“There’s no net here to upload to,” she pointed out as Justin drew the dress over her head and helped her slide her arms into the sleeves.
“This one has a memory,” Ryan replied.
Adán studied the controls on the back of it.
“Need help?” Ryan asked.
He shook his head. “It’s simple enough.” He lifted the camera up and looked at Deonne.
The camera lowered again and his lips pursed into a soundless whistle. He placed a hand on his chest. “La belleza,” he breathed.
Justin was still adjusting the fastenings at the back of the dress, but already, Deonne could feel and see that it was perfectly cut for her shape and size. The waist and bodice fit snugly over the corsetry, and the sleeves were narrow, down to her elbows, where they flared out in a full circle. As she lifted her arms, the sleeve ends fell back, displaying the stripes to full effect.
The bodice arrowed down to a point over her abdomen, and the skirt dropped from her hips straight to the ground, with little room over the petticoats.
The skirt felt heavier behind her than in front, and she reached around to explore with her hand, then twisted her head to try and see. The back of the skirt was pulled up around her hips, in gathers and folds.
“A bustle?” she asked.
“A fake one. The real ones had a steel cage under them,” Justin said.
She looked at him. “You’re scary.”
He grinned and kissed her. “You’re beautiful. Although we need to do something with your hair.”
“Don’t tell me, you know how to do a lady’s hair, too?”
He shook his head. “I could get it down without too much trouble, but most ladies wanted to put their hair up by themselves. I don’t think they trusted me.”
“And after you coaxed them into bed and all,” Adán said. “My heart bleeds for you.” He took a shot of her.
Deonne laughed and turned to different angles as Adán took photo after photo. Then she hurried over to where he sat. “Show me,” she begged.
Adán recalled the images he had taken and displayed them one by one.
Apart from her hair that hung down her back, Deonne barely recognized herself. The Victorian clothing changed her appearance so radically. “Wow…” she breathed. The stripes of the dress were dramatic and attractive, something Deonne herself would have picked out if she had been given a choice. Narrow black ribbon edged the frills and curled into flourishes at regular intervals. There were more ribbon flourishes on the bodice.
“Am I allowed to say how great I think I look?” she asked Adán.
“There is no need,” he assured her. “I can see for myself.” He got to his feet and carefully placed his hands around her waist. “Most beautiful,” he added.
There was a warmth in his face and eyes and in his voice that made Deonne tingle with anticipation. She tugged at his waistcoat. “Is this what you wore when you met Justin?”
Adán looked down at her hands. “Something like this. I did not display my wealth quite so obviously.”
The waistcoat was satin and broadcloth – original broadcloth, made of cotton. Deonne could tell because it didn’t have the stretch and ease of modern materials. But the trousers, also of broadcloth, made his hips look slender and the white, soft shirt beneath the waistcoat made the most of his shoulders.
“We need to be wealthy travelers in order to explain both you and Deonne,” Justin said, behind them.
They looked, then turned to look some more. He had changed while Deonne had been admiring the photos. Now he wore pants that seemed to make his long legs go on forever, a fancy waistcoat with a watch fob hanging from the pocket, and a jacket that came down to his knees. He had slicked his hair back with water.
Deonne clutched at Adán’s arm. Justin, dressed like this, reminded her sharply that he was old. Six hundred years old. He had been born to this time and wore the clothes with the comfort and ease of someone who had never left.
“You look…wonderful,” she breathed.
He walked toward them, the tips of his shoes flashing as he moved. They were polished and immaculate. Justin was holding something out on his hand.
“You cannot pass as a single woman, here,” he said. “You would be deemed a fallen woman for travelling alone with two men.”
She looked down. A plain gold ring sat on his hand.
Silently, she held up her left hand. Her heart was thrumming hard.
Adán’s hands around her waist tightened as Justin slid the ring on her third finger. He kept hold of her hand once the ring was on. His thumb caressed the band as he studied it.
