Lilja mentioned the curious student who had come in, asking about the Book. She had done a check on him, the quite interestingly named Pothos Wilbraham, finding some information on his age, upbringing, and the accomplishments he demonstrated to gain admittance. She had also followed up, via e-mail, with his Professor, not wanting to draw attention to the situation by reacting too alarmed. The student’s story does check out. Still, something of the entire thing does not feel so innocuous. She and Skot discussed it, and they know they have good systems of defense in place, so they shall remain watchful.
It does trouble him, though, that he is scheduled to board a flight this evening to head back to the United States. He has decided to return for a short time due to the concerns with the hunt for the powerful Demon and the newly slain. This is a serious issue that does demand his attention, and though he could arguably give that attention remotely, he has elected to make the trip. He is also experiencing some somewhat subtle pressure from members of the Family to be there in person.
He looks up as she comes over, touching his left arm up near the shoulder, her hand turning as she moves, retaining the contact as she slips into the nearby chair, smiling lightly at him. He leans closer, and she moves in to the kiss.
“It’s getting late,” she notes, her assistant having been dismissed some time ago.
“I know,” he speaks, sounding reluctant.
“You don’t want to miss your plane,” she comments, “Do you?”
“I will confess that I don’t want to go.”
“They need you there, Skot,” she says, placing her hand atop his, there on the surface of the table, very close to the open book.
“I know. The news is tragic, but I’m not going to join the hunt.”
“We could, you know,” she tries, having brought this up before.
“I know, but we won’t. It’s too risky for you, and you have your duties here, especially now that the Fall Semester has started.”
He sees a look in her eyes, and he wonders if his comment about it being too risky for her has affected her negatively. She does not seem to become overtly upset, but he sees something there, a slight tightening of the flesh of her forehead, eyes moving fractionally, as though looking at him a bit differently, then they slowly move away.
“I want to be here with you,” he says, moving his other hand to clasp atop hers.
She nods, looking back, and he smiles at her, getting a similar response.
“I want that, too, but this is important.”
“It is,” he agrees, then he sighs, “Three deaths, so close together, not to mention the Malkuth that has been added to the tally.”
“And the civilians and police,” she reminds.
He nods, solemnly. “Yes, this is very bad. We need to get this one and put a stop to it.”
“If I can help, please let me,” she all but pleads, and he senses it in her, not a desire to be complimented or assessed for her worth, but a very real drive to just want to provide aid.
“You do a great deal for me, Lily, and you help much more than you may know by being a guardian to the Book. That is a very serious responsibility.”
She smiles at him, openly. It is a lure to him, and he leans in, kissing her, pressing into it, making it turn to something hinting at more passion. He moves his hand up along her arm, grasping at her bicep, continuing the kiss, parting his lips, gaining a similar response from her. He sends his tongue into her mouth, receiving a soft reciprocation from hers. They move together lightly, almost languidly, exploring. He finally parts it, staying close, noting the rise of a blush to her pale skin, and he leans in near her ear.
“Don’t forget to do your secret mission while I’m gone. I’ll want to hear all about it,” he whispers, reminding her of something she no doubt remembers, though the point of bringing it up is to flirt and subtly assert dominance.
“I’ll miss you,” she breathes, after nodding to his words.
“I’ll miss you,” he adds, and they just stare into one another’s eyes for a moment before he speaks again, “We’ll have the Ball to attend when I get back.”
She smiles further at that, the blush rising more as she coquettishly averts her eyes, then blinks them back.
“You are so alluring.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, still bashful after all this time, and he very much likes it.
He feels a stab of worry, something with which he often struggles, but he refrains from saying anything. Besides, she can take care of herself. He wonders why it makes him feel better to vocalize such or to give out warnings like some nagging mother. Does it imply that she would not have thought of these things if he had not reminded her? He won’t marginalize her that way, or he’ll do his best to contain such.
He doesn’t want to leave, because of that worry. He knows she struggles with the deaths of the children and how poorly her last vigilante mission went. He, honestly, would rather her not do any of that while he is away, but again there is that false sense of security and unneeded fretting. True, he’d be closer if she did need him, but what difference would he really make if he were here? She got along fine before he came along. She’ll be alright. He needs to offer support, not exacerbate under the guise of concern.
And so their remaining time together this evening is well spent, and then she sees him to a car, and he is off for the airport, promising to call during his one layover en route to America. She misses him even as she watches the car pull away, but she does not linger, needing to get to the gymnasium to teach her self-defense class.
Therese is there, and though Lilja experiences a note of anxiety and awkwardness, she doesn’t show it. Nor does the young hacker, it seems, as she comports herself in her usual taciturn, somewhat brooding, but serious and attentive manner, almost as though nothing had passed between the two women. The lessons are carried out, many thoughts lying in wait to consume Lilja’s own concern, but during the time of the class, she is focused.
