House of Cards

by C. E. Murphy

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “Women. They’re no fun.” Cameron flicked a finger in Cole’s direction and he smiled again. “Valkyries don’t count.”

  “It’s good to be on a pedestal.” Cam hugged Margrit. “You okay, hon?”

  “No. I’m exhausted. I want to go to bed and sleep for about three days. I completely blew the case this morning.” Margrit shook her head. “And I’ve got to…I don’t know. I should find out what’s going on with work. See how people are doing.”

  “They’re probably doing about like you are, Grit. Russell was a good guy. Even when he pissed you off.” Cole looked rueful. “Which he did a lot.”

  “Yeah, I keep thinking about that. The stunt he pulled with the Daisani building up in Harlem, you know? The whole public perception thing. Pretty black girl makes good, gives back to her community by defending a squatters’ building. Never mind that I grew up in Flushing with a zillion dollars. What mattered was selling the image. I was so angry. ’Course, I learned to play that card, too. Cara Delaney would’ve made such a great witness. She looked so fragile. Everybody would’ve loved her and hated Daisani.”

  Cameron hugged Margrit’s shoulders. “Well, that’s what a good lawyer does.”

  “What, plays the hypocrite?” Margrit laughed, perilously close to tears again. “I know. He was a good teacher. Yesterday he was getting all over my case about my career path. I can’t believe he’s dead.” She put her hands over her mouth, her fingers icy. “I thought he’d be around forever.” A miserable smile moved her fingers. “Or at least until I took his job.”

  “Ah, c’mon, Grit. You have bigger plans than Legal Aid, don’t you?”

  Kaimana Kaaiai’s broad face flashed in Margrit’s mind, bringing a cascade of images, all the men and women of the Old Races she’d met. She curled a lip, their thoughts unwelcome in the face of loss. Unwelcome, but pointed; Kaaiai’s request lent her an opportunity for bigger things on a scale Margrit could barely find an equivalent to in the human world. “I guess so.”

  “Thought so.” Cole got off the couch, scrubbing his fingers through his hair and creating a poof of loose curls. “Why don’t you take a nap and I’ll make something fantastic for dinner and we can all go out afterward and get shit-faced?”

  “You know,” Margrit said after a moment, “I can’t think of a single reason why that wouldn’t be a good idea. Cam?”

  “Aside from being a teetotaler, nope. I’ll bloat myself with ginger ale.” Cameron nudged Margrit off the couch. “Go rest. I’ll wake you up if Tony or anyone calls.”

  “Thank you.” Margrit got up and headed for her bedroom, peeling half-dried clothes off as she went.

  “Margrit?” Cam scratched on the door and pushed it open, voice quiet and apologetic. Margrit rose up in bed with a sharp breath, sleepily confused as to where she was. “Hey,” Cameron said softly. “Sorry. You’ve got a phone call.”

  “Tony?” Margrit scrubbed her hands over her face and swung her legs off the bed, trying to wake up.

  “No, he says his name’s Kaimana Kaaiai. Isn’t he—”

  “Yeah. The guy I met at the reception the other night. What time is it?” Margrit squinted toward her clock. “God, I’ve been asleep two hours? Feels like about three minutes.” She got to her feet, and thrust her hand out for the phone imperiously.

  Cam handed it over. “Yeah. I’m sorry, but I thought you might want to talk to him.”

  “No, it’s okay. I was expecting a call.”

  Cameron nodded and waved goodbye as Margrit brought the phone to her ear, wishing she sounded more awake as she said, “This is Margrit.”

  “Margrit, hello, Kaimana Kaaiai here. I’m sorry to call at such a bad time.”

  “No.” Margrit shook her head and reached for a pair of jeans, trying to wake herself up through action. “It’s okay. Nothing you can do about it.” She’d traded sounding tired for brusqueness, and couldn’t decide if it was an improvement.

  “Still, please accept my condolences.”

  “Thank you. Mr. Kaaiai, if you have a little time this afternoon—”

  “Please call me Kaimana.”

