She squinted at it. “What is that? I’ve seen you carry it before, but it looks like clothes. Have you had mud splashed on you in the street lately?”
“You’re mostly right.” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “It’s for my martial arts classes. I enrolled at an MMA gym two weeks ago. I go twice a week now but might increase it to three times later. Granted, it will be another couple of weeks before I’m healed enough to actually start any sparring or anything—you’d think ribs would mend themselves faster – but they at least have me learning some of the basics and doing preliminary exercise to get myself in proper shape. Which I’ve been working hard at, if I may say so.”
Riley nodded. “Ooh, I see. You kinda are looking more…fit? If that’s the word.” Her mischievous smirk turned to vague confusion. “Why, though?”
He reflected on his first two encounters with Alex and how easily he’d had his ass kicked. Magically empowered adversary or not, it had been humiliating and had very nearly cost him his life and the agency its credibility.
“I cannot,” he explained, “ever be caught unprepared for the possibility of hand-to-hand combat again. I seem to have a natural talent with guns, I guess, but you can’t always rely on firearms. Next time I have to take some asshole on mano a mano, I want to have some ability to handle myself.”
“That makes sense,” the fairy conceded. “I’m sorry my magic didn’t work so well.”
He shook his head and kept his expression apologetic. “It wasn’t your fault. Moswen must have backdoor-hacked your spells after the first time you used them on Alex. In any event, she won’t be able to try the same shit again.”
As for himself, though, watching Gilmore and her agents subdue Mr Thomas had inspired him, in a way. They had no preternatural abilities, yet they’d managed to overcome someone who was almost as powerful as an actual vampire. That was the power of training, toughness, and know-how.
He stroked her cheek briefly. “All right, I have to go. Work hard and do what Taylor tells you to. Also, Bobby still isn’t in on what’s really going around here, so please, humor her and try not to say anything too…obvious.”
“Okay. Bye.” They hugged again and he took his leave.
Taylor was still standing in the lobby as he moved to the front door.
“David,” she said.
He stopped at once. She hadn’t used her command power on him but he knew her well enough by now to recognize that she had something important to say.
“Yes?” He turned toward her.
In her cool, subtle way, she smiled. “You’ve done a good job lately.”
Remy smiled in his own fashion—big and flashy. “Of course I have. That’s, like, the normal state of affairs, isn’t it? Any time I don’t do something out of an old epic tragedy—or maybe a farce—I do well.”
She folded her arms. “That is mostly true. Let us be serious, though. Moswen is still out there. She is profoundly dangerous and has considerable reason to hate us. At any moment, she might finally arrive at Port Authority or JFK International, eager to conclude her vendetta. She’ll strike at me any way she can—including through those I care about.”
This time, he merely nodded and opted to not respond with wisecracks. “I understand. Try not to worry too much about me since…well, let’s say that the last month or so has been very educational.”
That was as close as he’d ever come to openly admitting what he’d learned—that wise people frowned upon rash actions for a reason. If he’d continued to attempt to challenge Alex head-on even after losing to him previously, he’d likely spend Christmas with only six feet of cold earth for company.
And somehow, she knew what he’d stopped short of saying aloud. Like the invisible bond that drew magnets of positive and negative charge together, something passed between them.
For now, at least, the lingering tension and subtle distrust were gone. At this moment, they were equals. They stood for a moment and looked at one another without the need for words.
The vampire broke the silence first. “Don’t be late tomorrow. We still have work to do before we break for the holiday.”
“Noted,” he quipped. He gave her an offhand thumbs-up and strode out the door and into the evening.
Epilogue
John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York City
The plane landed shortly after 3:00 am.
Two large men stood, stony-faced and unspeaking, and waited for the passengers to disembark. One man was black and one was white, but both were around six foot four and looked like they weighed close to three hundred pounds, most of it muscle. They were dressed in crisp, expensive black suits.
Even at this hour, there were enough people milling around that congestion formed to the sides of the two bruisers since no one seemed keen to get too close to them.
Soon, the plane opened its door and the passengers descended the rolling staircase. The men squinted to make sure and nodded their heads. The person they expected was the very first individual off the plane.
She’d come from first class and was dressed accordingly in a long, finely tailored coat of rich brown leather with tactful hints of gold trimming. A thin golden chain encircled her neck, although the pendant it suspended was somewhere beneath her blouse. She carried two massive, heavy-looking suitcases with no apparent difficulty.
