Luckily for me, the Watchers weren’t a threat—not physically, anyway. They avoided confrontations because their sole purpose lay in reporting any goings-on in the Underground to Alaire. That meant he was already well aware of my arrival.
We drove through the city quickly, each street looking just like the preceding one. After a few minutes, the Tesla parked in front of the tallest office building that existed in the Underground City—Alaire’s. The rear door opposite me opened, indicating that I should use it to exit the car, rather than my door. Trying to calm my heart, which began racing as soon as I recognized Alaire’s building, I still couldn’t believe I’d actually willingly entered the Underground City without my sword. I was completely defenseless …
Sliding across the leather seat, I hoisted myself out of the car. I looked first to my left and then my right before deciding the coast was clear. Then I beelined it for the double doors of Alaire’s Headquarters. As soon as I entered the building, I felt sick to my stomach. Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on the scenery around me in order to stave off the panic attack that was seconds away from manifesting.
The interior of the building was circular with the floors painted to emulate a checkerboard. There were six concrete columns that formed a circle around the lobby desk, but just like the last time I was here, no one attended the desk, or anywhere else, for that matter. The whole place was eerily quiet. I assumed that was because it was probably difficult to find secretarial help in hell.
Walking past the lobby desk, I found the bank of elevators, and my heart began climbing higher up into my throat with every step I took. The plastic plants on either side of the walkway gave the place an artificial and cheap vibe. And the paintings of blue sky and clouds along the hallway walls made me instantly miss the real things. I hit the button to call the elevator, all the while darting glances behind me to make sure I wasn’t about to be waylaid by some hideous creature. The elevator doors opened with a tinny “ding” and I stepped inside. Once the doors closed again, the button for the eighth floor lit up without me even pushing anything. “Okay, the eighth floor it is then,” I said to myself as the elevator took off with a lurch.
When the elevator doors dinged open again, I faced a long expanse of walkway, all in dark hardwood flooring. I stepped out of the elevator and heard the doors shutting behind me—which was almost as loud as the pounding of my heart. I took a few tentative steps forward, noting how the yellow lights from the sconces on the walls threw shadows across the hallway that looked like little, frightening creatures that were up to no good.
I took another few steps and watched a heavy wooden door to my right slowly begin to open. As soon as I approached it, I realized it had opened itself because there was no one to be seen anywhere. From where I stood in the hallway, I could make out a bed inside the room, which was covered in a golden silk coverlet, on top of which were countless matching pillows.
I guessed this bedroom was my destination for at least the immediate future, and steeled my nerves with a hearty breath as I entered it. The door immediately closed behind me and locked itself. My heart started beating so quickly, I became dizzy and had to stabilize myself with one of the posts of the black canopy bed while I regained my balance.
If I’d regretted forgetting my sword earlier, I regretted it even more now.
“Alaire?” I called out, but received no answer. I stood up straight and closed my eyes for a few seconds, trying to collect my wits. Freaking out simply wouldn’t do me any good. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a fire burning in the hearth which immediately reminded me of the fireplace in Tallis’s house. But this fire did nothing to alleviate the coldness of the space. This room wasn’t warm and cozy like Tallis’s house was. It didn’t share the same sweet scent of the earth or the man who owned it.
Focus, Lily, I encouraged myself.
Scanning the perimeter of the room, I saw two boudoir chairs flanking the bed, both of them upholstered in the same gold brocade fabric of the bed’s coverlet. When my attention fell on the bed, I noticed an envelope sitting atop it with my name written attractively in cursive writing. I retrieved it and tore it open. The letter was penned on letterhead, proclaiming to have come from the “desk of the Keeper of the Underground City.” It read:
My dear Ms. Harper,
Please indulge yourself in a hot bath, which has already been drawn for you in the en-suite. You will also find a change of clothing in the closet. When you are dressed and ready to join me for dinner, please ring the bell atop the fireplace mantel.
I look forward to our evening together.
