Once I was suited and tied, I drove to Delphine’s dock and found her in transit to the car. She looked stunning. With every step, a deep green dress undulated about her legs, and as I opened the door for her, I noticed her bare feet.
“While I can appreciate your authentic dedication to your lineage, I’m fairly certain that shoes are encouraged, if not required, at ballroom festivities.” I rebuked her with the solemnity of a man who sees a great deal of cultural events on cable television, and thus, is qualified to speak at length on such matters.
She turned to me in her seat, waving one hand at a small bag she carried. “You will note, good sir, that I carry my dancing shoes with me in order to protect their soles. In fact”—she waved a finger in warning—“I find your lack of decorum and knowledge of this event to be worthy of all manner of punishments. Perhaps later, I’ll educate as to how the Napoleonic code is enforced.” She blew me a kiss, and suddenly, the threat of Louisiana-styled justice seemed to be something worth looking forward to.
“I accept your offer of rehabilitation. After the event. I won’t enter mussed. I have standards,” I replied, knowing full well that if she slid into my seat, I would find any resistance of my own to be both short, and weak.
She leaned over and glanced at me from mere inches away. “I have a confession. I actually do like to dance. Do you think Boon knows how?”
I laughed. “Boon? No, or I should say, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least, she’s eminently capable. I don’t know who she has a partner, or how she knows them. I’m just excited about the mystery of it all, really.”
We wheeled into the parking lot of the Hardigan Center and stepped into the door of The Butterfly a moment later. The dinner rush had ended, but there were still customers present, and I caught Boon’s eye as she ducked into the office. Seconds later, a ripple of applause broke out among the tables and Panit, resplendent in his tuxedo, with his hair slicked back like a gangster, emerged with his wife at his side. He smiled broadly at our shocked laughter, and gallantly offered his hand to Delphine.
“You dance?” I stammered. He truly was a Renaissance man.
“Competitively. Twelve years,” he concluded with a nod. When we looked at him in confusion, he elaborated, “I broke my nose boxing and my mother decreed that all contact sports were off limits. So, I still wanted to meet girls—sorry, dearest”—he winked at Boon—“but this came to my attention, and I found that I rather enjoy it. Shall we?” He too had shoes in a case. This was serious business.
“Some ground rules.” Boon held up a hand. “No killing of anyone. No sex, despite how much you will want to ravage this exquisite man”—Delphine nodded as if to say naturally—“and under no circumstances is he to be placed in danger. Promise me those things, Ring? Delphine?”
We both nodded with vigor, and what’s more, we truly meant it. Boon and Pan were family, and therefore, worth every ounce of what honesty I could muster.
He kissed his wife and looked at me with an approving eye. “It is good to see that a ruffian such as yourself is capable of cleaning up once in a while.”
“Say the man who has shrimp shells in his hair five days a week.” I laughed and opened the door. This was going to be a simple venture in public, a way to get Delphine used to thinking more like me and less like a succubus. It was time for Delphine’s first immortal hunt.
55
From Risa’s Files
Action Report: 11 Jan. 2013
Goddess, pray forgive the brief nature of this report, we have been moving unceasingly for nearly four months. Our quarry is in the midst of a confusing conflict in which nearly every person has taken up arms in some fashion. There is a bloodbath here, Goddess, and we continue our relentless pursuit through Sudanese lands and are now, finally, arriving in the familiar Ethiopic soils of our home.
He is tired.
He is also fearful. Perhaps it is the size of our force, as we are, in number, nineteen, and all well-blooded men with more than one hunt to their credit. We are driving him according to Your wishes, and at our current rate of transit, he will be trapped and near death before the next moon.
We will not fail to deliver him to the degraded sleep which You have described in such detail. Three wounds, no more, be they deep and true, and he will begin his very last slumber under Your careful plans. We serve with our lives if need be, and that, with pleasure and honor unceasing.