Deonne glanced at Adán. He was watching Justin closely, with a peculiar expression. Pain was in his eyes and Deonne recalled what Adán had said about Justin in a hot, frightening rush. “He wants to be human for you…of course, you are not a woman for keeping the campfire burning and the stewpot full.”
Her eyes stung and she swallowed hard. She did not want to hurt Justin. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. But she was hurting him just by being herself.
Adán gripped the back of Justin’s neck and drew him toward him. He kissed his cheek roughly. “If you and I found each other after so long, then I am sure the universe can arrange anything at all.”
Justin drew in a breath and nodded. He gave them both a small smile. “We’re here for a reason. Shall we be about our business?”
* * * * *
Hammerside, Detroit-Rocktown Supercity, 2264 A.D.: “Left here,” Romanov said, staring down at the navigator in his hand.
“You’re sure this time, right?” Rhydder said, getting the extra dig in just because he could. He turned the Corvette into the narrow side street.
Demyan rolled his eyes. “Blame the navigator. It said Gershom Street runs all the way through Hammerside. They obviously haven’t updated since the arena was built.”
“Nothing was updated anywhere in the DRC area once the council was disbanded and the police moved out.”
“I thought you knew this city, anyway,” Romanov groused.
“I know my area well enough that I could disappear and you would never find me again. But this is Hammerside.”
“So?”
“Hammerside is pretty much acknowledged to be psi-filer city. No one comes here unless they really have to. Twenty years ago, the DRC was one of the last remaining cities with an open door policy for psi-filers. Hammerside was a slum even then, so most of them gravitated here.” Rhydder eyed the rundown neighborhood dubiously as he threaded the Corvette between stalled and rusty wrecks of cars from yesteryear. “Your physician friend is really working out of Hammerside?”
“Sort of,” Romanov replied.
“Sort of,” Rhydder repeated. “More evasions.”
“Right here,” Romanov said. “This should be Gershom.”
He turned the car into the street Romanov was indicating and looked around. “It’s Gershom,” he agreed, spotting a signpost. “There’s the back end of the arena.”
“There’s an empty slot,” Romanov said, pointing.
“I’m not parking here,” Rhydder protested.
“She lives here,” Romanov said simply.
“This is a Corvette replica. A working vehicle. You know how long this would last on a street like this before someone boosted it? Jesus, Romanov.” Rhydder just shook his head.
Romanov pointed to the slot again. “The whole point of bringing you along is because this is Hammerside. I’m not walking around alone here.”
“You’re a fucking vampire, Romanov. They can’t kill you even if they try. Not unless they know what they’re doing.” He maneuvered the car into the slot in front of an abandoned sub-station.
“Yes, but they don’t know that.” There was a furrow between Romanov’s brows, barely visible above and below the heavy sunglasses. “Besides, it takes time to heal, and I don’t have time. Pritti doesn’t have time.”
Rhydder rolled his head back on the seat. “You really weren
’t joking about wanting me along as protection, were you? It isn’t just obedience to the travelling-in-pairs rule.” The travelling-in-pairs regulation had been drummed into him the day he had officially joined up with the Agency, and he had been strongly encouraged to drill the rule into his men. The reasons for the precaution were chilling. The bewildering range of psychic mind-bending talents the psi-filers could bring to bear against the vampires was frankly scary. The fact that they could cite a real near-miss emphasized that the caution was justified. Romanov had been a part of that event, too.
“I really did want you along as protection,” Romanov said, as he reached for the door handle. “Ready?”
Rhydder ducked to look through the window at the faded and paint-flaking buildings across the road. “This is a fool’s errand, Romanov. You know that, don’t you? Nayara, Ryan…they would be outraged if they knew what you were planning to do.”
“But you’re not going to tell them,” Romanov said flatly and got out of the car before Rhydder could argue.
Rhydder climbed out and locked the car, knowing it was no protection at all, and following Romanov across the road.
