Wind-Scarred (The Will of the Elements, Book 1)

by Sky Corbelli

  Chapter 11

  First Dates and Other Elusive Creatures

  Ezra stared after the departing skiff. Do her proud? What was she talking about? He was... ah! His cover story! He didn't have anything! Stupid pretty girl. Stupid kissing. He had to think of something, and he had to think of it fast.

  “Alright,” he whispered, shutting his eyes. “Come on, Ezra, think! I could say... um...”

  “Ahem.” Someone clear their throat behind him.

  Ezra turned around slowly, heart sinking. His secretary was not three feet away, arms crossed in front of her, toe tapping the ground, radiating fury.

  “Oh, uh, Kirsten. I-I mean Miss O'Donnell. You'll never believe what happened–”

  She closed the space between them, hand darting out to grasp his chin. She turned his head sharply to the right, her eyes narrowing. Ezra imagined he could feel her anger scorching the side of his face.

  “Ah, I see.” She sniffed with disdain. “I'll have to call the Crawfords and reschedule for later in the day. I suggest you get some rest.” With that she released him, hand brushing her skirt as if it had been sullied. “Will that be all, Mr. Hawkins?” Without waiting for a response, Kirsten whirled and stormed back up the walkway and through the open door of the house.

  Shaken, he followed, and caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window. Turning his face to the right, he saw the impression of Gal's lips on his cheek in dark red lipstick. He thought he should probably be mortified or embarrassed by this, but maybe with everything else that had happened tonight, he could afford to put that off until the morning. Shaking his head in wonder, he went inside, up to his room, closed the door and promptly fell asleep. He did not bother to find the bed first.

  ==

  Ezra woke up with the sun in his eyes and a hard lump digging into his stomach. He rolled over on the floor. The floor? Yes, he was on the floor. And the lump... that was his camera. Why had he fallen asleep on his camera in the middle of the floor? Abruptly the events of the previous night rushed back to him and he leaped up. Or tried too. His legs hadn't quite gotten the message that he was going to be using them yet and had instead decided to complain about a night spent running, hiding, and carrying a girl around. Oh, and being electrocuted. They seemed to be opposed to that too. Rubbing bleary eyes, Ezra called up a time display. That's why the sun was glaring through his window. It was two thirty. Two thirty.

  He was late for his date with Liza Crawford. His head resumed its position on the floor with a thump. This would be it, the last straw. Kirsten would be up here any minute, meat cleaver in hand, ready to lecture him on the importance of being neat, organized, and punctual as she chopped him into little pieces. To better hide the body, of course.

  He raced to the shower, scrubbing and rinsing then toweling dry in a whirlwind of frantic activity. Teeth and hair were simultaneously brushed while he rifled through the clothing that littered the room, trying to find something clean and appropriate. His pants were halfway up, a shirt clutched between his toes for inspection, when two polite knocks at the door proceeded his secretary into the room. She, of course, looked prim and proper, microcosm of data terminals floating at her fingertips.

  Glancing him over, Kirsten appearing entirely unperturbed by his current state of disarray. “Good, you're awake.” Her eyes went to an interface and she began ticking off items on a list. “I've rescheduled your appointment with Miss Crawford to four this afternoon, and the cook has been informed that you are not to be given anything to eat until you return tonight. We wouldn't want to spoil your early dinner, after all. I've taken the liberty of dispatching an inspector to estimate the extent of the damages sustained by the Conservatorium last night. Also, several port stations have called to ask if they may resume standard operation. May I assume that you are finished with them?”

  Ezra pulled his toothbrush from his mouth and cleared his throat. “Ah, um, yes, Miss O'Donnell. Everything should be, uh, well in hand now.”

  “Very good, sir,” Kirsten continued smoothly. “The cleaning grunts have requested that you unlock your lab so that they may dust inside. We will be leaving for the University Plaza park to meet Miss Crawford in one hour, so please pick out something...” She looked down at the shirt still clutched by his toes and sniffed in disapproval. “...acceptable for your rendezvous with the lady.” Her eyes flashed with emerald fire, belying her polite tone. “Will that be all, Mr. Hawkins?”

  Ezra nodded meekly as she spun, straightened the workspace containment field on his desk, and swept out of the room. He looked down at his shirt. He looked up at the door. Then, groaning, he began looking for something 'acceptable' to wear.

