House of Cards n-2

by C. E. Murphy

  "My disgusting childhood secrets are out," Cole called, then sobered as he asked, "How was work?"

  Margrit tugged running pants on under her skirt and lifted her voice to answer, "It sucked. A lot of people were out and everybody who wasn’t was walking on eggshells. I was actually out about half the day." She’d returned to work to find it moribund, no one speaking any more than necessary, and she’d felt no guilt at leaving as quickly as she could. She finished changing clothes and pulled running shoes on before heading for the kitchen. "I spent a lot of time talking to Eliseo Daisani today."

  Cole turned to look at her, poorly restrained curiosity in his expression. Margrit managed a weak smile. "I think I’m going to take the job."

  "Whoo." Cole turned the burner off and folded his arms across his chest. "You sure about this? I don’t want to rain on your parade, but they say not to make big decisions right after something awful’s happened. Have you talked to your parents? Or Tony?"

  "Not really. Not about the job. And you’re right." Margrit rubbed her hands over her face. "About big decisions, I mean. I still think I could do a lot of good in the public sector, but there are things going on with his corporation that I can make a real difference in." She offered a tentative smile. "Bleeding heart liberal in charge of their charitable resource funds, you know?" The grain of truth there made it bearable to say, but explaining the aspect of Daisani’s world that Margrit thought she might really make a difference in was impossible. "It could give me the groundwork and connections to do something else in five years. Maybe stop trying to fix the legal system from the inside, and focus on save-the-world organizations instead. I think it’s…" She swallowed, trying to taste the veracity of her own words. "I think it’s the right choice."

  Cole puffed out his cheeks, then stepped forward to offer her a hug. "In that case, congrats. When’re we moving to Park Avenue?"

  Margrit tilted her nose in the air. "Oh, I don’t know. I may have to audition other people to be my chef. I might find someone better, you know. Agh !" She laughed and stumbled as Cole pretended to shove her. "If I promise to be back at the house by six-fifteen will you make me some of whatever that wonderful-smelling stuff is going to be?"

  "Not if you’re going to be threatening my station as house chef, I won’t. Oh, all right, no fair with the puppy-dog eyes. In honor of your new job, yes. But if you’re going to be home at decent hours, I’m going to make you start doing your share of the cooking." Cole lifted an eyebrow in warning and Margrit cowered, then put on her best stern lawyer face.

  "You don’t tell Cam she has to cook."

  "Cam’s culinary skills are limited to hard-boiling eggs and peeling potatoes. I know this from bitter experience. You, however, claim to just be too lazy to cook."

  "It’s true. Tell you what, I’ll make dinner next week. If I do a bad enough job, I’m permanently off kitchen duty, right?"

  "You’re a perfectionist," Cole said serenely. "If you cook dinner I don’t think your work code will let you do badly if you’re capable of doing well."

  "Eliseo said that to me, too. Do I have it tattooed on my forehead, or something?"

  "Ooo - ooo -ooh. Eliseo, she calls him. Eliseo, like-"

  "Cole."

  "-he’s a pal, not the richest guy on the East Coast. Eli-"

  "Cole!"

  "- seo, boss with benefi -"

  "Cole!"

  He grinned at her so widely it looked as though his cheeks must ache. "Dinner’s at six-thirty. Have a nice run."

  And that, Margrit reminded herself on the way out the door, was the normal life she wanted to get back to.

  "Ooh, the ice rink! We’ll go with you!" Cameron’s enthusiasm left Margrit spluttering, her protest that she was meeting Daisani proving no deterrent. Cam only demanded, "How many chances are we going to have to meet Eliseo Daisani?" and went charging off to find the ice skates with a child’s enthusiasm.

  "Probably quite a few, now that I’m working for him." Margrit’s grumble fell on deaf ears.

  Cole took in her wrinkled forehead and lowered his voice to ask, "Is this a bad idea, Grit?"

  "Eliseo’s not the only one I’m meeting."

  "You’ve got a date?"

  "Not the way you’re thinking. No, come along. Just don’t be mad if I kind of disappear some, okay? There’s going to be a lot going on." The answer seemed weak, but telling her housemates they couldn’t join her because it might be dangerous bordered on absurd. That it was true only made it more difficult to say.