  Margrit took a deep breath and held it a moment, trying to work civilization back into her tone. “Kaimana. Thank you. If you’ve got time this afternoon, or if I can meet up with Cara, that’d be great. I forgot to set up a time to do that yesterday.” For a moment the impulse to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head assailed her. It seemed impossible that it had only been yesterday that she’d remet Cara.

  “Just what I was going to suggest. Marese has cleared my schedule. You could come over, or I could drop by.”

  “Here?” Margrit coughed in horror. “I live in a shoebox apartment with two friends, Kaimana. It’s great for us, but it’s a little underwhelming for you.”

  Kaimana chuckled. “I wasn’t always rich, Margrit. But if you’d be uncomfortable with me visiting, come to the hotel. We’ll have an early dinner.”

  Margrit looked at the jeans she’d pulled on and swallowed a sigh. As if he’d heard, Kaimana added, “In the room, if you like. No need to dress up.”

  “That would be great. Something light,” Margrit said, mindful of Cole’s offer to cook for her. “I’ll be over as soon as I let my housemates know, and catch a cab.”

  “I look forward to it.” Kaimana hung up and Margrit put the phone down, staring mindlessly across the room for a few seconds. Then she shook herself and got a box out of the closet, unfolding tissue paper to check the state of the sealskin she’d been keeping safe. The fur was never as soft as she expected it to be, though it looked rich and comforting. Satisfied with its condition, she closed the box and pulled a fitted T-shirt on before leaving her room for the kitchen, where the scent of a red sauce was starting to fill the air.

  “Hey, look who’s awake. You get any rest?” Cole turned away from the stove to smile at her. Margrit wobbled a hand.

  “A little. I’ve got to run an errand. I might be late for dinner, but if there are leftovers I’ll be grateful, okay?”

  “We can wait, if you want.”

  “Nah.” Margrit managed a small smile of her own. “You know how Cam gets if she doesn’t eat regularly. Moody,” she intoned.

  “In the same way grizzlies are moody.”

  “I heard that!”

  They both laughed, Cole calling, “I looove you,” toward the living room. Cameron snorted and Margrit went to find shoes, her heart lighter than it had been all day.

  Had she chosen another pair, she reflected as the city crawled by, she might have walked to the Sherry faster than she’d arrive in a cab. There was no rush hour in New York, only brief spates when the crush lessened. Six in the evening was not one of those times. Margrit frowned at the low backless heels she’d put on as if it was their fault she’d chosen them. Concentrating on them gave her something less debilitating to think about than the day’s events, but she was grateful when the cab pulled up to the hotel and she could put off emotional warfare with social niceties. Marese let her into Kaimana’s suites with the same deadpan expression as before, and Kaimana himself turned from a small table by the balcony.

  “I went ahead and ordered some appetizers. If there’s nothing you like I can always call for more.”

  “It’ll be fine. Thanks.” Margrit smiled and shook the selkie’s hand. “Is Cara here?”

  “I’m afraid not. She’s attending to some other business for me.” Kaimana nodded toward the box Margrit carried. “If you’d like to put that aside, I’ll be delighted to deliver it to her.”

  Reluctance clutched Margrit’s heart and she hugged the box, then wrinkled her nose and balanced it on the couch corner. It didn’t matter who gave it to Cara, as long as the selkie girl got it back. “I hope I’ll get a chance to see her again. Is she part of your entourage now?”

  Kaimana gestured to the table, then held Margrit’s chair for her. “My entourage. What an idea. But I suppose so, in a way.” He took the seat acr
oss from her, eyebrows arched as he lifted a bottle of white wine. Margrit made a moue and nodded, and Kaimana poured two glasses as he spoke. “I’m sure you’ll see her again. In fact, that’s something I wanted to discuss with you, in a roundabout way.”

  “Cara?” Margrit lifted the glass and took a small sip of wine, then did a double take. “That’s very nice.”

  “It should be. I think it’s older than you are.” Kaimana smiled at the startled expression Margrit felt cross her face, then brought the conversation back on topic. “Less Cara than the others, but you’ll certainly see her again. I’d like you to arrange a meeting with Janx and Daisani. Somewhere public.”

  Margrit set her wineglass aside with a sound of disbelief. “Janx and Daisani don’t meet in public, Kaimana.”