  An hour later, Ezra was chafing in a well pressed shirt that seemed to have decided its optimal shape without consulting the body inside it first. He gave a nervous smile as Kirsten walked up and looked him over. “It'll have to do,” she sighed quietly. Ezra quickly opened the skiff's door for her, smile fixed in place like a death grin.

  She ignored him as she stepped in and began giving instructions to the driver. “We'll need to get to a barber first, of course. We can't have him going out looking like a mangy dog. And you will have to drop by a florist while I see to his hair. He has almost certainly has forgotten to bring her a token of his–”

  Ezra let the door slide shut and sighed. Well, at least if she was fixated on micro-managing every aspect of his life, it should be easy to do... whatever it was that the Guild of Sundry would have him doing. Kirsten and the Guild could probably get by without ever knowing that other existed. Fortified by that thought, Ezra hardly even flinched when Kirsten rolled down her window while looking at her time display, cleared her throat and gave him a rather pointed look.

  ==

  Twenty eight minutes and several nightmarish stops later, his hair clipped to a curly cap around his head, bouquet of Engelmann Legacy roses in hand, Ezra found himself at the park in the center of the University Plaza. He glanced at Kirsten, standing beside him and organizing something on the net. She was pointedly not looking at the Converatorium or the bright yellow caution displays that surrounded it. The university port station was also declined notice, as were the technicians frantically attempting to bring the wormhole he had hijacked during his escape back online.

  Kirsten suddenly looked up and smiled to someone in front of Ezra. He whipped his head around and snapped his best smile in place, roses held out in front of him. Liza Crawford was tall, at least a half dozen centimeters taller than Ezra, and the picture of a conservative Legacy heiress. A flowing, lace trimmed dress with a high neck complemented her silver necklace and earrings. Strands of silver bells had been woven into a long, dark braid that hung over her shoulder. Her eyes were cast demurely down, honey colored freckles dusting her light olive skin.

  Without warning, a huge bear of a man loomed up in front of Ezra. Mr. Crawford scowled down at him from behind bushy eyebrows and a shaggy beard. “Hrmph, doesn't look like much, then, does he.”

  “Daddy.” Liza gave Ezra a hesitant smile. “Be nice.”

  “Now listen here young man.” Mr. Crawford placed a massive hand on Ezra's shoulder. “I can understand about gallivanting around on a nice Founder's Day night and stirring up a little trouble. It's good to give those DOLT boys a little exercise from time to time. I was a young man myself once, after all. But there is a time and a place for everything, and I don't want to hear about any funny business while you are entertaining my little girl. You understand me?”

  “Yes sir,” Ezra squeaked out. The man's hand seemed as big as Ezra's head. He made a note never to speak poorly of historians anywhere they might hear him.

  “If you are referring to the events of last night, Mr. Crawford, I can assure you that Ezra was only working through a rather strenuous experiment that may have resulted in some unfortunate side effects. You know how these things can be.” Kirsten stepped smoothly up next to them, placing a hand on Crawford's enormous arm.

  The man's fac
e split into a genuinely pleased smile. “Kirsten O'Donnell, I heard you had taken up with a bunch of these egghead types. Keeping them in line, eh?” The big, shaggy man chuckled. “Always a pleasure to see you girl, how're things with the old crowd down in the Division?” Kirsten put on a tolerant smile and began fielding a myriad of personal questions from the huge Mr. Crawford.

  While they were talking, Liza inched up to Ezra. “Is it true that you rerouted a dozen wormholes and stole the entire twentieth century culture exhibit from the Conservatorium last night, then hid it in a secret pocket dimension, and that's why it's closed?” She spoke in a hushed, rapid whisper, brown eyes watching him intently.

  “That I... what?”

  “And Mitzi Parnasus told me that she heard from a very reliable source that a whole team of elite DOLT special forces spent all night hunting you down, and when they finally brought you in you just laughed at the cell where they locked you up and were gone without a trace by morning!”

  “I... no, that didn't happen. It was all an... experiment that I was conducting. And that's why the wormholes aren't on the, um, network anymore and now...” Darn it, how had Kirsten made this look so easy? “You know how these things can be?”

  Liza nodded her head sagely. “You really can't take everything that Mitzi says too seriously. She probably got something confused. But still, I heard that you–”

  “Ezzy!” A familiar voice rung out across the lawn. Ezra's heart tried to stop. No, he prayed, not here, not now, not her.