  "I can talk Cam out of it. Romantic evening home alone, all that," Cole offered just before Cameron bounded out of their bedroom, two pairs of skates brandished triumphantly.

  "We haven’t been skating in ages. Last time we went was when you proposed, Cole. You can buy me another big mug of hot chocolate."

  Margrit cracked a smile. "I don’t think an evening in is going to compare to a reenactment of your engagement night. It’ll be okay. Just don’t get too attached to hanging out with me." Cam, rooting through the coat closet, kept up a cheerful litany of things Cole could buy for her, and Margrit’s smile turned to a laugh. "Somehow that doesn’t seem like it’s going to be a problem."

  Cole murmured, "All right," and squeezed Margrit’s shoulder, then lifted his voice to repeat, "All right," to Cameron. "But I’m not buying you another diamond ring, okay? I just want to make that clear right now."

  "How about earrings? Or a tennis bracelet?"

  "You don’t play tennis."

  "I could take it up!"

  The trio took a taxi to the Center, Margrit watching the sky fade from gold to black as Cameron and Cole continued their banter. Cam eventually leaned over to nudge her, curiosity making her eyes bright even in the fading light. "You forgot your skates."

  Margrit pulled a smile into place. "You two get to have fun for me. I’m working. Can you imagine Eliseo Daisani ice skating?" He would be impossibly graceful, though she had no idea if his tremendous speed would be achievable on skates.

  "I can hardly imagine him at all. I can’t believe you’re going to work for him, Grit." Cameron sat back again, eyes wide with good humor. "You happy about the new job?"

  "I’ll let you know," Margrit promised. "Tell you what," she added as the cab neared their destination. "You two go ahead and hit the rink. I’ve got to find Eliseo. I’ll make sure to introduce you before he leaves, okay?"

  "You’d better. My clients will all be very excited that you’re working for the rich and famous now. I’ll have to give them full reports."

  "Cameron, how do you get any weight lifting done if you’re so busy gossiping?"

  "I talk," Cam said. "They grunt and listen while they work." Cole broke into a whistling tune that dissolved into laughter as Cam’s elbow caught him in the ribs. "Listen! Listen !"

  "Listen to what? Help! Help! I’m being abused!" He opened the door and stumbled out of the cab, with Cameron batting ineffectually at him. Margrit paid the driver and climbed out, then pulled them both into hugs.

  "Thanks for coming, guys, even if I’m leaving you to entertain yourselves most of the evening. I needed some nice ordinary human interaction."

  "As opposed to inhuman interaction." Cole lurched into a zombie walk, arms out and eyes rolled back. "Grr, argh."

  "I’d have brought my other boyfriend if I’d known you wanted ordinary human interaction," Cameron said in an aside, then hugged Margrit a second time and chased after Cole, both leaving dignity far behind.

  "I love you guys!" Margrit shouted after them, then swallowed a yelp when a deep voice behind her said, "I can see why."

  She spun around, raising a hand defensively, and relaxed again to see Alban standing a few feet away. "What are you doing here?" She glanced toward the horizon, where scraps of color still lingered.

  "Watching Malik." Alban looked around with a sigh. "Or not, as it may be." He returned his gaze to her, his voice and manner growing more formal. "I’m to tell you hello."

  "From
Malik?"

  "From Grace. I believe she’s here tonight, as well. She said she wanted to witness Eliseo and Janx’s first public meeting in a century."

  An image of Alban’s tall alabaster form beside Grace’s earthier milk-and-bleach colors flashed so strongly through Margrit’s mind that she blushed with the memory of it. It was a few long seconds before she trusted herself to say, ungraciously, "Oh. That’s nice."

  Alban ghosted a smile. "That was the least convincing thing I’ve ever heard you say. Would you like to try again?"

  "No." Margrit frowned at her hands, then spoke quietly. "I’m envious of her, Alban. She’s beautiful, and she’s had you in her clutches for weeks while I’ve been up here trying not to watch the sky. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

  Alban drew a breath to answer, then stilled, looking beyond Margrit. Cold drained down her insides, leaving her heartbeat slow and painful in her chest. She turned, every muscle stiff and protesting the movement, to find Tony standing a few feet behind her, his expression betrayed.

  "At least you knew you had competition."