  “I have confidence in your resourcefulness.”

  “Why?” Margrit cut his answer off before he spoke. “Not why do you have confidence, although I’d like to know that, too, but why in public? You’re not as rich as Daisani, but it can’t be good for your image to be hanging around with people like Janx.”

  “If I were concerned with my human image, you’d be right, but this isn’t about my mundane existence. It does have to be public, somewhere easily accessible, and ideally somewhere that crowds gather. I’d prefer not to tell you the details, for your own sake.”

  “There’s no way not knowing is going to make me safer.”

  Kaimana narrowed his eyes in thought. “In this case, I think it might. It allows you to plead ignorance, which might be the wiser course.”

  “You want me to lie to Eliseo Daisani and Janx—” Margrit broke off in turn, realizing she’d never heard the dragonlord referred to by a second name. “And Janx? Are you nuts? They’d kill me. Both of them. They’d take turns.”

  “Not lie. Misdirect. And I think I can guarantee they won’t be interested in you once we’ve met. They’ll have other things on their minds.”

  “It’s the ‘I think’ part that makes me nervous.” Margrit picked up an appetizer and bit into it without looking to see what it was. Heat flooded her mouth, bringing tears to her eyes, and Kaimana nudged a wineglass toward her. She took a swallow that did no justice to the vintage and wiped her eyes as alcohol cut through the hot oils. “Why would I agree to this, without knowing what your plan is?”

  “Because I believe the end result will rattle the sea floor and change will ride on the tide, and you think we must change or die.” Kaimana waited a moment, watching her, then nodded as Margrit felt reluctant agreement settle over her. “Tomorrow, if it’s possible, Margrit. Set the meeting for tomorrow night.”

  Margrit climbed the steps to her apartment and let herself in, rubbing the back of her neck as she did so. The lingering scent of sauce and grilled meat made her stomach rumble, reminding her she’d eaten only a bite or two at the hotel. “Anybody home?”

  Voices fell silent in the living room, then picked up again with, “There she is,” and, “In here, Grit.” She kicked her shoes off and walked barefoot through the kitchen.

  “I could use another eight hours of sle—Mom?” Margrit blinked in surprise as her mother stood up from the easy chair Cole normally claimed. Cole scrambled to his feet as well, old-fashioned manners coming through as they always did when Rebecca Knight visited. Margrit had never been able to decide if she was relieved or distressed that other people found her mother as intimidating as she did.

  Rebecca looked out of place in the mismatched apartment, her elegant fragility more suited to museum halls as a sculptor’s masterpiece. Her fine-boned, narrow figure lent her an illusion of height, and while Margrit had learned her dress sense from her mother, Rebecca’s tailored suits always hung better and enhanced her cafe-latte skin’s warmth better than anything Margrit ever wore. A few dark freckles across her nose were her most humanizing factor. When she blended those away with makeup and took her hair down for an evening out, Rebecca Knight became the equivalent of a screen goddess to her daughter’s eyes. Margrit had always had the half-formed idea that Rebecca’s refinement came from her outward form, and that her own lusher curves made her hopelessly earthy in comparison to her polished mother. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt, even a dressy one, while Rebecca wore a fitted suit, made the idea stand out in relief in Margrit’s mind as she hurried to give her a hug. “Mom, what’re you doing here?”

  “I was in the city today and heard about Russell on the afternoon news. I thought I would come over and see if you were all right. Why didn’t you call me?” Rebecca put her hands on Margrit’s shoulders and looked her over.

  “I had a court case this morning,” Margrit said inanely. “I just didn’t think of calling. I’m sorry. Thank you for coming.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay, all things considered. Still really tired.” She pressed a hand against her forehead. “I lost my court case.”

  “You wanted to lose it, didn’t you?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yeah, but I wanted to lose it because evidence was on the prosecutor’s side, not because my boss wa—” Margrit cut herself off, not trusting emotion to remain steady. “Did you let Daddy know?”

  “I did. We thought maybe you could come out to the house this weekend and get away from the city for a little while.”