Therese is not without her own concerns, ever-watchful and mindful of Lilja without making it obvious. She wonders about approaching Quain, thinking back on her endeavors last year that landed her twice in the predicament of being caught by criminals. All of this is in effort to improve her abilities when in the real world, as she still feels much more comfortable behind a computer. She sometimes wonders at her social justice attitude, trying to pinpoint exactly when she decided to so undertake the cause, sticking her neck out from the shadows, as it were. It is exhilarating, but it is also risky. She’d not mind at all if the vigilante somehow managed to thoroughly clean up the city.
She does understand, though, how unfair that is. It will take more than one person to handle all the problems out there, and she is sure there are more than she even realizes. And, ultimately, they are treating symptoms, not the cause.The class ends, and she showers and gathers up her things, walking slowly out to her bike, concerns still careening in her mind. She straddles the café racer, having picked up another after her Mac Peashooter “disappeared” when she was abducted that second time, and she loses herself in thought.
“Everything okay, ma’am?”
She blinks, looking over to see a security guard inquiring of her. He looks young, sincere enough, and there is even a sense of harmlessness about him, despite his uniform and the display of non-lethal deterrents on his belt. She also notes the small, rectangular name patch at his breast, which says “Billy”, not even Bill or Wilhelm, but the more boyish nomenclature.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, speaking with her usual, guarded cadence, but as he continues staring at her, she allows a slight curl to her lips as though to reassure him and get him on his way.
“I noticed you came out of the gym over there. I guess you’re in Miss Perhonen’s self-defense class? Not too many others out around here this time of night.” He throws out his own little smile, though his is more sheepish, almost as though apologizing for continuing to talk to her.
“Yeah.” Therese cont
inues looking at him, then she reaches for her helmet, holding it as though about to put it on. She’s still got those thoughts running around in her head, but maybe this will clue the guy into leaving.
“She’s something else.” His tone is musing, and she narrows her eyes in confusion, though he doesn’t take note. “I guess it’s a comfort to know she’s helping more people. I don’t have to worry so much when a lady is out alone around the campus at night … Unless she needs help,” he quickly amends, taking her cold-seeming exterior as perhaps distaste to his remarks, “That’s why we’re here … you know?”
She begins wondering how Billy would have fared against those criminals she faced. Probably not well at all. Then something else dawns on her, as he stands there, that boyish grin hinting at a shyness of another kind. He has a crush on Lilja. Therese is not surprised, for not only is the redhead quite physically attractive, but she has a sort of casual confidence that becomes its own charisma.
“Do you know Miss Perhonen well?” Therese asks, shifting on the seat of her bike, the low creak of metal announcing the movement.
“Oh.” He blinks, then sort of chuckle-exhales through a brief grin. “No, no, nothing like that,” he explains, telling her more of how he feels without realizing it, “I mean, we’ve both been on staff here a few years, but we don’t really cross paths that much.”
Therese nods, remaining the stoic to his effusive display.
“If she offered self-defense classes for guys or just some sort of general karate, I’d be the first to sign up,” he announces.
“She’s capable enough to do that,” Therese appears to casually remark, but she is trying to subtly lead the guard.
“Oh, definitely.” Billy brightens, showing the hacker further evidence of her suspicions. “I heard they once formally approached her to teach a style of self-defense that is more suited to police than civilians, but she turned it down.”
“I wonder why.”
“Who knows?” He shrugs. “She’s pretty busy.” He slips his hands in his pockets, looking back toward the gym as though they may see the woman in question walking out at this moment.
“She is?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t know,” he alters, “Maybe it’s because she just usually seems so business-like.”
“You think she’s cold?”
“No!” Billy’s hands come out of his pockets, held up. “I don’t mean that. She’s just … I don’t know … focused, driven … uh … disciplined!”
Therese looks at him, noting how he sort of falters under her steady gaze.
“She sure is,” she finally concedes.
“How long have you been taking the class?”
“For a while now,” she answers, which doesn’t tell him much, but his emphatic nodding indicates he is quite satisfied with this.
“I guess you like it, then, and I bet you’ve gotten pretty good at handling yourself, huh?”
“I guess,” she says.
She yet has much more to learn, but the months of training have done more for her than she realizes. How odd that it takes a casual remark from this stranger to open her own eyes, and here she was thinking to learn something from him, but it was certainly not that.
“Well, you take care,” Billy offers, putting on another of his youthful-seeming smiles, raising his right hand in a sort of half-wave, then moving on.
She doesn’t say anything in return, just watching as he leaves, more thoughts moving through her head. She then dons her helmet, firing up the motorcycle and heads out.
*****
Quain gives the barest glance and expression of disgust as the other man, Alec, picks up the rigid paper dish containing the bratwurst and sauerkraut. The portly man mixes it up with the plastic fork as he walks to a nearby table, causing the sauce to somewhat disappear into the gooey mess. They take a seat, and Alec picks up the knife, trying to slice through the sausage.