  CHAPTER 17

  "Tony." Margrit stared at him, numbness radiating out from the trickle of cold at her core. "Tony, what are you doing here?" She cringed as she spoke, recognizing the question as the worst thing she could have said.

  "Kaaiai sent me." His answer came from miles away, cool and hard. "He knew you were uncomfortable with whatever’s going on tonight and he thought it might make you feel better to have me around. What are you doing with him, Margrit?"

  "I’m not with him. I didn’t even know he’d be here." She threw a frustrated look at Alban, who stood still and silent as the stone he could wrap himself in. There was no help in his expression, no offer of explanation, only a neutrality as terrible as Tony’s own.

  "Has this been going on since January? Anthony Pulcella," Tony said, directing the introduction beyond Margrit, his voice tight with anger and hurt. "We haven’t met formally."

  "Nothing’s been going on, Tony. I just re-met Alban a few days ago."

  "Alban Korund." The gargoyle nodded a greeting, never breaking his gaze from Tony’s. "We haven’t, and I regret the circumstances by which you know me informally. Had there been a way to come forward and clear my name, I promise you I would have taken it. Margrit spoke highly of you as a good man."

  "Just not good enough." Tony transferred the weight of his hurt to Margrit. "Not good enough to tell when I’m being cheated on."

  "Tony, there’s been nothing to tell!" Margrit felt Alban shift minutely beside her, as if he detected the scent of her half-truth, and shame heated her face. She clenched her hands, tears of frustration stinging her eyes, though she wouldn’t let them fall. "I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was-that I’d-shit! Goddammit, I’m not seeing him!"

  "He’s why you’ve been running so cold. Not just the last few days, but since January. What’s he got that I don’t, Margrit? Money? Good WASP breeding? Your mom’s going to love it when you bring him home. Can I sit in on that one?"

  "He lets me fly." Margrit barely heard her own whisper, but Alban relaxed again at her side. Tony saw it and stepped forward with a snarl.

  "You know, maybe good breeding means I oughta step back and let the lady make her choice, but I’m from Brooklyn. I believe in fighting for what I want."

  "Tony, don’t you dare. Tony, don’t you-!" Margrit surged forward, putting herself directly in front of the police detective. "Don’t you dare start a fight over me. How many times do I have to tell you this isn’t a John Wayne movie? It’s my life, our lives-"

  "Our?" Tony stared down at her, then cast a nasty look at Alban. "Funny, Grit, but our lives look a lot more crowded than they used to."

  "Margrit." Alban touched her shoulder. "You’re going to be furious with both of us either way. Perhaps you ought to allow us to settle at least some of this as men prefer to." The faintest strain lay on the antepenultimate word, startling Margrit into looking at the tall blond man.

  "Alban, what-" Turning moved her just far enough from the way. Tony threw a punch she saw from the corner of her eye. "Tony!"

  Knuckles smashed into meaty flesh as Alban brought his hand up, catching the hit in his palm with such immense grace it seemed slow and elegant. Astonished rage lit Tony’s eyes as Alban held the detective without strain. "I will not fight you, Detective Pulcella," he said quietly. "I am stronger than you, and faster, and it would solve nothing. Women are not trinkets to be battled over. I have learned that the hard way, by nearly losing a wife over just such foolishness, and I will not do it again. Margrit will make her choices and we will respect them by treating one another as gentlemen might, not roughhousing schoolboys. Do we have an agreement?"

  Lazy clapping, sharp staccato sounds, shattered the impasse. Tony stopped struggling against Alban’s hold, staggering back a step or two when the resistance was broken. The gargoyle caught the detective’s wrist to make certain his rival didn’t suffer the indignity of falling, then released him almost as quickly.

  "Oh, bravo, bravo, well done indeed." Janx’s delighted tenor sailed over the trio. "Such chivalry, Stoneheart. Perhaps that heart isn’t so stony, after all. Margrit, my dear." The redheaded dragonlord insinuated himself between Alban and Tony, taking her hand and bowing over it. "I had no idea you’d be arranging such a performance for me this evening. It makes leaving home worth the journey. And Detective Pulcella." Janx turned from Margrit, holding her fingertips with his own a moment longer than necessary. She shivered, withdrawing her hand and glancing toward the ice rink. Cameron and Cole were at the head of a short chain of skaters playing crack the whip, weaving in and out of the crowd. "How delightful to see you in a social context. This will go over well with your superiors, don’t you think?"

