Dance of the Butterfly

by Scott Carruba

  She smiles further, remembering the conversation, and as she reminisces more on their actions, a light coloration begins to spread upwards from her neck and about her face, increasing in its redness. She has not felt like this in so long, and it makes her feel very wanted, very sexy, to know that he desires her so.

  She glances at her phone, noting the time, figuring he is likely still awake, wondering what he might be doing. She could easily message or call him, and that would make this boring chore much more endurable, but then she might -, and then she freezes, locking her widening eyes to the screen, having reached over to slow the video to its normal pace. Her other hand still holds her phone poised, but it is completed forgotten.

  Dali looks at her expectantly, for the petting has stopped, and as she leans closer to the monitor, he seems to understand what is happening, and he easily jumps to the floor, wandering off to his own pursuits.

  She observes, noting that what she is watching happened earlier this very evening after she had left for the day. It appears the new Philosophy Professor, Denman Malkuth, stopped by to visit the collection, and Amanda Honeycutt accompanied him. There is no sound, but the two are obviously exchanging words. She sees that self-confident smirk on the man’s lips, and it brings the beginning of a scowl to her own. Why had she not thought of him going through her assistant? Amanda is much less experienced and equipped to handle someone like this.

  He is impeccably dressed, as usual, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, watching as Amanda disengages the locks on that particular book.

  “Oh, Amanda,” she empathizes, looking a bit saddened, for she feels badly that the man is indeed taking advantage of the junior lady.

  She watches as the book is retrieved from its place and Amanda presents it to him. Lilja leans close to the monitor now, her attention rapt on the display. Denman gives a cursory examination to the item, holding it in one hand, so he may open it with the other, flipping through a few pages, looking them over. Once done with this brief interaction, he closes it, handing it back to Amanda with a pronounced grin, one more predatory than gracious. Amanda is all smiles, looking much brighter than her usual demeanor as she returns the book to its place.

  Lilja feels a very real sense of relief when that locking mechanism is again engaged. She had been filled with anxiety that Denman would walk out with the tome.

  Any relief she may have felt is quashed just as suddenly as Denman places a hand on Amanda’s arm, turning the woman to face him, stepping in close to her. Amanda looks up at that charming face, eagerly accepting as he lowers his head, and they embrace in a passionate kiss. Lilja’s eyes seem glued to the window, though she finally blinks once the two have finished their amorous exchange and walked out of view.

  She has to get the book. It is no longer safe.

  *****

  She was correct in her assumption that he is not yet asleep, and he evinces happiness in his surprise to receive her as an unexpected visitor, but that beaming exuberance almost instantly dissolves as he looks her over.

  “Lily?”

  “May I come in, please?” she asks.

  “Yes, yes, of course.” He moves back, holding the door open wide, and she enters his hotel suite.

  “Lilja,” he says, trying to remain calm, for she is obviously agitated, “What’s wrong?”

  “Did you lock the door?”

  “I … yes,” he says, then narrows his eyes, obviously confused, burning with curiosity, but he contains himself, walking closer to her, and he places his hands gently at her arms, putting on a comforting smile. “Lily, what’s got you so upset?”

  She then reaches into the satchel she carries, and he moves his hands away, giving her room. She pulls out a bundle, wrapped in cloth, and upon exposing it, he sees that it is the Book.

  “Here,” she says, moving it toward him, “It’s not safe at the library anymore.”

  “Lilja?” he tries again, that continued war of consolation and confusion in him. “Why not? What has happened?”

  “Denman Malkuth,” she says, speaking the name slowly, the usual sparkling blue of her eyes looking darker now in the dimly lit room, as though they had become portents.

  “He’s trying to get the book,” he states, speaking in a low, smooth tone, his expression now changed to a stalwart stone.

  “So, you do know who he is,” she says, and he is not sure if her statement comes with relief or suspicion, though quite likely a mixture of both.

  “Yes, I do,” he admits.

  She nods, a bit weakly, and he gently reaches up to take the book. Once she has been relieved of the burden, she exhales audibly, then walks over, slowly, and takes a place on the room’s love seat. He watches her closely, then takes his own steps to the nearby table, setting the tome atop it, still looking at her. Her eyes are away, her thoughts inward, then she finally, after a time, looks back at him.

  “How do you know him?” she asks.

  “He belongs to a powerful, prestigious family that is something of a competitor, a rival, even, to my own.”

  She nods slowly, taking this in, looking away, going into her thoughts. He again waits, letting her ponder, and then she gives her eyes back to him.

  “He is your enemy?”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “He came to the library not long after you did,” she relates, “He tried to get me to give him information about the book and access to it. I was not cooperative.”

  A subtle pinch of confusion takes him, his head tilting slightly to the left as he asks, “Why?”

  “There is something about him that is … disingenuous, untrustworthy, manipulative,” she says, turning back to focus on him as she finishes, seeing him nodding slowly.

  “He is, at that, though few seem astute enough to ferret it out so quickly, if at all.”

  “Did you know he was here?”

  “I did,” he admits, and he suspects he knows where this line of questioning is headed.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you warn me about him?” she asks, as he expects.