Best regards,
Alaire
I dropped the letter on the bed and looked for the change of clothing Alaire mentioned. Approaching the closet, I opened the double doors and immediately noticed something white that was hanging on a hanger. Reaching for it, I freed it from the hanger and inspected it carefully, unable to keep from gasping as soon as I realized what it was, or, in this case, wasn’t.
“Really nice, Alaire,” I grumbled while shaking my head in irritation.
My “change of clothing” amounted to basically nothing. It was entirely constructed of white lace and looked like a body suit since it was one piece. The sleeves and the legs were long, but the entire thing was transparent. I did notice that there was an accompanying pair of lace, thong panties, which couldn’t have covered much of anything. On the floor of the closet was a pair of white pumps with heels nearly six inches high.
Yep, Alaire was an opportunist, and then some.
“In company with the dusky waves”
– Dante’s Inferno
EIGHT
I couldn’t deny that the warm, sudsy water felt like the closest thing to heaven that I’d experienced in a very long time. I’d debated whether or not to take advantage of Alaire’s offer of a bath, thinking I’d rather just proceed straight to our dinner so it would have been over that much sooner. But as soon as I saw the sparkling water already drawn in the clawfooted tub, the urge to immerse myself in a bath had never been stronger.
I’d rationalized my decision to bathe by telling myself I needed to desperately, but, more so, because I needed to buy more time to come up with a plan. I didn’t know how I was going to get myself out of the Underground City after dinner with Alaire was over. Furthermore, once Alaire discovered I was unarmed, I wasn’t sure what he’d do, if anything. Either way, it wasn’t a position I felt good about being in at all.
The foremost problem with the whole situation was Alaire’s unpredictability. And that unpredictability translated to dangerous, in my books. Would he let me go without a scene? Or did I have cause for concern?
Reclining in the bath water, I sighed with frustration as I further pondered the subject of Alaire’s fascination with me. What did it mean? Was I in danger because of it? Or was it a simple crush? Whatever the answer, I hated being without my sword and, therefore, without any protection.
What are you going to do if Alaire doesn’t release you? I asked myself. If he finds out you forgot your sword, you’re basically at his mercy!
I didn’t have any answers to my questions, which bothered me more than I cared to admit. Not only that, but every time I attempted to craft a plan of escape in case I needed one, I kept drawing blanks, probably because I was so exhausted.
After dunking my hair in the water, I sat up and noticed a bottle of Paul Mitchell shampoo on the lip of the tub. Reaching for the bottle, I lathered my hair a few times before rinsing it, and following suit with the coordinating conditioner. I couldn’t help feeling my spirits lift as I washed the dirt and sweat from my hair and body. I’d already taken it upon myself to launder my sports bra and yoga pants because there was no way in hell I intended to leave here in the getup Alaire provided for me, not without making some much-needed adjustments to it first. I was already trying to figure out how to make the white lace outfit a little less … whorish.
I eventually extricated myself from the warm water, thi
nking I’d spent long enough lounging in the bathtub. Now I needed to dry off before searching for a brush to take out all my tangles. Only then could I turn to the subject of redesigning the atrocity known as my dinner outfit. Stepping out of the bathtub onto the snow-white bath rug, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked just as exhausted as I felt. Dark circles beneath my eyes combined with the hollows in my cheeks, reflected my poor, irregular diet and my lack of sleep for the last week or so. My body looked even thinner than normal, although I couldn’t fail to notice I’d put on quite a bit more muscle.
“If only the old me could see the new me now,” I said to myself as I shook my head in wonder and reminisced about the former me, the one who’d existed before the auto accident that claimed my life and thrust me into this new one. My old life seemed to have happened so long ago, it was now more like a mere dream. Funny how the days, hours and seconds could distance me so far from my former life.
A surge of nostalgia filled me as my thoughts turned to my mother. A rock lodged itself in my throat while I wondered what she was doing now, and how she was managing to cope with the loss of her only child. I wondered if she’d moved on with her life at all—if she was still working at the title company, or if she’d returned to her weekly AA meetings, or was again laughing with her friends while playing bridge.
