by Robert York
“Shouldn’t we get out of here before the fire spreads through the whole office?”
Adrianna laughed another of her charming whimsical giggles.
“Have no fear Sol the fire isn’t going to spread.” She didn’t elaborate any further. I assumed because she thought I knew the reason why, which I didn’t so I left it alone.
Bartholomew hurried past everyone getting ahead of Adrianna. She turned a corner to her left heading for another pair of etched gold leaf double doors that I assumed was her office. It appeared given the layout of this side of the building that Adrianna’s office took up a large corner of the fortieth floor. Bart opened the doors letting everyone file inside. Adrianna’s office was huge, definitely an office befitting her power and station in the two worlds she straddled, the world of business and the world of Vampires. Two sides of the triangular shaped room were glass windows revealing a great view of the Chicago River.
There was a desk; the base was made of a dark grey marble topped with a thick sheet of curved grey glass standing near the apex of the triangle near the windows. A dark grey high backed leather chair stood behind the desk with two smaller matching ones arranged on the opposite side. To the right and left as you entered the room appeared to be two fairly good-sized rooms. I had no idea what was in each of the rooms, because the doors were closed. Two couches matching the style and color of her office chair were placed diagonally along the wall. Behind each of them placed upon pedestals were white marble busts of two men. There was a personal flavor to this office that the rest of the floor didn’t possess. A person - under the right circumstances - could feel at home in this room.
As I thought about it, I felt like I began to understand Adrianna. It seemed to me that work was all that she had. Vampires didn’t sleep; they didn’t have to because they’re immortal. Immortal beings like Vampires didn’t need to renew themselves the way humans did through sleep. They did that through drinking blood, so there was no need for her to have a bed or a home for that matter. Then again I was assuming that she had neither. For all I knew she had homes in every major city around the world. However, right now being here in her office I guessed in many ways Thorne Enterprises was her home. I wondered what it’d be like for me not having someone as an equal to share eternity with. That was a depressing thought. I knew Adrianna was over a thousand years old and in that time how many people had come along that she considered a friend, confidant or even a lover. I started to feel sad for her as I thought about how lonely her existence must actually be.
Adrianna walked behind her large desk placing her blood stained shoes down beside the phone. Barnabas stood a foot or two behind one of the chairs in front of Adrianna’s desk holding a handkerchief to his cheek. I stood slightly behind him to his right bent in pain leaning on my battle staff from the dagger wound in my shoulder. Race for his part had picked up a pillow off one of the couches holding it in front of his midsection. Bart glanced in Race’s direction rolling his eyes disapprovingly. He turned heading out of the room. Adrianna leaned over her desk showing more of her ample cleavage. She lingered that way for a good long moment then pressed a button on the telephone keypad. A male voice came over the speaker.
“Executive Kitchen”
“Henry, this is Adrianna Thorne would you be a dear and send up an assortment of deli sandwiches, chips and ice cold drinks for our guests.”
“Sent to your office Ms. Thorne?”
“Please,” she replied.
“We’ll have it for you in about twenty minutes. Do you require anything else?” Asked Henry.
She looked up from her desk in our direction studying us and then she added.
“And a first aid kit,”
“Right away Ms. Thorne.”
“Thank you Henry.”
Adrianna pressed another button on her phone hanging up. She turned to the windows behind her, raising her arms above her head stretching. Then she turned back to her desk, a look of concern mixed with realization showing in her expression. She moved a file folder revealing a small touch screen pad near the left edge of her desk. Adrianna swiped her finger from left to right and a keypad lit up with three colored buttons, she touched the red button. The sound of powerful electric motors firing up in concert with metal gears and chains clanked to life. Thick heavy metal shutters descended from the ceiling in front of each window sealing us off from the awesome view of Chicago and a possible escape route. The shutters, I realized would offer us some protection should the Vampires attempt to attack again.
Adrianna raised her eyes in our direction once more straightening, placing a hand on her hip.
“Please make yourself comfortable gentlemen, we’re quite safe here. Don’t worry about ruining the furniture.”