  He turned and saw Galois Doe running toward them, waving. Her skirt was entirely too short. Her blouse was entirely too clingy. Her lips were entirely... oh god, exactly the same color as the lipstick from last night. Maybe Kirsten had that meat cleaver on her. He was fairly certain that Mr. Crawford could make it quick.

  Perhaps he could signal to her that this was a very bad time. Something like a cutting motion across the neck, but one that no-one else would notice. She was getting close, he'd have to make it fast. It might not be too late if he could just get her to...

  Suddenly her arms were wrapped around his neck and her body was pressed against his. She crushed her mouth to his, and his hands wrapped around her waist. Traitors, Ezra thought at them.

  “Sorry I'm late,” she said breathlessly once the kiss had ended. “I got caught up at the club and just lost track of time.”

  Ezra took a quick inventory of his other companions. Mr. Crawford looked confused, which was better than murderous. Liza had a hand up to her mouth, staring at him with her lips pressed into a scandalized O. Kirsten's arms were crossed in front of her, brilliant green eyes burning with rage as she glared at Ezra.

  “Hi, uh, Gal. I-It's... good to see you again.” Ezra gulped. He could practically feel Kirsten's glare boring into the back of his head as Gal beamed up at him.

  “Oh, well, pleased to meet you. I'm Liza Crawford, a friend of Mr. Hawkins.” Liza extended her hand in a polite greeting. “And you are...?”

  “Yes, Ezra,” Kirsten's voice probably could have cut diamonds, “Why don't you introduce us to your... friend.”

  “Oh... yes! Sorry, this is, uh, Galois Doe. She lives here in Sanctuary.” Of course she lives here in Sanctuary, you idiot, Ezra thought to himself. Quick, say something better! “We met last night.” He cringed.

  “Yeah, we were out behind this club, Eigen-Dance, watching the waterworks. It was so amazing, the Guild of Sundry was flying around everywhere. Did you all see it?” Ezra stared at her in horror. Why was she doing this to him?

  Mr. Crawford rumbled to Kirsten, “But I thought you said that he was-”

  “Oh, I didn't see it,” Liza said, clearly caught up in the excitement of meeting an actual interesting person. “But I heard that it was positively terrifying. They didn't even have anyone to catch them if they fell!”

  Gal's smile broadened and she leaned closer to Liza, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, I heard that they were just a distraction so that someone could use wormholes to steal the entire twentieth century culture exhibit from the Conservatorium, and that's why it's closed.” Liza gasped again and snapped her attention back to Ezra. It just kept getting worse. Time to cut and run.

  “Well, good, we've met up now, like we said we would.” Ezra tried to surreptitiously push away from Gal, but she stuck to his arm. “So... you probably need to get back to the club.”

  “But Ezzy,” she pouted prettily, “You said that we'd go check out the Lolcats exhibit, then after we could visit that little place you knew.”

  “Yes Ezra, you know how important it is not to break your appointments. It would certainly be most inconsiderate.” Ezra didn't even dare to look at Kirsten. With the acid already dripping from her voice, he was fairly sure that making eye contact would reduce him to ash.

  “Now wait a minute,” began Mr. Crawford, “he was coming here to meet my Liza, wasn't–”

  “It was really great to meet you all.” Gal beamed at Kirsten and Crawfords. “I hope you all have fun with whatever you're doing!” With that, she dragged Ezra away toward the museums.

  Ezra glanced back over his shoulder as he was pulled along. Mr. Crawford was scratching his dark, shaggy head. Kirsten was doing her best to kill him with her eyes at a hundred paces. Liza had her hands clasped in front of her and was looking around excitedly, as if she expected an group of ninjas to come jumping out of the bushes at any moment.

  They rounded the cordoned off Conservatorium, where Gal pushed him firmly against a wall, smiling playfully. “That was pretty good Ezzy, I think they bought the whole 'star-struck lover' thing perfectly.” She pushed away and punched him in the shoulder. “But you still owe me for last night.”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, rubbing his arm. “I'm going to catch so much heat for that little stunt, I'll be lucky to see the light of day again sometime this-”

  Gal put a finger over his lips. “You'll be fine. And cheer up, Ezzy.” She turned and sauntered toward the staff entrance to the museum. “Today, you get to be a hero.”