Your wishes shall soon be done, and we beseech You, as we bring the blades home, hear our prayers.
56
Florida
I expected something quite different. When we pulled up to the ballroom, I craned my head to see the inevitable stream of ossified dancers going in to stave off their loneliness and age for a few hours more. I was wildly incorrect. As we neared the door, it was opened by well-dressed staff who directed us politely to the hostesses. The patrons were far from old, overall; in fact they seemed to range well beneath my age, and everyone was dressed to kill. The décor was simple; strategically placed palms and ficus trees in Grecian urns huddled against the dark walls every ten feet, their thin trunks curled with delicate white lights. The floor itself was polished to a mirror finish, and on a dais in the rear corner, a small orchestra was tuning up.
“This is unexpected,” I blurted before we could move up to our turn with the hostess. Delphine was smiling, but Pan merely looked about with modest approval.
“It will do. I’ve danced in quite nicer locations, but for a mere turn of the floor, this will be fine for the evening.” He grinned at me when I drew back in surprise. “You don’t know my cultured side, Ring. How do you think I landed a woman like Boon? Not with my spring rolls.”
Delphine laughed merrily and we stepped deferentially to the imposing looking lectern where two young women were implacably moving patrons along after paying the admission. Pan stepped forward and, in a flurry of verbal shorthand, secured us three tickets, the location of the bar, which I would use as my lookout, and directions to the dressing rooms, where he and Delphine would change shoes and presumably limber up, or whatever dancers did to get ready. I found the entire atmosphere to be terribly gentile and more than a little exclusive, but the bar looked excellent, and my knife was cool against my skin. When another couple smiled at me, I began to feel the sense of detachment ebbing, and the room became a curiosity more than anything inaccessible.
The musicians began to silence themselves, and then launched gently into an airy waltz, I think, that floated about us, the sounds somehow wistful and detached, and all wonderfully so. I leaned comfortably against the bar and cast an expert eye at the immaculate order and superb selection. The barman, a serious looking man of middle age, smiled minimally and asked, “And what will the gentleman have this evening?” His accent was lightly Bostonian, the result of long years in the snow, yet many years in the Floridian sun.
“Bourbon, one ice cube, please.” I tipped my head to him out of respect for his professional bearing. The bartender and the butcher are two people you must always treat with care. They procure and distribute what are in my estimation the two most important food groups: meat and alcohol. With efficient, swift motions, he placed an actual crystal tumbler in front of me with three fingers of a single barrel masterpiece that hailed from Lexington, Kentucky, and I paid him while smiling. The hall was filling up gradually, but with the steady pace of people who were too mannerly to rush. The music continued, and the first dancers began to move about the floor, leaving me with no doubts as to my inability to ever join a single member of their ranks. They were floating with ease, and more noticeably, they were smiling with the reckless abandon that passion brings to the face when you are exactly where you want to be. This was no competition; they were here for the joy of motion. I felt the energetic glow of each couple as they swept past me, bodies held in positions that may have looked simple, but my eye could detect as being the results of an investment of years. Delphine and Pan were luminous; her beauty was complemented by his gallan
try and skill. Even my casual observation could tell that she was naturally graceful, but he was trained, and very well at that. They whisked past me, both nodding in acknowledgment as I toasted their agility and settled onto a high leather stool. I debated moving to see more of the floor, when a delicate tap on my shoulder caused me to turn, and I found myself looking into the sparkling eyes of none other than Meredith Ruston.
Her lips pulled down in a mock frown, as she groused playfully, “I haven’t even begun to dance, but if you tell me that my partner is only here to pry my fortune from me, I may never leave the house again. Hello, Ring, it’s good to see you.” She kissed my cheek and took a seat as I motioned to the dour Bostonian, who inclined his head as an invitation for her to order.
“And, for the lady?” he inquired.
