark summons is?”
“Sure. But really, Angie, our assignments have been humdrum.”
“Nothing in your personal life, or Castle’s?”
I shift one shoulder. “No.” But Castle and me, or Castle, or me, must have put our toes in somebody’s shit. There is nothing worse than knowing you messed up and someone is out to make you pay, and having no idea what you did or how to make it all better.
“I’ll nose around and get back to you if I find anything,”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” I get upright. “What do I owe you?”
When Angie does you a favor, you owe her, even if she doesn’t give results. You owe her just for asking.
“Hm.” She taps a fingernail on her teeth and her expression brightens. “You can come shopping with me!”
Oh hell’s bells. Anything but shopping with Angelina. I would rather spend the night in city lockup, or swim in the sewer, or slice my own throat. But I don’t argue. If she wants my company on a shopping expedition, I’ll go. But I won’t enjoy it.
After a hectic three hours trailing Angelina in and out of arty boutiques and upscale department stores, I follow her back to her car loaded down with bags, parcels and a hat box. Unencumbered, Angelina strolls ahead, wearing a new outfit with matching red high heels. I wouldn’t wear clothes like hers if I had the figure. You can’t run in shoes with heels like four-inch matchsticks. The pencil-slim skirt limits her stride to a kind of swaying glide which may look seductive but doesn’t get her anywhere fast.
I need full mass to carry Angelina’s packages, so my back aches and my feet hurt. Sweat drips in my eyes but I don’t have a spare hand to wipe them. My head hurts from her constantly asking my opinion of every dress, skirt, coat and pair of shoes she looks at. Not that my advice matters, I soon learn she ignores it, so stop giving it.
Angelina opens the car’s rear doors and I load in her packages. She kindly lets me open the driver’s door before slipping in sideways so she sits facing the street, skirt hiked up to her thighs. “Lunch, darling?”
I push the door to inches from her knees. “Love to, but Sauvageau is expecting me.”
“Alain? Delectable.” She makes a moue, her generous lips pucker. “I haven’t seen Alain since … oh, I don’t know. We were fond of each other at one time.”
Uh huh.
Angelina
lifts her legs inside the car. “Watch yourself, Rain. He’s indefatigable when he wants a woman.”
I intentionally give her a blank look. “What has that to do with me?”
She chuffs out a laugh. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. And I think you like him.”
“Don’t,” I bluster. “Couldn’t care less about him.”
“Really? Say it again with more passion and I still won’t believe you.”
She drives off chortling. I walk in the opposite direction wearing a grin. I said Sauvageau expects me, I didn’t say I’m going to him right this minute.
Chapter Five
My stomach is light with hunger but I don’t want to eat with Angelina and listen to her chatter. I detour to Bellamiso and buy a toasted baguette oozing with spicy ground sausage, cheese and marinara sauce, and a bottle of water. After eating as I walk, I zip up my jacket to hide a sauce stain on my shirt. Damn. I really should get the laundry done.
A man saunters from the sidewalk and lands squarely in front of me.
“Fuck.”
“Not now, sweetheart,” Clide drawls. He flashes fangs in a narrow grin.
Tall, wide in the shoulders, narrow in the hips, with a lean, savagely beautiful face and long golden hair, he could decorate the cover of a romance novel. With a barely-clad woman draped over one arm.
“Hi, Clide. What are you doing in these parts?”
He turns to fall in step next to me as I pass. “Looking for you. And think before you say you didn’t get my message, I’ll know if you’re lying.”
“You will, huh. This some new super-duper vampire power?”
“It’s called guilt, as in written all over your face.”
“I have somewhere to be,” I whine as we traverse a cobbled alley.
“You undoubtedly do, and we’re heading there.”
Fuming, I scuffle along with gaze on the ground.
“Scowling doesn’t look good on your pretty face, darling. You’ve made him antsy waiting for you, so keep a cool head.”
Sauvageau, the ultimate smooth operator, antsy?
Protesting is useless. Sauvageau sent Clide to find me, I can’t wiggle out of it any longer. Clide won’t let me. I will bulk up if he touches me and only get free with the help of a knife, though I’ll more likely end up on my back in the gutter should I try to stab Clide. Anyway, the occasion doesn’t warrant it.