Whenever I thought about my mother or my best friend, Miranda, the sorrow and yearning to see them both again became almost too much to deal with. For the first time ever, though, I seemed strangely distanced from that part of my life. It was as if a gigantic wall had been erected between the old and new me and whereas before I ached to get beyond the wall, now I finally accepted knowing that I never could.
I shook my head, forcibly driving the images right out of my mind because they weren’t any good to me now. I had to focus entirely on my current predicament to ensure I made it out of the Underground City fully intact. I didn’t have time for wistful memories or melancholy thoughts.
There was only now. There was only this very moment.
I wrapped myself in a white towel, which I found hanging on a hook behind the door. It felt like being enveloped in a cloud, the cloth was so soft. Then I traversed the white marble floor until I reached the sink vanity, which was, yes, also glaringly white. In fact, everything in the bathroom was so white as to appear stark and antiseptic, albeit clean. Opening the first drawer, I found a hairbrush and immediately set to work on my tangled locks.
Five minutes and a sore head later, I freed my hair of all the snarls, and it framed my face in silky tresses, which shone in the low light of the fixtures above the mirror. Sensing I needed to get a move on, I plodded into the bedroom and approached the fireplace where I’d hung up my yoga pants and my sports bra after washing them in the bath water. Grabbing my pants to test the dryness of the fabric, I found the legs were tolerably dry, but the crotch was still soaking wet. My sports bra wasn’t much better. With a sigh, I approached the bed where I’d laid out the white lace outfit from Alaire. I briefly battled with the idea of tossing the white slutty getup and putting on my wet pants and sports bra again, but the thought of that depressed me so much, I decided to at least try on the ridiculous thing, if only to judge how terrible it really was.
With renewed determination, I slipped out of the towel and reached for the panties. Stepping into them, I pulled them up and settled them in place, refusing to have a conniption when the white square of material barely covered … anything. Then, I grabbed the lace bodysuit and yanked it up to my waist. With a tiny spark of hope and a prayer that the outfit wasn’t too scandalous, I glanced down. I wasn’t sure if it was the dim light or just my vantage point, but it seemed like the double layers of lace covered my mound and actually did a decent job of keeping everything mostly hidden. Pushing both of my arms into the bodysuit, I smoothed it out over my breasts before looking down again. This time, I wasn’t so lucky. The top was completely see-through, as in I could see the pinkness of my nipples right through it.
This would definitely not do.
Seeking a second opinion, I started for the bathroom mirror. When I saw my reflection, I immediately frowned, unable to restrain my irritation with Alaire.
“There is no way in hell I’m going to show up dressed like this,” I grumbled angrily. “Nice try, Alaire, but it ain’t gonna happen.”
I decided to check out the rest of my body in the mirror and focused on the junction of my thighs, feeling quite pleased to find it was covered rather well by the two different layers of lace. When I turned around to check out my rear end, however, such was not the case. I could clearly see my butt cheeks which were bisected by a tiny white strap that looked a lot like dental floss.
Just don’t turn around in front of him, I warned myself while eyeing my yoga pants again as I considered wearing them. I hesitated for two reasons—first, the idea of putting on the ripped, stained, wet pants again was repugnant. Second, I feared it might upset Alaire if I showed up in my yoga pants and sports bra when he’d clearly intended for me to wear the lace bodysuit. Not that I really gave a rat’s ass about what Alaire thought of me in general, but at the moment, I didn’t dare upset him—both because I didn’t want to earn my first infraction but I also wanted to make sure I made it back out of the Underground City unscathed. Yes, pissing Alaire off was most definitely NOT a good idea.
Glancing down at my trampy outfit again, I noticed the bottoms of both legs flared out into a bell shape.
“Hmm, extra fabric,” I said, holding my right foot up and jostling it to see just how much extra fabric I had to work with. The pants were way too long for me, as it turned out, giving me more than enough.