Barnabas relaxed his posture leaning his staff against Adrianna’s desk, settling into one of the comfortable looking seats that stood in front of him. He let out a pained muffled grunt leaning back taking the bloodstained handkerchief from his cheek. The bleeding had stopped revealing a five-inch diagonal cut from his ear to his jaw line. I watched Barnabas remove a shard of glass roughly an inch long from the wound wrapping it up in his handkerchief.
Adrianna gave an approving smile as she moved around her desk removing her torn blouse as she went. My eyes, head and upper body followed her graceful movements. I didn’t feel like a complete voyeur because I noticed Barnabas and Race’s eyes following her movements as well. She opened a closed door on the right of her office turning on a light then stepping inside. I realized that she’d entered her private bathroom, after hearing the distinct sound of a shower being turned on.
Bart reentered Adrianna’s office, clothes draped over his right forearm carrying a pair of white expensive looking Nike high top sneakers in his left hand. He walked over to Race dumping the clothes and shoes unceremoniously down onto the cushions of the couch next to him then turned in Race’s direction coming to stiff attention.
“Compliments of Ms. Thorne beast,” he said bitterly inclining his head in a mocking disrespectful show of respect.
“Thank you,” Race replied with an equal amount of gratitude, flipping him the bird.
Bart scowled turning as he looked for Adrianna.
“Douche bag,” Race muttered under his breath.
Race dropped the pillow on the couch where he’d gotten it. He picked up the clothes dressing hurriedly. The clothes seemed to fit him well. They consisted of a pair of blue jeans, a white “T” and a Chicago Bears Hoodie. Bart noticed the door to the bathroom was open and I’m sure he heard the sound of running water. He glared at all of us in a “You should all be ashamed at yourselves” look, then walked over to the door crossing his arms positioning himself in front of it, daring us to look in that direction.
Barnabas reached into a small leather pouch hanging from the belt around his waist. He searched in it for a bit removing a small clear glass jar, about the size of a CARMEX lip balm container filled with a brownish salve. He unscrewed the cap and I knew immediately what it was, just by the smell. It was Elder Root salve which worked well for sword cuts, dragon bites and hexes, though the last two claims have yet to be tested. The main ingredients in the salve were Elder Root sap, Tiger snail mucus, dried Granite moss, salt from the Dead Sea and extraction of Sea snake venom. All of which were mixed together then boiled down into that foul smelling yet very useful salve. He applied a liberal amount of salve to the cut on his cheek with a perceptible wince - did I neglect to mention that it hurts like the dickens - which began to bubble almost in the same manner peroxide reacts when pouring it on a cut. Barnabas stood eyeing me, which was never a good sign.
“Come over here and let me look at your wound,” Barnabas said in a concerned fatherly tone.
I raised my hands displaying them in a “No Thank You” gesture.
“I’m good,” I said trying to placate his doctoring instincts.
There was no way in hell I was letting him put that crap on me. Barnabas leveled his gaze at me in
a way that always meant business. It was the look he’d given me when I was younger around that age most boys didn’t want to take baths. I was a stubborn kid - OK I still am - and no matter what I refused to do, in the end Barnabas always made sure I did. I took a step away from him.
“We can do this the easy way or I can wait till Ms. Thorne comes out of the bathroom and I can show her how much of a cowardly prat you can be,” Barnabas said, his last word ending in a devilish smile.
I heard Race chuckling somewhere behind me.
Damn! He never plays fair. Even though Adrianna’s a Vampire, there was no way in hell I was going to look like a frightened little weakling in front of her and Barnabas knew I’d do anything not to be embarrassed. He was acting like a parent pulling out those none too flattering photos of you when you were a kid. You know the photos I’m referring to don’t you? A picture of you laying face down in your Spaghetti O’s asleep in your high chair. A picture of you seated upon the potty with your hands raised in triumphant accomplishment or my absolute favorite a picture of a little boy wearing his mother’s high heels clopping through the house. – Not that I’ve ever done that myself - Having been an orphan I sort of missed the boat on all those embarrassing photographic memories. Barnabas has managed to make up for them with situations like this over the years. I sighed turning around pulling off my cloak. Barnabas moved behind me examining my wound.