  “Maybe next weekend. I don’t know anything yet, but I imagine Russell’s—” Margrit swallowed to strengthen her voice. “Russell’s service will be this weekend. I’d like to come out,” she added more quietly. “I could go to church with you and Daddy. I’d like that.”

  “All right.” Rebecca kissed her cheek, looking pleased. “Now, would you like me to stay? I’m in the city again tomorrow anyway.”

  Margrit smiled a little. “No, it’s okay. I think Cameron and Cole have got me covered. I’m going to eat something and maybe we’ll go out for a while and…” Her smile faltered. “And have a drink to absent friends.”

  “All right. Bring Tony along next weekend, if you like.” Rebecca smiled toward Cameron and Cole before Margrit walked her to the door. The moment it closed behind her, Cam appeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “‘Bring Tony along,’ eh? Is that a parental capitulation I hear there? I thought she didn’t like Tony.”

  “I don’t know what it was. She must feel really bad for me.” Margrit shook her head. “She doesn’t dislike Tony. How could she, really? He’s a great guy. She just wishes her daughter would date a black man instead of a golden-brown one. My mother the activist. Even romance is a political statement. I mean, I understand where she’s coming from. She grew up in the sixties and she was one of the first black women stockbrokers at her firm. But what’m I supposed to do, dump Tony because his family’s from a few hundred miles farther north than ours?”

  “Nah,” Cole said from the kitchen. “You two find plenty of other good reasons to dump each other regularly without getting political. Besides, his family’s been on this continent as long as yours has. You can get married and have cute little melting-pot American kids, instead of African-Italian-American kids. All those hyphens would send them to tears.”

  “Besides, the acronym sounds like a scream. AIA!” Cam flung her hands up dramatically, earning a quick laugh from her housemates. Cole looked around the doorjamb over Cam’s shoulder. “You want me to heat up your dinner, Grit?”

  Margrit hesitated. “I was thinking I might go for a run.”

  “It’s seven-thirty! It’s dark out!”

  “I know. I’ll bring my pepper spray and my phone, and I’ll call if I’m not going to be back in an hour.” Margrit pulled her shoes on, glancing apologetically at her friends. “I really need to run, guys. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

  “You better be, or I’m going to tie you to a bungee cord so you can’t get past the door.” Cameron raised a fist threateningly and Margrit smiled.

  “Good to know you care. Back in an hour, I swear.”

  TWELVE

  MARGRIT TOOK THE stairs down to th
e street two at a time and swung around the door frame on the way out of the building, trying not to think. The jog up 110th brought her to the park already warmed up, and she stretched out into a run as she reached the paths. Habit born of safety measures kept her gaze ahead of her and glancing around, something she’d abandoned for watching the sky when she knew Alban was there. The gargoyle’s absence, Russell’s death, Janx’s ultimatum: everything felt off-kilter and reluctant to be buried in physical movement.

  An exhausted laugh burst free from Margrit’s lungs. She hadn’t thought of Janx or his second-in-command since Daisani’s bombshell, and she hadn’t gotten what she’d hoped to out of the vampire. Without some kind of support from the Old Races, she couldn’t imagine how she might hope to protect Malik. She couldn’t even protect ordinary people.

  Her hands knotted into fists, throwing her stride off. Russell’s death wasn’t her fault. Where that guilt came from, she didn’t know; even if she’d gone to work early to talk to him, she’d have been more likely to get herself killed than to have saved him. Daisani’s bloody gift helped her heal quickly, but didn’t give her a vampire’s speed or a gargoyle’s strength. She was hardly a match for most assailants. Her guilt came from an irrational assignation of culpability, but even teasing herself with what Cole called “fancy lawyer talk” didn’t lessen the regret tightening her heart.

  Barely past the playground, a thick stump of a man crouched by the pathway, his position so natural it seemed as if he belonged there, more decorative than a living person. His white hair, cropped short, glowed beneath the park lights, wind stirring it in the only indication that he was more than a statue. Glad to be distracted from her own thoughts, Margrit swung wide, as if a few feet might make the critical difference should he spring from his crouch. She stretched her stride out, putting on speed before her name came after her through the night. “Hey, lawyer. Knight. Margrit Knight.”