Leaning down and gripping the lace of the left pant leg between both of my hands, I pulled on it until it ripped. Even though I tried to get a clean line around my foot, there were quite a few places where the frayed lace looked like it was bleeding threads. In order to avoid being lopsided, I started doing the same on the other leg.
Once I had both pieces of fabric in hand, I pulled the top of the pantsuit down to my waist. Placing one of the sleeves of lace inside the other, I yanked both over my head as I pulled my arms through the circular opening. Once the pieces were in place, it looked like I was wearing a two-layer tube top. Pleased with my resourcefulness, I smiled at my reflection before putting the rest of the bodysuit back on. When I glanced at myself again in the mirror, I was elated to see I could no longer detect my areolas.
My evening was looking up.
I started for the bedroom again and spotted my fanny pack, which was lying on the bed. I immediately secured it around my waist, figuring I could use every inch of cover-up that I could find. That and it would ensure that Bill’s phone was close at hand, in case I needed it. Unfortunately, Bill’s phone was the only protection I had to count on.
Once my fanny pack was in place and certainly spoiling my outfit even more than my makeshift tube top, I decided to try on the “shoes” in the closet. I couldn’t imagine how it could even be humanly possible to walk in heels so high, but figured if clowns could walk on stilts, I could surely handle some hooker shoes. Slipping my left foot, then my right into the unyielding leather, I was mildly surprised that they fit decently well. How Alaire could have known my shoe and clothing sizes was beyond me, but I had to admit I was decently impressed.
“A man who pays attention,” I said under my breath while taking a few steps forward and trying to maintain my balance. I paced the room a couple of times before I felt somewhat comfortable in the ridiculous things. After deciding I’d stalled long enough, I approached the fireplace mantel and picked up the old-fashioned looking bell before ringing it.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds …
The time dripped slowly by, and it was all I could do to pace the room, not so much to practice walking in my towering heels, but rather because my nerves were on high alert and desperately needed an outlet. My heart was lodged in my throat and my hands were cla
mmy. I could feel sweat beading along my lower back and I felt like I might throw up. All of this because I didn’t know what to expect from Alaire. I was definitely way out of my element, both in terms of my next-to-nothing outfit as well as being unarmed in the Underground City.
The door to the bedroom opened suddenly. As I was beginning to expect, no one opened it. I approached it tentatively and upon reaching the threshold of the hallway, I heard the sound of footsteps retreating from the door and echoing farther down the hall. Still, I saw no one. Sensing my invisible companion wanted me to follow him or her, I fortified my courage and wobbled unsteadily toward the door.
In the hallway, I followed the fading footsteps as they sounded against the hardwood flooring until we reached the end of the corridor. As far as I could tell, the bedroom I’d just been in was the only one off the hallway. I didn’t see any other doors. I frowned when I found myself facing a wall, but listened intently for the footfalls on the hardwood floors anyway. I imagined my invisible guide would turn around and lead me back down the hallway.
But I never heard the footsteps after that. Instead, the sound of something sliding behind me grabbed my attention. I turned around to find a door at the end of the hallway, after all. However, it was set into the wall and painted the same shiny gray to blend in like camouflage, which was why I’d failed to see it in the first place.
“Ah, Ms. Harper,” Alaire greeted me with a large smile. He was sitting at the head of an extra-long, glossy black table which was occupying the center of the room. Beneath it, a red and black Persian rug looked especially dim against the dark hardwood floors.
As soon as I walked into the room, Alaire stood up. He was nattily dressed in a black suit with a crisp, white shirt beneath the jacket. I wasn’t sure why, but he seemed taller than I remembered—maybe six foot five or so. As much as it pained me to admit it, he was truly handsome. His blond, short hair was gelled in place, and his large cornflower-blue eyes seemed all the more azure against his tanned skin. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled, lending him a candid, boyish charm, something completely ironic when I remembered his job title.
To Hell And Back (The Lily Harper #3) Page 11