by Nikki Hyson
“That’s too much. Wait a minute.”
She stepped back, automatic laugh coupling with a headshake. “I don’t think so.” Another step. She pivoted, her brain registering too late the sudden widening of Marco’s eyes.
Lily’s pizza box struck the approaching customer with impressive force, her breath fleeing on a whooshed, “Uff.”
His arms came forward, one hand grabbing her while the other gripped his cane. Lily blinked. Cane? Then blinked again.
“Unbelievable.” Chagrin coloring her cheeks for a second time, she laughed at her own clumsy luck. “I’m so sorry. Again.”
“No harm done.” Releasing her, he rocked back on a heel, gaining a bit of distance. Gaze shifting from amused, to curious, to oddly appraising, he seemed less than certain of this encounter. Not that she could blame him. This corner of Westminster never stilled long enough for second glances. What’re the odds?
She knew her Dah would be concerned when, or rather if, she mentioned this. Gaze dropping, Lily noticed the wet paw prints across his knees. She groaned. “What’d he do?”
“The beagle’s yours?” A chuckle rolled up his throat. “Of course. He’s fine. The lead came undone, but I hooked him up again. Just thought someone should know.”
“I don’t know how he does it. Thank you.” She looked back at Marco, the pizza man still watching with hand upraised, as if he could erase the collision. “Whatever he wants is on me. Okay?”
Marco nodded. “Whatever you say, Lily.”
The stranger’s lips parted, refusal already etched across his brow, but the words didn’t come. He hesitated a beat. A battle between politeness and a loathing for pizza?
Lily couldn’t guess. Common sense urged her to be cautious. She’d felt the warning in his quick dismissal only an hour ago.
The door jerked open. He flinched, the beginning of what might’ve been a nod ceased amid the urgent jangling of sleigh bells.
“Jas.”
Lily’s attention turned to the tall man leaning half in and half out of the restaurant. Somewhere beyond thirty, his looks might’ve bordered on handsome if not for the sharp stamp of disapproval. Black eyes cut through the space, focusing on the man standing within arm’s reach of Lily. The tall man arched a dark brow. “Time to go.” For an instant, he glanced at her, and then withdrew.
Publicly chastised by disapproval, the stranger called Jas gathered his thoughts. Right hand covering the left with deliberate leisure, he leaned forward on his cane’s silver handle. “Youth,” he shrugged. “Everything is a crisis.” He offered a little bow. “Good evening, Lily.” Gaze lifting just long enough for her to register the twinkle in the depths of his eyes, he added, “For the second time.”
A step from her, and then another. Lily’s heart quickened when he took the third, his hand outstretched towards the door. She held the breath pressing up words she didn’t understand. Don’t let him go. The words whispered past on a puff of air.
Don’t.
“Jas, please…,” she started, then faltered.
He froze in the moment she’d claimed, looking back over his shoulder. “Yes?”
Now what? she demanded of the still, small voice, but it had nothing more to offer. Desperate, she looked down and saw the pizza box still in her hands. Inspiration struck. “Have you had supper?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Do you like mushroom and black olive?”
His brows drew close, guard rising, the next words coming more slowly. “I believe I do.”
Lily held out the box. “Here. I can always wait for another.” Flicking a glance over his shoulder to where the tall man had stood, she smiled. “Maybe it’ll put him in a better mood.”
The first traces of frost thawed about the corners of Jas’ eyes, deepening crinkles, and reminding Lily he did indeed know how to laugh.
“Unlikely.” Still, he retraced his steps. Moving the cane to the crook of his arm, he accepted the box. Only then did Lily notice the artificial shine of his left hand. “Just the same,” he said, plastic fingers closing slightly around air. His gaze dropped, cast down to the faulty limb. “Thank you.”
Shifting her weight, Lily pulled both their gazes up and away from the thing that obviously stressed him. “You’re welcome.” Smiling warmly, she felt a hum inside her ribcage. As if he were a professor or uncle she hadn’t seen in ages. “Nice to meet you, Jas.”