“Pinot Noir. A bottle. I’ll share with my friend.” Meredith crossed her excellent legs and waited with the patience of an adult for the wine to arrive before continuing our conversation. I found myself kneading the silence with my tongue, but saying nothing until after she had tasted and approved of the vintage. “Who are you here with this evening? You appear rather comfortable, if I may say. Are you dancing?” She looked at me with mirth over the rim of her glass. Her blue eyes danced in a face bordered with ash blonde hair that was long enough to be youthful, but short enough to be tasteful. Meredith Ruston was every bit of fifty years old in actual age, but her looks and appeal remained vibrant and, to the nervous, probably intimidating. When she smiled, every minor line on her face looked earned rather than masked. I found her to be much more than merely interesting. She had a quality underneath the smile that bespoke intellect and something complex, an aura that outstripped the archetype of a wealthy socialite. We had also run into each other twice in an area where more than five million people lived and worked. I don’t believe in happenstance or coincidence, and I kept my face pasted with the pleasure of our meeting, even as my mind whirled at the possibilities.
“I don’t dance often. Nor do I dance well. But this . . .” I waved an arm indicating the floor, shaking my head in amazement. “Well above my pay grade. I’m here with friends, who are both, well, that’s them right there,” I said, as Pan and Delphine strutted by to the current music. “As you can see, this is their element. Think of me a glorified chaperone.”
She nodded sagely. “I can see how that one would be trouble of the best kind.”
“Who? Delphine, or Pan?” I asked.
“Either one,” she said impishly, letting her eyes slide from the floor back to me. “So, in your expert opinion, are there any hooligans waiting to pounce, or am I safe to turn about the floor?”
I scanned the room as she watched, and nodded. “I think that aside from blisters, you’ll be quite safe here. This is actually a much nicer crowd than I’m accustomed to. Your safety is virtually guaranteed, unless you attempt to do a country line dance.”
She laughed upward at the ceiling and shook her hands in distaste. “I wouldn’t dream of it. In that case, I think I’ll dance. Enjoy some wine.” She kissed my cheek again, and found a partner within seconds—a tall, graying stallion of a man who had been eyeing her with great interest during the whole of our chat. They insinuated themselves into the traffic and were swept away in a blink.
* * *
Wally and Risa were not only awake but fidgeting and excited when I strolled in with Delphine. After depositing Pan at the Hardigan Center with only slight discomfort in his feet, I was convinced that the evening had been a rousing success, at last in the sense that a good time was had by all, and more importantly, I managed to keep Boon’s beloved in one piece. We had not a whiff of anything more dangerous than the occasionally tipsy ballroom enthusiast, but it had served to break the ice and allow Delphine to open her sense to something other than naked predation. As an observer, not consumer, she adapted quickly to the methods of passive observation, and her moves throughout the room all evening had been smooth and natural.
“What is it?” I asked with half a smile, thinking that Delphine’s presence was the reason for such alertness in our home at midnight, but Risa quickly grabbed my hand and pushed me to the hallway.
“Get changed. Something dark. Running shoes. We couldn’t stand the idea of you having fun without us, so we interrogated the redhead until she spilled it about the house in Fort Lauderdale. We drove by. She’s there.” Risa was practically dancing with excitement.
I held up a hand. “Who?”
Wally sighed in exasperation from over my shoulder. “The last daughter. One of Elizabeth’s creations. She is there. We watched her go in and take a bag. She is staying, at least tonight. Go and dress, you are talking too much.”
Before I could point out that one question hardly qualified as a torrent of chatter, I was bustled into my room while Risa handed clothes to me at an alarming rate. I shrugged out of everything and was dressed like a mannequin when Wally handed me my knife with an air of finality.
“We’ve already put a few things in the truck,” Risa said cryptically, and they pattered down the hall like kids on Christmas morning.
“What kind of things? For Stacia?” I asked, but mainly to slow down the harried feel of what was happening. Delphine stood uncertainly in the kitchen, looking back and forth at us every few seconds. She appeared as lost as I was.