  “Lil-ja,” he begins, changing his inclination at the last moment from using her pet name, for he does not want her to feel he is trying to disarm with charm or familiarity, and he walks over, sitting down next to her; thankfully, she does not move away, turning to face him, open, accepting, willing and wanting to hear what he has to say, “I knew he was here, yes, but what if I had come to you and mentioned him, asking you to keep the book from him? You might be suspicious of me for asking that. You would have wanted to know why. And why, then, would you have any more reason to trust him than you did me? He is a member of faculty. I am not.”

  “A new member,” she points out.

  “Well, yes,” he agrees, “A station procured merely to get at that book.”

  “I know you much better now,” she says, and he feels a rush of relief as she places a hand on his leg, just behind the knee, smiling. “I trust you.”

  “And I trust you,” he says, also smiling in a similar manner. “And as I grew to better know and trust you, I suppose I began to assume you’d let me know, even if only in passing, if someone was trying to get the book out of the collection.

  “I also, perhaps somewhat naïvely, began to hope that he did not realize the book was in the collection, that he might be on the wrong trail. What has recently happened?” He tries again, “Why is the book no longer safe in the library?”

  “You know Amanda Honeycutt,” she begins, and he nods, remembering the assistant, “He’s gone through her, using her, seducing her.”

  “Oh, no,” he breathes, eyes going wider, “Is she alright?”

  “I-,” Lilja begins, confusion taking her with a furrowed forehead, “I guess so. Why … why do you ask that?” and then her confusion wipes away to widening eyes as she sits up straighter, “Is she in danger from him?”

  “Denman Malkuth is a dangerous man. I don’t think he’d harm her, but he is capable of it. As long as he t
hinks he is getting the cooperation he wants…” his voice trails off as he ponders, her eyes on him. “I don’t think he’d measure the reward worth the risk of harming her, unless she stood in his way of getting the book once he’d decided to take it.”

  “I am.”

  His eyes slowly move to hers, and he sees a fortitude there that does not surprise him in the least. He extends his arms, wrapping them about her, and she accepts this, slipping hers up to about him, leaning in to his embrace.

  “I am sorry, Lily, I should have told you. It was a needless caution.”

  “I could have told you, too,” she says, though he knows she’d have much less reason to do so than would he, “Besides, I am more than capable of assessing threats.”

  “So it seems,” he gives her, obviously impressed.

  “I feel stupid, though, that I didn’t see his angle of using Amanda, but now that we know.” She looks back at him, showing strength as well as a degree of imploring in her eyes.

  “You aren’t stupid, Lily,” he says, hugging her close again.

  She accepts this, very subtly, more desirous of proceeding in the relevant direction, “We can better protect the book now.”

  He nods, looking over at it, deeply touched that she has done as she has, though it still invites questions and concern.

  “Won’t the school wonder where its valued tome has gone off to?”

  “Oh, well, as Head Curator, I am given some privileges, so I just put in the paperwork that the book needs to go out for special cleaning,” she says, rather matter-of-factly.

  “No one will follow up with the cleaner?” he asks, looking at her, and she moves her eyes to his, “I can’t imagine there are too many artisans who handle this sort of thing.”

  “I doubt they will,” she says, “I left the name out, ‘accidentally’, so someone would have to ask around or come to me, anyway.”

  He nods, then, “How long do we have?”

  “Two weeks.”

  And he continues nodding, then he muses, “Two weeks to deal with Denman Malkuth.”

  “What are you doing to do?” she asks, and as he looks back at her, he doesn’t just see concern there but also an indication of intention – she wants to know not just out of any worry of his safety but also to evaluate, to help.

  “Well, the enmity between our two families goes back many generations, and it is not entirely unheard of for us to sit down at a negotiation table and come to some conclusion that both parties are able to at least swallow … for the time being.”

  “You’re going to negotiate with him?” she presses, a tad incredulous at the suggestion.

  He gives her a grin, something that wants to trend toward a smirk. She wastes no subtlety, curling her lips into just such an expression, her eyes narrowing.

  “I could,” he says, trying to explain an obvious position not so easy to defend, “Besides, I don’t think he knows I’m here. If I were to formally announce myself to him, then he’d know, and I think that would make him less likely to try to outright steal the book.

  “And you are Ms. Honeycutt’s superior. I daresay you could have a little talk with her about this. Things like this sometimes even lead to someone losing their job.”

  “I don’t want to fire her over this,” Lilja retorts.

  “Of course not, but if she is made to worry that her behavior could lead to demotion, disciplinary action, possible loss of her employment, then that would likely give her good reason to cease her cooperation.”

  She nods, her lips moving a bit as she thinks, pressing together and out lightly, causing a gentle purse. He sees this, and despite all that is going on, it makes him want to kiss her.

  “There are other options as well,” he says, and she looks over.

  “Oh?”