“Both times.” He backed up a step, pushing a shoulder to the glass door. “And, it’s James.”
She nodded. It couldn’t possibly be anything else.
For a long moment Lily stared at the empty door. What was all that about? No answers came offering helpful guidance. She wasn’t overly surprised.
All writers suffered from some degree of insanity.
“Lily?”
Lily met Marco’s confused expression. She shrugged. “I’ll take two pieces of whatever you have by the slice, and a Caesar salad. Thanks. I’m sure Amos is having fits.”
A half hour later, James sat on the stoop of a closed bookseller’s shop. “This is good,” he admitted, reaching for his second slice from the box between them. The flavors from the first still lingered at the back of his throat, the briny tang of olives mixing pleasantly with the earthy meatiness from the mushrooms.
“Better hot.” His companion tossed a second crust into the box, claiming his third slice. “And with meat.” Hesitating before the bite, he cocked an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I can’t believe you’ve never had pizza before. What about curry?”
“Don’t think so.” James stretched his legs, gaze leveled on the windows of a second level maisonette. “Probably not.” Its light shone through the darkness, allowing this momentary respite. The breast pocket of his coat ticked loudly, a watch counting down the final beats of someone’s life. “What do you think he’s done?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Cris tossed the third crust on the pile and leaned into the brick wall. Folding arms across chest, as if he had all night, he asked, “What’s with the girl?”
“Why don’t you eat that part? It’s edible.”
“And utterly lacking all the tasty bits. What’s with the girl?”
“Nothing.” Appetite gone, James slid the half-eaten slice back into the box. “She bumped into me. A random encounter. Nothing more.”
“Friend, we don’t get the pleasure of random encounters. You know that. Even if we did, never twice.”
“You saw then?” Taking a moment, James wiped his fingers on a handkerchief. “In front of the house?”
“Everyone saw. Who do you think she is?” Cris frowned, tilting his dark head back. “Someone from your past? There aren’t any women to call up from your pages.”
James drew a breath and held it. He considered the long black hair and native complexion of one he’d once called Tiger Lily. “No.” Shaking his head on the exhale. “I’d remember her.”
“Then she’s a future target.”
“Who could she possibly offend?” Her strawberry hair and trusting, gray-green eyes passed before his mind’s eye. “Who could want her dead?”
“Get too close and it might be Hyde himself.”
“Cris—”
“James, they don’t trust you. Never have. Pull your nose out of a book sometime.” He held up a hand, halting the incoming rebuttal. “I’m saying this as your friend. Look up.”
The light in the window snapped off. James rose. “I know.” Bones a little stiffer from the cold stone, the first step hurt. “Keeping my head down is what keeps me alive. Take the rest of the pizza home, if you like.”
“Thanks. See you back at the Guild.”
James nodded, a gesture out of habit more than anything. Moving forward, his attention distilled to the task at hand. He stepped from the curb, passing under two street lamps where the shadows met. Somewhere beyond the building’s walk, but before the front door, his stride smoothed and gait quickened. Cane up, he tucked it close between shoulder and knee.
He felt Cris watching him enter, but didn’t hold it against him. That was Cris’ job. Just like this was his. Minor details of their lives, but the devil was always in the details wasn’t it?
One day there’d be hell to pay for these details.
James took the steps two at a time, scarce a sound raised by his passing. Hand closing silently on the door’s handle, a frown drew his brows close. Perhaps this was Hell. Slipping the stolen key into the lock took mere seconds.
4
Lily kicked out of her sneakers with a grunt, both feet wriggling free from socks immediately after. Sighing contentment, she patted a knee. “Come here, Amos Roo.”
The beagle, tongue wedged between two toes, glanced up. His tail thumped, acknowledging her voice, but he remained on the throw rug. In his mind, little more was called for.
“Really?” Dropping her keys on the desk, she took two steps, storing the salad in the fridge. “Stephan would have never let you…” Moving over to the futon, she sat on the sagging, teal edge. “Never mind,” she finished, reaching for one velvet ear.