Everyone said he was a lost cause. He may as well dive off the deep end into another hopeless case. He had nothing to lose.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hammerside, Detroit-Rocktown Supercity, 2264 A.D.: Sonya Karja fascinated Marley from a clinical perspective. She should technically be a shut-in. Although Marley would never have the courage to ask her what she weighed, she suspected the woman hovered somewhere around the mid-four hundred pound mark. She lived on the top floor of the five-floor apartment building and besides her weekly rent collecting, she never left her apartment.
Just collecting her rent clearly taxed her body. As she stood at their table counting the pitiful pile of notes and coins, Sonya was wheezing and breathless and there was a faint bluish cast to her skin that was alarming to the medically trained.
Even more fascinating was the way her legs seemed to actually be bent outwards at the knees to support her. Sonya wore dresses that hung from her massive shoulders and stopped short at just above her knees. From behind, her knees looked disjointed.
But none of that was enough to override Marley’s churning stomach and thundering heart. She and Gawain knew to the last coin how much was in the pile.
“You’re thirty-four and change short,” Sonya pronounced. She flipped her braid back over her shoulder and looked up at them. Her hair, Marley admitted, was her best feature. It was long, thick and honey gold, but she wore it tied back in a flat braid, always.
Then Marley blinked. She was prevaricating, trying to duck the unpleasantness. “Umm, yeah,” she said helplessly.
“Really?” Gawain sounded vaguely naïve.
Sonya’s eyes narrowed. “How about that.” She looked from Gawain to Marley expectantly.
Marley could feel the sweat pop on her brow. She desperately wanted to start babbling about how they’d been seventy credits short, twenty minutes ago, and now they were only thirty-four dollar short, so how about a break, huh? But somehow, she knew that wasn’t going to impact on Sonya’s heart at all.
Gawain was shifting from one foot to the other. Marley realized this was going to fall onto her. She sucked at people skills, too. Especially when it came to other women. She had never had another best friend. Gawain was her friend and even then, she’d lost contact with him for years while she’d slogged through residency.
She tried to smile at Sonya. “We’re a little short, you see. I...I....” She nearly started to explain that she’d got fired and clamped her jaw shut. That wasn’t what a landlord liked to hear. “I can make up the rest in...forty-eight hours, when I get my pay. You can wait two days, surely?”
Sonya’s face darkened.
“It’s only thirty-four credits, after all,” Gawain added and Marley knew he was thinking that it had nearly been seventy credits they were short, but it was the wrong thing to say.
Sonya’s lips whitened and Marley held her breath.
There was a knock on the door. A loud one, that made both her and Gawain jump hard. Gawain hurried to answer it and Marley knew he was grateful for the interruption. She eyed Sonya, hoping the woman wouldn’t blow a heart valve right here in their apartment. Her blood pressure looked like it was spiking off the charts.
“Look, Sonya,” Marley began, attempting to try again. “I’m sure—”
“Hey, Marley,” Gawain said. “It’s for you.”
She looked toward the door. Two men were stepping into the apartment as Gawain moved aside.
“We’re kinda busy here,” Sonya protested, her face darkening even more.
The smaller of the two men, the one wearing the dark green coat, moved closer to Sonya, smiling at her. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt.” He held out his hand. “I’m Demyan Romanov.”
Sonya’s mouth opened a little, as if she were looking for something to object to in what he had said and couldn’t find anything. Finally, she folded the pile of bills in her hand and tucked them into her pocket and shook Romanov’s hand.
The other man stayed by the door and watched. He was over six feet tall by a good few inches. His genetic markers said Celtic or Gaelic blood. Possibly something even older. Black hair that flowed freely, black eyes and clear white, fine skin. A well-defined nose and jaw and high cheek bones. She couldn’t tell much more under the black overcoat and black layers beneath. He hovered like a bodyguard.