“Damn things are worthless,” he comments, though he does manage to get a decent sized piece, adding some of the side dish and filling his mouth, chewing mightily.
Quain just watches, having ordered nothing from the small food outlet. He isn’t admitting it to himself, but his upset at the recent goings-on have him less tolerant of his ex-partner’s aspect and diet. Alec picks up on this, knowing what a health nut the other is, and he speaks through a not quite empty mouth.
“Hey, at least I passed on the beer.”
“That you did.” Quain nods, eyebrows perked.
Alec swallows, using his fork to scoop more of the sour cabbage, holding up the utensil, pieces dangling from the tines. He sees the other looking at him.
“Sauerkraut is good for you.”
“Some of it is,” Quain agrees, passing unspoken judgment on the quality of this serving.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” Alec remarks, reaching to the rear of his belt, somewhat obscured by his jacket, to produce a short lockblade, using it to cut the sausage, eyes moving up to Quain as he saws more effectively at the meat, continuing to tackle his meal with gusto.
Quain watches, returning the gaze, steeling himself, though he shows nothing but fortitude, trying to remain calm. He’s had to do many things that weren’t very savory in the course of his career.
“I wanted to talk to you about the child prostitution in the city, particularly those murdered children.”
Quain keeps his eyes steady on the man; he is not sure if it comforts him that Alec seems to have no reaction.
“Why?” he finally asks, using the convenience of his open mouth to feed more food into it.
“I know it has something to do with your new boss.”
Alec just stares, setting down his knife and fork, chewing, getting it all good and done before swallowing, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, never moving his eyes from the other man.
“You trying to get killed?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
“Same answer, Alec,” Quain says, then leans closer to the tabletop, shortening the distance between them, “This is bad stuff, man. Prostituting and killing kids. Come on. What have you gotten yourself into? It was bad enough with Gnegon, but this? Come on.”
“Come on, what?” Alec demands, taking up the utensils, but barely lifting them, growing agitated.
“Why stay mixed up in this? Doesn’t it bother you what he’s doing?”
Alec doesn’t answer, just finally moving his hands, more cutting of meat, gathering of food, chewing, as he looks at the detective. Quain waits, watching, never figuring he’d be using interrogation techniques on his former coworker. The silence stretches, becoming weightier as Alex swallows but doesn’t hide behind another mouthful.
“Yes, it does,” he finally admits, “I don’t like any of this.” He gestures with the blade, swirling it somewhat in his hand. “I told you that when I first met the guy.”
“Then why work for him?”
“I already answered that, too, Quain,” he says, brow furrowing, and he has more food, slicing up the sausage with some suggestion of anger.
The cop sighs, air passing through his nostrils.
“We have history. I like you,” and this gets a perk of eyebrows from the other, “I’m being serious, if you hadn’t noticed. This shit has to stop, with the child prostitution and the executions. Seriously, Alec. Kids being shot in the head in cold blood. What kind of fucked up shit is that? It’s going to stop.”
“So, Detective Contee,” Alec says, wiping his mouth again, then the blade, folding it and putting the knife away, shifting in place as though about to leave, “is this a professional warning or a threat?”
“Both,” he says, and this causes the other to freeze in place, eyes again just set on the man across the table, as though he is taking new and newer stock of him. “This is not my personal crusade, Alec, so if your boss thinks taking me out will stop it, it won’t. This is bad. You’re in a position to help. You can
help us, help yourself, or you can go down with the ship.”
Alec purses his lips to one side, then sucks in his ample cheek there, then slowly nods.
“I see. Well, thank you for the courtesy.”
He stands, looking around. Quain does not get up, but he does closely watch the other man who finally gazes back down at him.
“You know my address, so let me know if anything more comes up … and I know yours.”
Quain nods, slowly. “That you do.”
“Maybe you ought to change it,” Alec suggests, then he turns and walks away.
*****
When the noise finally enters her slumber, pulling her to consciousness, she somewhat blindly reaches for the snooze of her alarm. Disorientation lulls her, and it takes her a moment of pressing the button to realize the sound is not stopping. Her breaths come slow, somewhat noisy, through parted lips, her brain still fighting, a collision of fatigue and focus. Then it hits her, eyes blinking to wide, and she feels a jolt in her spine.
It’s not her alarm to wake her for the start of her workday. This is the sound of the security at the library being breached; someone is trying to get the Book.
Lilja springs from the bed, already having gone to sleep later than usual and fighting some unrest at being alone, and she rushes to her computer. There is a delay, though not a very long one, before local law enforcement will be notified. She can override this, if need be, but she has to get there in time. She sees then what has been tripped, and she gasps.
She takes brief, anxious moments to pull her long, red hair into a ponytail, slipping into combat boots and a black hoodie over her pajamas. Grabbing her weapon, she heads out.
Sword of the Butterfly Page 17