Eyes half closed, he scooted forward all of six inches, laying his chin in her hand. He savored the moment. So did she.
Five minutes later, Lily unclipped Amos’ lead, letting the clasp fall. Twenty-five pounds of dog had pinned it to the floor. “No tug of war tonight, Little Man.”
The clock on her nightstand flipped over another lost minute. Nine already? “I should be writing,” she told Amos, almost wishing he could shame her into action.
On cue the phone rang. Shrill. Insistent. Maternal. She dug through a stack of take-out menus, finding the phone on the fifth ring, answering it on the sixth. Without looking at the caller id, “Hey, Mum.”
“Hey, kiddo.”
Dah? He never initiated a call. Never. It ranked only a little lower than traveling into the city. “Hey. What’s up?”
The hesitation on the other end stiffened her spine. Trying again, she asked gently, “Dah, what is it?” Stay calm. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word fell flat on the line. She could see him staring at the hearth from his favorite chair. Starting to drift. “Nothing.”
“Dah, how’s it going?” Don’t let him wander. “Where’s Mum?”
“Everything is fine.”
Words fell distractedly between them. Nothing she offered seemed to connect, no matter the angle she tried. Don’t push. “Have you ordered any new books?”
“Your mum’s just gone. I felt a bit lonely.”
“Gone where?” Even more gently, she asked, “Where’s your Wendy?” Not Mum’s name, but a nickname he’d used forever. One Lily had never tried until now.
“School.”
Come on, Dah. Help me here. Closing her eyes, she drew a breath and counted to three. Elbows on knees, Lily exhaled slowly and opened her eyes. “Which school, Dah?”
Another hesitation. His throat cleared. “I mean college.” A little cough, then more clearly, he added, “Giving a night class.”
And, just like that, he was back in the present with her. “Oh.” Leaning back, Lily hooked an ankle across her lap. Massaging a cramped arch, she nudged for details. “What class?”
“I don’t know.” A rueful shrug somehow translated over the line. “Comes home with paint on her hands.”
Lily, pulling her hair clip free, shook out the long twist of strawberry gold. Muffling her soft exhale of relief, she asked, “What color paint?”
For anyone else this might have been a curious sort of question. Not for her dad. She’d learned colors on his knee, overlooking sunrises on Somerset. He warmed to it instantly. “Well the first week there was vermillion and…”
Lily closed her eyes, relaxing completely under the cadence of a natural storyteller.
“Two weeks ago I remember a smudge of yellow ochre on her wrist and…”
Her own thoughts drifted back to Marco’s restaurant. James. That voice in her head. Insisting, Don’t let him go. Why? Lily shivered, instinct prickling up her spine.
But her father’s voice growled on, warm as a Christmas blanket. “Last week there was cobalt blue on her cheek mixed with something…”
James who? Who was he that all of her writerly instincts came alive? He felt familiar somehow but–
“Still there, kiddo?” Amusement touched the nickname she loved most.
Busted in her obviously distracted state, Lily admitted with a laugh, “Where else would I be?”
“Here would be nice. You should visit more.”
“I will. Are you two doing anything this weekend?”
“I don’t know.” Mercifully pulling the receiver away, he shouted, “Hey, Honey! Lily wants to come for supper. Are we doing anything this weekend?”
Her mother’s muffled response, no doubt from the kitchen, was lost to Lily. At last, she voiced an innocent question. “So, Mum made it back alright?”
“What? Oh, yes. Supper’s at seven. She’ll let you help with the attic if you come early enough. You could sleep over.”
“If I can keep Sophie’s car overnight, I will. How about one o’clock?”
“That’ll do.” Hesitation followed, but not the kind that scared her. “See you then. Be careful out there.”
“Always.”
“Night, Lily.”
“Night, Dah.” Thumb moving to disconnect, she heard his voice again. Pressing the phone back to her sweaty ear, she urged him to repeat. “Yeah?”