But Romanov was talking to Sonya again and that drew Marley’s attention away from the bodyguard. Romanov put his other hand on top of Sonya’s, which he still held, and was speaking softly, soothingly and in a murmur.
“We would really like to speak to Marley today and we’ve come a long way to see her. You live right here in this building. You do, don’t you?”
Sonya nodded.
“Yes, I know,” Romanov agreed. “Wouldn’t it be more convenient for you to come back in, say, a couple of days’ time to pick up the rest of the rent money?”
Sonya fidgeted and cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know....”
Romanov smiled at her, looking into her eyes. “It’s such a small amount.” he insisted. His eyes narrowed. “It’s only thirty-four credits. You needn’t stir yourself to collect it. Marley will bring it to you in two days’ time, as she promised.”
Fright tore through Marley. How had he known how much was outstanding? How had he known she had promised to pay in two days’ time?
Gawain’s shoulder bumped against the back of Marley’s. “What the fuck?” he murmured in her ear.
Romanov looked up sharply at Marley and she felt her fright disappear. It wasn’t like relaxing in a hot bath to chase one’s troubles away. It literally snapped and was gone.
She licked her lips. Even though she no longer felt fear, she now knew that something unnatural was happening. She was feeling an artificial calm, like it had been chemically induced.
She backed up a step, away from Romanov, who was leading Sonya toward the door and found her shoulders were up against Gawain. Normally, even though they were comfortable friends, they avoided even casual contact in order to keep the friendship stable and platonic. It was an unspoken thing even Gawain understood. But now she was glad to feel Gawain there, the heat of his body. This was just too weird.
Sonya was nodding agreement as she slid the last of the coins that had been on the table into her pocket in unmusical jingles. He was still murmuring assurances. Manipulating her somehow.
Well, at least she won’t have a coronary today, Marley thought. She glanced at the bodyguard. His black eyes were watching her with almost unblinking intensity.
Marley shuddered.
Gawain stepped around her and she knew he was doing it because of her shiver. Gawain wasn’t big on the equality thing or the macho thing, so stepping between her and a threat was simply because he was pissed off on her behalf.
He headed for Romanov. Sonya was heading
out the door, a dazed look on her face. She seemed confused, like she knew she was supposed to be reacting a different way, but couldn’t quite grasp the reasoning that would let her behave the way she knew she was supposed to.
Before Gawain had moved more than three or four steps, the dark man was right there in front of him, looking at him.
Marley sucked in a breath, trying to mentally cope with what she had just seen.
He really had moved that fast. He really had. It wasn’t anything like fast speed in the movies when things got blurry. She saw it just fine, she even visually processed it just fine. He just moved fast. Faster than she had ever seen anyone move.
The realization hit her. They’re vampire.
Gawain rocked back on his heels a little and tilted his head up because the guy was that close. Gawain was nearly six foot, but they were virtually toe-to-toe, and judging from the width of the coat, the guy had shoulders that could easily be twice as wide as Gawain’s.
“Wanna get out of my way?” Gawain said.
The man didn’t move.
Gawain stepped back.
And the guy moved forward.
“Fuck,” Gawain breathed.
Marley bit her lip.
Gawain held up his hands, palms out, the universal symbol of peace and surrender. “Hey, back off, dude.” But his tone was not conciliatory. The guy had frightened him and Gawain hit out when he was scared, no matter how overwhelming the odds against him.
Marley pushed herself between them, using her elbows, hips and sheer force. It wasn’t easy, because the guy was like a concrete wall and Gawain was ready to rumble. She finally managed to push Gawain back up against the cold cabinet and got him to look her in the eye. “Just shut up and stay still,” she said flatly.
He stared at her for a long five seconds, then nodded. She knew he’d cooled off enough to hear her.
She turned to the dark guy, but hovered by the table so she could slip behind it for protection if she needed to. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded. “Don’t you know anything about people?”
Romani Armada (Beloved Bloody Time) Page 37