  "Margrit?" Tony’s voice cracked with outrage, and she bit back the curse she wanted to lay at Kaaiai for sending the detective to her side. "Margrit, what’ve you gotten yourself into?"

  "Margrit." Janx clasped a hand over his heart, turning to her with injured eyes. "You haven’t told him about us? I’m wounded. I thought we’d agreed the time for secrecy had ended."

  A bubble of absurdity broke inside Margrit, thawing cold dismay and anger. "I’m afraid Janx is right. So are you. I’ve been keeping secrets, Tony. The truth is, you can’t put a successful bug on Janx to bring him down because Malik can disrupt electronics by phasing them into air molecules and back again. Where is Malik, Janx? He must be around here somewhere." She glanced around, finding Malik only a dozen feet away, unobtrusive but close enough to overhear the conversation. He glowered as she waggled her fingers in greeting, the fine line she trod making her heady. "That’s what happened to my phone back in January. Janx is actually a dragon, and that gargoyle costume Alban hid in at the Blue Room is really his natural form."

  Tony’s countenance darkened with insult and injury as Margrit rattled blithely on, while Janx kept light amusement on his features as he watched her. Alban, behind her, radiated disapproval, though Margrit was certain if she turned to look at him she’d see none of it on his face. She was glad Janx had released her fingers, or his reptile-cool skin might have shattered her composure. She held on to what nerve she had left, finishing, "I’m here tonight because Mr. Kaaiai asked me to arrange a meeting. I had no idea it was going to turn into a circus sideshow." She smiled up at Janx, her heart leaping with a sudden awareness of the size of the men-human and otherwise-surrounding her. "Have I missed anything?"

  "I believe you’ve touched on nearly everything of relevance." Janx’s green eyes were hard, none of the humor in his voice reflected there. "Where, pray tell, is Kaaiai?"

  "You could at least tell me the truth, Margrit." Tony’s voice shook with emotion. "I don’t know who you are anymore."

  "She is precisely who she has always been." Eliseo Daisani came lately to the match, his overcoat snapping in the wind. "A young woman of unusual audacity and self-confidence who, when forced into a corner, lashes out wi
th all the weapons she can lay hands on. You lied to me, Miss Knight. Very few people are capable of doing that." Censure in his voice was tempered by respect that made Janx twist his mouth in what looked like agreement.

  Margrit muttered, "Trust me, I amaze even myself," and then, more clearly, added, "I didn’t lie to anybody. I was just selective with my truth. Sorry. Tony, this is Eliseo Daisani. I think you know everyone else here."

  Daisani offered a hand. "The young man who sat vigil over Margrit’s bedside so diligently it was difficult for the rest of us to see her. I admire your dedication." Tony, too stunned to do otherwise, shook Daisani’s hand, then looked pained.

  "Margrit! Hey, Margrit!" Cam waved with cheerful abandon as she led the whip around rink’s corner, innumerable skaters stretched behind her. As one, Margrit’s group of conspirators turned to watch her skim by with Cole immediately behind her. Over the scrape of blades on ice, his watch beeped, marking the hour.

  The woman behind him dropped his hand and grated to a stop ten inches from the guardrail. No one behind her stumbled or tripped, though Cole let out a startled yell as he and Cameron, no longer weighted by the whip, went flying off balance. The noise of their skidding tumble was drowned out by the scrape and crunch as each skater in the whip came to a flawless, sudden halt.

  Not only they came to a stop. A ripple shuddered the length and breadth of the rink, figures overwhelming the bright clear surface of frozen water. Hundreds of people spread across the rink, so many that Margrit could hardly see how they’d managed to move without creating chaos.

  And the wave continued, gathering mass and spreading beyond the rink, until it seemed that every visitor to the Center had come to a stop and turned, eyes downcast, to face Margrit’s little group at the end of the ice rink.

  Daisani murmured, "No," in astonished disbelief. As if his whisper triggered action, every downcast glance lifted. Dark eyes, pupils swallowed whole by black irises, were revealed as the weight of hundreds of selkie gazes fixed on Margrit and her companions.