“The dagger struck the gap between your back plate and shoulder pad I’m afraid, you should’ve been wearing your chainmail,”
I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah… Yeah… Hindsight is 20/20, is it still bleeding?” I asked.
“It appears to have stopped,”
I felt his fingers probing the cut. A few thoughtful sounds escaped his lips. Barnabas let out a puzzled sound.
“What,” I asked, my concern growing. “What’s wrong?”
Barnabas didn’t say anything for a long moment then he said in a confidential tone.
“The wound. It’s completely healed. There’s nothing here now but some dried blood and what looks like a scar that is a number of weeks old, strange.”
“How can that be,” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied in a tone that indicated he had no answer.
“But I may have a good idea,”
He wiped his hands on my cloak. Which wasn’t cool at all, but what was I going to say. It was then that I heard an annoying squeaking sound heading into the office. I turned with Barnabas to see a craft service cart laden with a large covered platter. Beside that were two metal champagne buckets filled with ice, cans of soda, and some bottles of water. A small plastic first aid kit was tucked between the platter and one of the buckets. I didn’t see any chips. Oh well, you can’t have everything. A young man dressed in a black chef’s uniform pushed the cart. The sight of this impending banquet caused us both to forget about my wound. My mouth however watered and my stomach commenced growling at the sight. Race was already at the cart. He lifted the cover from the platter revealing a variety of delicious looking sandwiches I’d ever seen or had the pleasure of smelling. Race handed the cover to the young man snatching up two thick ham sandwiches on onion rolls and a can of Coke for himself before settling on one of the couches. Barnabas and I took a little longer in choosing our food. I leaned my battle staff against the cart going for a roast beef sandwich on marbled rye and a Coke. - No Dr. Pepper to my dismay - Barnabas went for salami on a Kaiser roll and a bottle of water.
The young man bowed with a smile, first to Bart, then over to Race. He left the room carrying the cover to the platter, closing the door behind him. Barnabas and I settled into the two chairs in front of Adrianna’s desk wolfing down our food in the most civilized manner that our hunger would allow. The sandwich was delicious; it was like heaven on two slices of bread, thick slices of roast beef, pepper jack cheese, crisp lettuce and just enough spicy mustard to not kill the flavor.
Yum.
“Ah. I see your refreshments have arrived,” said Adrianna’s sultry voice. “I hope they meet with your approval.”
My head turned in the direction of her voice, but not before I bit off another large mouthful of delicious sandwich. In retrospect I shouldn’t have done that because I nearly choked when I caught sight of her or more accurately, what she was wearing. Adrianna wore a silk champagne colored robe that fell mid-thigh leaving next to nothing to the imagination. As she toweled off her hair, I noticed that it was either chilly in her office or she was doing a bit more in the shower than getting clean, because her erect nipples were showing quite clearly under the delicate fabric. She smiled impishly walking over to her desk standing behind it. Bart took up a position to her left clasping his hands in front of him glaring at us for dramatic effect.
“The food is excellent Ms. Thorne, Thank you,” Barnabas said standing, coming to attention.
I rose as well. One of the things Barnabas was adamant about when I was growing up was teaching me respect and etiquette where the opposite sex was concerned. Not many men today open doors or pull out chairs or stand when a lady enters the room. I know the concept seems outdated, but in my mind a woman should be treated like a woman.
“Please gentlemen, don’t stand on ceremony. Sit, sit, and finish your meal. It’s the least I could do.”
“Thank you,” we both said settling back into our chairs.