  “We could both confront him,” he says, “Once you have your talk with Ms. Honeycutt, he’ll re-focus on you as the main barrier to his access, anyway. If he perceives us as a united front, and if …,” he begins carefully, “perhaps, my family … were to provide a public endowment, indirectly declaring ourselves to the Malkuths as something of … watchers over the book as it remains in your collection-”

  “It’s not my collection,” she reminds him, smiling warmly. “You’re sweet,” she adds, and he blinks, “You’re trying to spare my feelings. Thank you. I have great pride in my work, but those are not my books. And that may be a good idea. The Felcrafts are known collectors, so it would make sense. If your family did give a donation, maybe some books and money, then that somewhat publically declares your intention over it. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes,” he nods.

  “So,” she says after a moment of silence, looking back over and their eyes meet, “I’ve avoided the biggest question, you know?” and he nods. “I won’t press now, but eventually, I’d like to know what it is about this book that has two such powerful families trying to get at it. This is not just a case of acquiring a rare book for its own sake.”

  “It most definitely is not.”

  “Alight, then.” She stands, turning to face him, and he remains seated, looking at her, not having to raise his eyes all that much to meet her own, “You don’t mind hanging on to the book until we get this sorted?”

  He shakes his head, lightly smiling at her.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  And she smiles further.

  “I’m sorry to have come unannounced like this and bother your evening,” she says.

  “Lily,” he smiles warmly, taking her hands in his own, “You are always welcome to visit me.”

  “Thank you,” she says, and now that blush does rise up, though still a subtle coloration, especially in the low-lit chamber, “But it’s late, so I had better get home.”

  He squeezes her hands, “Stay with me tonight,” he asks, still just holding her eyes with his.

  He sees as she thinks on this, notices even as she wrestles with her initial reaction of declining, but then she smiles more, her beautiful eyes blinking wider, and she nods, murmuring, “Okay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  She zips through the streets with the practiced assurance of a veteran. She’s lived here all her life, and though she may spend more of her time indoors in front of a computer, she does get out from time to time. Just like now, engaging in her other form of occasional income – working as a courier. She navigates back streets and lesser-used throughways with ease, even sneaking through traffic as she is able on her black Mac Pea Shooter, the “thumper” engine giving her good acceleration and agility without being too much for her to handle.

  It does not take her long to get to Cody’s, a small place tucked away within others, ostensibly a tiny storehouse, but really proving to be little more than a hangout for some guys and a place for the passing through of information and the occasional holding of “something”. There are boxes and some disused items about, empty air tanks, small file cabinets and the sort, but nothing of any importance stays long here.

  The conversation between the five guys inside stops as she walks in, holding the black motorcycle helmet in her right hand, her worn pack strapped tight across her torso. She gazes at them, returning their looks with a steady one of her own. A couple stare at her cautiously, but most have that leering male look a lot of guys use on her. It doesn’t matter much, anyway, as Cody jumps up to greet her.

  “Therese! Great, great,” he says, holding a can of large size and brilliant coloring in one hand, an energy drink of some sort, “Glad you made it back so quick. What a day, huh? Busy, busy day. Got another delivery lined up for you. Man, this one is hot. They really paid premium.”

  He moves behind the makeshift countertop that sort of serves as the barrier between his more private area of business and the rest of the space, setting the drinking can atop it with a high-pitched clink.

  “They asked for you specifically,” he comments as he rifles through some papers.

  “They did?” she ask
s, mingling subtle surprise, even perhaps suspicion, within her normal tone of nonchalance.

  She wonders why he still deals in paper at all, but he likes to print-out the jobs and hand over slips to them. They have the tech to make it easy and digital, but he sticks to the thin, vellum hard copies.

  “Yep,” he says, shoving the paper toward her, his eyes too wide underneath the extremely short hair of his head, “Guess you’ve made positive impressions on some people. Heh,” he short of chuckles out, the sound almost more like a hiccup.

  One of the other guys laughs, and she cuts her eyes over, not moving anything else, just letting the narrowed orbs within the heavy black eyeliner stare him down until he shuts up. She takes the paper from Cody, then goes over and grabs the package, something rather small, having barely any weight as she tucks it into her satchel, zipping up and heading out without another word.

  The money she makes from this side work, as she thinks of it, really isn’t that great, but it’s still not a bad form of extra income. She mainly does it for two reasons – it gets her out of her hovel of an apartment, letting her have some fresh air and good time on her bike, and the freedom. She’d found out about Cody through some other contacts of hers in the “shadow world” of her online life as Sparrow, though he doesn’t know that. He calls himself Cody Violin, an obvious fake name, but that suits her just fine. His business is also not always entirely legitimate, but that also helps, keeping her from having to go through the regular bonding and licensing to be a more official courier. So, she gets to keep her privacy, working freelance for him, and only when she really feels like it. He had sent her a request to come in today, a rather more insistent message than his usual, and as it turns out, it has been a very busy day, indeed. This will be her third delivery, and because this one has asked for her specifically, she’ll make extra.

  She guns the engine of her café racer, zipping by some cars and barely missing a scrape at an intersection, gaining some flashing headlights of angry drivers in her direction, along with a short, high-toned beep from one car’s horn. As long as it’s not police, she doesn’t care.