The duo took a few steps forward. No one crossed in front of them while the tall lady approached.
The black man spoke first. “Miss Tarif?”
The elegantly dressed woman smiled thinly and approached them. “Yes,” she stated in a low, husky voice. She had black hair square-cut slightly above her shoulders and she wore sunglasses, even though dawn was still quite a way off.
“Let me take your bags.” The white man extended a massive hand.
She handed them over without breaking stride. The two men took them with their left hands—keeping their right free in case they needed them—and fell silently into step behind the lady as she sauntered into the terminal.
They proceeded through security, through the moderate crowds and the general light and noise and spectacle of one of America’s biggest airports without incident. En route out of the facility, the woman stopped to examine the board of arrivals and departures and seemed fascinated as she read the bevy of place names.
Her escorts stopped about two paces behind her and waited.
“Interesting,” she remarked. “So many people come and go. This New York City truly is the center of civilization in the present age. Yes?”
The men had been briefed on approximately what to expect when they met the woman who went by Miss Tarif, but something about her accent puzzled them. It was vaguely Middle Eastern as they’d anticipated, but neither of them could quite identify it beyond that.
The black guy cleared his throat. “That’s right, ma’am. This is probably the richest and most influential city in the world.”
His colleague sniffled. “They even call Times Square the ‘center of the universe.’”
In front of them, she lifted her sunglasses for a moment but since she faced away from them, they didn’t see her eyes. “The one who controls this place,” she said slowly, “would be able to control much of the world.”
Both men nodded.
They moved on and soon emerged from the terminal building. A sleek black car, expensive but not too conspicuous, awaited them. The driver emerged to help load the suitcases and the three men saw to it that the woman was safely in the back seat before they got in themselves.
As the car pulled out, Moswen Neith leaned back and took in the sights. Some deep, primitive part of her almost loathed the omnipresent artificial light here and yet, it was a sign of these peoples’ wealth and power. It was something she intended to possess.
She reached into the astral void and felt for the brand she had placed on her human slave. It was faint—very faint now since the local upstart had interfered—but it was still there.
If the
y were to activate the brand now, she knew, Alex would know at once that she was in New York. That was the first of many problems she’d need to solve.
To keep herself entertained, she thought of all the myriad ways she might kill her traitorous pawn once she caught him. Her mouth smiled but even if she hadn’t worn the sunglasses, it wouldn’t have been seen to reach her eyes.
The three men escorting her did not look at her face as they drove her deeper into the city. Had they done so, the malice in her expression might have given them second thoughts about this gig.
Author Notes from Isobella Crowley (AKA Ell Leigh Clarke) and Michael Anderle (AKA Yoda)
Written September 30th and October 1st, 2019
Thank yous
As always, I’d like to thank MA for working with me on this series <
Many people go into making a series like this happen. I’d like to say a massive thank you to the team of suppliers who made this book possible: Brittany, Chiara, Nathan, Philip, Moonchild, and MA’s editing team.
Thank you, guys. Your hard work, care, and attention make all this possible.
<< I’ll save my comments until the end, just know I’m here in spirit for all of these thank yous. You all mean so much!>>
JITers
Massive thanks must also go to our beta readers, led by Brittany, for letting us know we’re on track with the story and characters. It’s a huge relief – and delight – to hear that the stories are being well received before we go through the process of editing them.
Thanks also to MA’s JIT team led by their high commander, Zen Steve <
Reviewers
I’d like to offer my heart-felt mega thanks to our Amazon reviewers. It’s because of you that we get to do this full time. Without your five-star reviews and thoughtful words on Amazon we simply wouldn’t have enough folks reading these space shenanigans to be able to write full time.
I’m so grateful to you for reading and reviewing.
Truly, thank you…
(Also – see the Facebook page for the individual thank yous we post. If you leave a review under a name/ screen name, we give you a shout out over there!)
Readers and FB page supporters
I’d like to also thank *YOU* for reading this book. Your enthusiasm for the worlds and characters we come up with is heart-warming. Thank you for being here, for the giggles and interaction, and for always reading.
You rock, and without you, there really would be no reason to write these stories. <
Firemen and Missed Connections
If you saw the latest Patreon episode of Author Shenanigans, you would have seen MA and I talking about a recent fire check in my building.