“Things we need. We’ve been thinking. And yes, Stacia. I do not even like her name. It sounds fancy.” Wally said icily, and I knew that whatever was about to happen promised to be unpleasant.
“Oh. I see?” I looked hopefully at Wally for explanation, but she shook her head violently.
“Time for you to drive. We will explain on the way,” Wally snapped, and something heated flickered in her eyes. I nodded, drew a breath, and finished dressing. It seemed that this evening, caution would be the first casualty.
We found address with ease, and though the neighborhood was nice, the house was better. For a change, it seemed that luck was in our favor, because a casual drive past revealed no security lights turned on, and only a single interior bedroom illuminated in the large sprawl of the home. I drove at a normal pace to the end of the block and put the Wagoneer in park, exiting quietly as Risa slid over into the driver’s seat. There was no artifice to our plan, only minor stealth. I knew Stacia wouldn’t be armed, and I also was betting, albeit with my life, that under no circumstances was she expecting a visitor. No, this was merely an inspection for her, a stopover in what amounted to a glorified victory lap as she doubtless began assuming control of the tattered remains of Elizabeth’s empire. Despite being addicted to power, Undying aren’t stupid; they instinctively cling to the acquisition of money, if only to act as a buffer between themselves and the masses. I expected to find Stacia alone and, if she was awake at all, planning her next feeding. Any child of the departed Elizabeth would most likely be loose with her kill rates, especially in an area as heavily populated as South Florida.
“Give me five minutes,” I said quietly, “then come in the back. Go ahead and park in the driveway, by that point, it won’t matter.”
Risa nodded as Wally began pulling a heavy bag into the front after insinuating herself into the passenger seat. They pulled away slowly as I began to walk back at a casual pace. The street was quiet and there was little activity among the homes. Since the lots were fairly large, there was no light leaking from the home, and in less than a minute, I was up and over the fence into a lawn that was totally free of illumination. I hadn’t made a sound. So far, our foray was perfect.
Peering into one of the kitchen windows, I saw a small caddy with cleaning products on a counter, and instantly knew that I had a way in that didn’t require breaking glass. There had been a cleaning service, that much was obvious since I seriously doubted Stacia would sully her hands with menial labor. If they arrived when the house was unoccupied for a long period, the windows would have been opened to air the stuffiness from rooms left to grow stale with months of disuse. Then, when the cleaning staff l
eft, there would always be a forgotten window left unlocked, one that was easy to overlook. That was the one I moved to, staying close to the wall and bending slightly on the odd chance that I was being observed, but I liked my chances. I slipped my fingers under the sash of the window and lifted. Of course. Every time. Thank you, whoever forgot this one lock. I owe you a cold one. The window slid easily upward and I was faced with the most awkward part of the entry as I pulled myself, slowly but firmly, across the sink and slid to the floor like a serpent, palms down on the chilly tile. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness and listened intently, feeling the stillness of the room surround me and welcoming the quiet.
I cut my eyes to the right and saw the slightest trickle of light emanating from the distant bedroom where Stacia had taken up residence. Underneath my soles, the smooth, unyielding floor required me to move with exaggerated care as I passed a dining room, some sort of media room, and one partially closed door to a bathroom. Looking inside, I saw the porcelain gleam of a garden tub, but dismissed it as meaningless. My prize lay at the end of the hall and left, and for the first time, I thought I heard noises emanating in light, pulsating waves from behind a door I could not see. I flattened against the wall, very close to the only occupied room, and then I heard something so soft it was more like a disturbance in the air than a noise. I cocked my head, listening. There it was, again. I took a minor risk and leaned around the corner, only to see the door, a small line of golden light, and . . . nothing. The hallway was empty. I stood utterly still, and then my head snapped forward as the darkness exploded into red motes and flashing light, my teeth slamming together with an audible snap.
Box Set: The Fearless 1-3 Page 70