Adrianna finished toweling off her long hair, flipping it to one side then placing the towel around her neck. Adrianna used her fingers to put her damp hair in a more manageable state. She swiveled her chair toward her then sat down at her desk. I didn’t know the act of sitting down could be so, exhilarating. She picked up a small stack of stapled papers from the left side of her desk then leaned back in her chair and began meticulously scrutinizing each page. I glanced at her unobtrusively between bites of sandwich and sips of Coke. I don’t know about you, but I hate awkward silences, they’re uncomfortable and make me feel uneasy especially when I’m eating and someone else is not, it just doesn’t feel right to me.
“Is that a good read?” I asked.
“Not really,” she replied not taking her eyes off the page.
I also don’t like it when people don’t give me their full attention. It makes me try that much harder. Am I a brat? Yes, I think I am. Behind me I heard a muffled belch and the distinct sound of Race going back to the cart.
“So, whatcha reading,” I asked in a slow drawn out somewhat annoying manner. “Short story? Stereo instructions? The cliff notes for the Kama Sutra,”
Her mouth quirked up into a tiny smile, yet she kept her eyes focused on reading. Bart fixed his eyes on me letting out an annoyed growl.
“No, Nothing so interesting. I’m reading a boring contract that deals with buying some property on the Southside of Chicago,”
Barnabas finished his meal rising from his seat, scanning about for somewhere to throw out his bottle and napkin. Adrianna looked up from her papers reaching under her desk.
“Here you are Barnabas,” she said handing him a small wire wastepaper basket. “You may put your trash in here.” Barnabas discarded his rubbish and Adrianna replaced the can back under her desk.
“Thank you,” Barnabas said.
He walked over to the cart picking up the first aid kit turning back to face Adrianna.
“Might I be able to use your facilities for a moment?” Barnabas asked gesturing to the wound on his face.
“Of course... Be my guest.”
Barnabas disappeared into the bathroom turning on the light then closing the door behind him.
I finished my sandwich and the few remaining sips of Coke. - My garbage meeting the same fate as Barnabas’s. - I was still hungry, so I got up heading back to the cart. Discovering that there were no sandwiches left on the platter. Race was seated on the couch finishing off what I assumed to be the last one. There were eight sandwiches on that platter by my count and he ate six all by himself. I slumped my shoulders disappointed grabbing anot
her Coke from the champagne bucket popping the top then swigging down a nice long drink. I meandered around Adrianna’s office checking things out taking a better look at her statues, two Picasso’s on the walls, which I hadn’t noticed when we entered and they appeared to be originals. On the other side of the room, in front of another closed door I noticed a subtle lump under the carpet. At first I thought it was an imperfection of the floor itself, but on further inspection I realized it was a pressure switch of some sort after running the toe of my boot over it. I thought of calling Race over to step on it to see what would happen. I made my way to the metal shutters placing my hand on the beveled interlocking surface. The metal wasn’t steel though it could’ve been titanium or perhaps some sort of composite material.
“What is your opinion of Vampires, Wizard,” Bart asked in a passionless voice.
I turned toward him with an amiable smile planted on my face discarding my empty can where the first one ended up. I placed my hands into my pockets.
“To be honest I’ve never really given Vampires much thought until today.”
Bart smiled a cocky smile then said.
“That isn’t an answer to my question,”
“I know it isn’t an answer to your question,” I said cutting him off. “Truthfully I haven’t had much contact with Vampires. None at all really, so I don’t have a good or a bad opinion about your kind.”
Bart snorted folding his arms.
“Yes, I can see that you spend quite a lot of time around Werewolves. Perhaps they’ve helped shape your opinion about us,” Bart replied, disgust in his voice.
Race stood, looking pissed off. I removed a hand from my pocket holding it up in a “take it easy I’ve got this” gesture. He gave a slight nod settling back down onto the couch.
“It’s true, I have a lot of experience with Werewolves, I don’t deny that because Race’s pack came to Barnabas for help and he gave it without question. Vampires on the other hand have never come to our shop for any reason. Until today of course, now it would be irresponsible for me to form an opinion about Vampires based solely on that one interaction or on anything that I’ve heard or read. I’d hope that after everything Barnabas has taught me over the years I’d have an open mind about things and not letting others influence me.”