I had been feeling bad because the inspection had happened while I was busy on a call with a client, and I wasn’t able to break from the call. These inspections kind of happen regardless of what else you might have going on. The maintenance guy basically just comes around with his key and opens up one apartment after another and the fire inspectors move from one to the next.
In this way, I kinda feel like there wasn’t much I could do. I don’t even have the option as to whether I open the door or not.
So anyway, this happened and I just stayed on my video call. The client was talking intently, stressed out with arguing against what I was recommending. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, but to anyone in the room I would have just appeared like I was sitting there with my headphones on, on the laptop.
The fireman came in, and I waved him on, and he started moving around the apartment, checking in the bedrooms. I guess they need to check each other the sprinklers. Anyway, while he was in the living room he asked something like “how’s your day going?” I vaguely heard through my noise cancelling headphones.
But of course I can’t engage him in conversation at this point. I just have to continue listening to the client.
I felt bad. <
He checked the other room, and then he left, saying something. I tried to signal I was on a call, but I don’t think he caught it.
And then he was gone.
I learned recently that this social conscientiousness is actually a female instinctual need to please – and it’s heavily related to estrogen, and a lack of testosterone – which would otherwise provide us with a ton of protection from social cuts and bruises.
I was explaining this to MA and he thought it was hilarious. I may also have mentioned that the guy was kinda hot – so it was a missed opportunity.
<
Banana…
Human…
Banana…
MUNCH! I rest my case.>>
After some crude suggestions about learning how to pounce MA suggested I contact someone at the office and maybe get his name from one of the staff. That wasn’t really an option, but it occurred to me that there is perhaps a way to reach out to him.
You may remember Svend from ages ago. Coffee shop Svend. I think I mentioned him back in the author notes of the Ascension Myth series. He had told me about how people kept coming in and mentioning to him about a post that a woman had written on the “Missed Connections” section of Craigslist. At this point he had to explain to me what Craigslist was, and what the point of missed connections was. I was fascinated. Not fascinated enough to go and look it up, but enough to remember it.
I mentioned this to MA, and in true form, he made me <
So here I am reporting back. <
Note that the estrogen was still in play at this point, and so I hadn’t reached the point of running a cost benefit analysis around the energy this was requiring. <
The next day I got to it and posted.
Here’s what I wrote:
++
hot FIREMAN, must have thought I was rude...
(google map)
I was on a video call with a client who was giving me a hard time. You came around to my apartment with one of the property maintenance guys yesterday to do the annual safety checks.
I couldn't talk to explain, I just waved you in. I think you tried to talk to me while I had my back to you at the counter, listening to my client.
I was torn!
You left and all I could do was wave.
You were super cute. Sorry for looking like I was ignoring you. Hope you hear about this post! ;-)
++
I feel like the geek in the posts. For the most part they are pretty raunchy… talking about how sexy someone was, and how much they regret not getting a number etc.
But since it was anonymous – until I copied it here! - I figured ‘what the hey’. I mean, it’s not like it’s going to be seen by loads of people.
Within an hour I had half a dozen responses. A week later I’ve had about a dozen. This was waaay more than I expected. <
One was just obscene. I flagged it. <
Three were people just getting in touch on the off chance I was someone they could hit on. (Note that there are no details
or photos in this posts!) <<25% - There is probably a statistical factor at play here.>>
One was suggesting he was a fireman, but then admitted it was just a costume he dressed up in. He did send me a picture though. He looked about twelve. Ok maybe twenty… but still.
And three were actual firemen. <
Two thought they might have been the ones who came to my apartment, but after a little back and forth it turned out that they probably weren’t. Neither seemed interested in helping put me in touch with the guy on the team who had actually been there. <
And one of those two was just looking for a FWB. I figured this meant “friend with benefits’. HA!
So all in all, an interesting, but ultimately pointless, exercise. <
When MA reads this, he’ll be getting this report for the first time. I’ll be interested to see what he says…
<
Austin Bergstrom
As I’m writing these notes I’m sitting in the Austin airport. Even though it’s been a while since I travelled anyway, it feels like I’m never away from this place.
Apparently I’m here more often than I realize. I’ve noticed I have a favorite spot… Down by gates 33 and 34 there is an Italian café concession outlet. It had tables which are great for sitting and working, and though their coffee is ironically variable <
I have a three-hour layover at Fort Lauderdale. I plan to get lots of work done. <
Diamond In The Rough (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 2) Page 26