His voice dropped to a level she knew her mother couldn’t hear. “Thanks for listening, kiddo.”
“Love you too.” She waited until he clicked off, a small movement diverting her attention before homesickness could settle.
Amos, finished with his evening rituals, stalked her pillows. Her eyes upon him, he dropped to his belly, chin resting on paws. Picture of innocent intent.
“Ready for bed?”
James shrugged out of his coat, hanging it over boots that never held a scuff. Hooking his cane on the peg beside it, his reflection slid across the oval mirror. Blue eyes met blue, the lines about them reflections of the scars he carried inwards.
Cris’ words echoed. “Lift your head up, Jas.”
He pulled his eyes away, no longer able to meet that gaze or the broken spirit left naked on the glass. How could he have once been the most powerful man in all the seas? Nothing remained of that man. That pirate.
Stalking to the window, James stared out into the darkness, his head tilting up in a failed attempt to glimpse stars lost against a phosphorous glare. Stars. Everything he’d gained or lost distilled down into one simple truth every time he looked up. Above a city that never slept, the stars were truly gone.
Touching a button on his stereo, a mixture of strings and piano stirred the air softly. James had never heard of the composer, Muzzey, before, but some of his music had been playing in a café they’d visited once. The coffee didn’t inspire, but the music soothed him. Cris noticed. Cris noticed everything, or nearly so, and presented him with a silver disc and a machine to play it on the very next day. Gentle strains that played throughout the nights, keeping darker thoughts at bay. Almost capable of drowning out the memory of Cris’ words.
You aren’t trusted.
James already knew that. Yet, if Cris had decided to bring it up now…
Impotence growled against the pizza.
Lift my head up, or bury it further?
The smartest option might be the guise of submissive dog; yet burying his head chafed. Two choices. Both heavy with disaster. Walking away had never been a possibility. Death was. But can I accept that?
A shudder rippled over him. James just wasn’t written that way. He’d never been acquainted with surrender, and only maintained a passing familiarity with defeat.
Cris could be wrong. He’s not infallible.
Cris might be wrong, but James wasn’t. He could sift through lies, through deception, with a glance. He’d read the death warrant warming Hyde’s eyes.
> And Lily. What of her? Who is she? Two encounters in as many hours. What did these meetings mean? A paper soul? A writer? Was she little more than a mark?
The CD player clicked, rotating discs.
“Enough!” The single word shook him loose, heart thumping loudly against the hollow space where his soul should have dwelt.
His heart. His soul. His nothing. He twisted the dial. Volume rose, brass and strings colliding into percussion. Crescendo mounting, his fingers gripped the edge of a book case, knuckles going white. Please. James begged his spirit to rise up in ecstasy with the strains of music. Just once more.
It didn’t. His ear registered the notes, mind acknowledging its pleasing arrangement, but the freedom he’d once known from a sheet of music had fled.
He touched a button. Silence. “What now?” No answers came. None would until the end. The end would bring understanding, like nothing else could.
James looked back at the undraped window and the blackness beyond. He wanted to go home. He knew it, but he felt nothing. They’d made sure of that the day they pulled him through. Even the aching loss of homesickness seemed lost to him. He felt nothing that might move him from his loyalty to the Guild.
His focus diverted to the hand lost ages ago, replaced by something as plastic and lifeless as the rest of his existence. “Damn you, Peter,” he growled. The only thought that ever brought pleasure, James embraced it. “Damn you.”
5
“Doctor McNally’s office. How can I help you?”
Lily filed records without registering any more of Jill’s conversation. Repeated over the past three years of Mondays and Thursdays from nine a.m. to six p.m., and Friday mornings from eight a.m. until one p.m., Lily’s dreams often carried some variation of the petite brunette’s phone etiquette.
“Lily, do you know where Holly Granger’s file is?”
Knowing the voice without turning, Lily lost the smile she couldn’t have explained. Shuffling quickly, she offered it with a downcast gaze. “Here it is. Anything else, Ruth?”