by HP Mallory
"But how long have you been working for my father in total?" I asked, rephrasing the question.
Quillan started the car and it hummed loudly, sounding only a hiccup away from stalling. "Nearly fifteen years." He put the car in drive as we started out of the parking lot. I wasn't sure what time it was, but the nascent blue of early morning was just starting to tickle the horizon, pushing the navy blue cloak of night aside.
Something occurred to me and echoed through my entire being. "Did you know I was his daughter when you hired me?" I asked hollowly, wondering if that was the reason I was offered the position of Junior Regulator in the first place. I hoped the answer was no, because if I felt proud about anything, it was how good I was at my job. And furthermore, I absolutely detested the concept that I was given special treatment merely because I was the daughter of the Head of the Netherworld.
"Yes, I've always known," Quillan answered, but refused to look at me. He glanced to his right and left briefly before starting down the street. "Your father kept strict surveillance over you your entire life." He paused and then added, "You are his only child."
I shook my head and felt a knot starting in my stomach. I couldn't even concentrate on the fact that my father had been aware of my comings and goings all along—it seemed almost meaningless in its immense depth. Instead, I merely catalogued it in my already overwhelmed mind for future exploration. At this point, I was still wondering how much my father had done to promote me in the ANC. I faced Quillan's profile. "Did he tell you to hire me?"
"Dulcie ..." Quillan started and offered me a discouraging look.
"Did he tell you to hire me?" I demanded again, my voice slightly more emphatic.
Quillan merely nodded as I dropped my gaze to my lap and tried to staunch the tide of disappointment that was currently filling me.
"But that doesn't take away from what a good Regulator you are, Dulcie. You are the best; and I'm not just saying that because of who your father is."
"Save it," I said, looking out the window and exhaling deeply. The streetlights reflected against the dark pavement and I let my eyes fasten onto the yellow lines of the road.
"I know this isn't easy for you, Dulcie," he started.
"No, it isn't easy for me," I interrupted him, turning to face him. "It goes against everything I believe in, everything I stand for!"
"And he's worth it?" Quillan threw back at me, his eyes narrowed and burning with something that resembled jealousy.
I sighed and relaxed in the pleather seat. "Yes, he's worth it," I said, because it was the truth. In all honesty, I would have given my own life to save Knight's.
Quillan just nodded, falling quiet for a few more minutes as my mind raced. It was almost as if I didn't believe, or couldn't believe that I'd actually agreed to any of this. It was like I was living a nightmare, hoping that any second I'd wake up and find out none of this was actually real and that I was the same Dulcie I always had been. But try as I might, I couldn't wake up, because this wasn't just a figment of my imagination. It was as real as I was.
"I'll be with you every step of the way, Dulcie," Quillan said in a soft voice, sighing deeply. "You won't have to go it alone." He cleared his throat. "I'll protect you."
I gulped, realizing he was trying to make this as easy on me as he could. Even though Quillan had been double-dealing all along, in his own awkward and limited way, he had been and still was trying to be a good friend to me. I could see as much in his eyes. "There has to be something we can do, Quill," I started, shaking my head as I searched for a way out. I just couldn't give up yet—not before I'd exhausted all plausible escape routes.
He shook his head as he started up an on-ramp to what looked like a freeway. "Don't even think about it," he said sharply. "Your father isn't just the Head of the ANC, Dulcie, he basically owns the Netherworld. His word is law. He's not only the top of the pyramid, but the pyramid belongs to him.”
I swallowed hard and forced thoughts of mutiny from my mind. Well, for now at any rate. For now I'd just have to play by my father's rules. I was about to start a life in crime and there was nothing I could do about it, short of seeing Knight die. And even if my father polished Knight off, I was sure he wouldn't just let me go back to my old life. Not now, not when I knew as much as I did. Yep, Knight's assassination would undoubtedly be followed with mine.
"I know you're overwhelmed right now, Dulce," Quill said and glanced over at me with an encouraging smile. "But it gets easier, I promise."
"Does it?" I asked with raw anger in my tone. I shook my head. "How can you wake up in the morning and face yourself, Quill? How can you live from day to day knowing what you're doing?"
He nodded and his eyes were heavy. "You just learn to cope."
And that was when I realized this wasn't a walk in the park for Quillan. Yes, he'd had nearly fifteen years to come to terms with it, but deep down, I knew Quillan wasn’t a bad person. Now more than ever before it was obvious that Quillan hadn’t chosen this life, but it had been forced on him all the same. Prior to this moment, I'd figured he'd just shacked up with the bad guys out of greed, but I'd been very wrong. Quillan had been bullied into this life as much as I had.
"What did he hold over your head?" I asked, my voice soft.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Why did you agree to work for my father?"
He was quiet for a few seconds and his eyes seemed suddenly hollow, drained, his lips tight.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I said, worried I was forcing him to relive memories painful to him.
"No," he said immediately. "I want to tell you but I'm just not sure what to say. It wasn't the same as what he did to you...with Vander. For me...it just sort of happened." He took a deep breath. "I started working for the ANC when I was very young and worked my way up to the top pretty quickly. I got a name for myself as a very good Regulator and when Melchior invited me to the Netherworld for some honorary award or some bullshit, I bought into it. Of course when I got there, what he offered me was something I wanted no part of."
"But you must have realized there was no going back?" I asked. "He must have told you what was going on?"
Quill glanced at me and nodded, sighing deeply. "I knew too much at that point so it was just a matter of connecting A with B. If I didn't agree to work for him, he would've had me killed. It was an easy decision."
"I'm sorry, Quill," I said softly, hating my father.
He eyed me with surprise. "Sorry?"
"I'm sorry he did this to you."
Quillan sighed and just nodded as if he understood what I was saying, but had no words for me. And, really, he was right. The past was history and he'd had fifteen years, plenty of time to come to terms with it.
He pulled off the freeway and we started down a long, dark road that snaked between a forest of oak trees. When the road did a hairpin loop, nearly backing up on itself, Quillan pulled over onto the dirt shoulder and turned the car off. With the loud humming now silent, I could hear the gentle chirping of night insects and I felt my entire being deflate. This was it—I was headed home to open a new chapter of my life—a chapter I didn't want to begin.
"Is this where the portal is located?" I asked dryly.
Quillan nodded and opened his door. "I'll make sure you get home okay," he said, offering me a sweet smile. I said nothing, but opened my door and stepped outside, inhaling the clean, early morning air. Then I remembered that the Netherworld was somewhat prehistoric, considering the flying, bat-like creatures that patrolled the skies like pterodactyls, scavenging for unfortunate creatures on which to feed.
"What about the flying monsters, Quill?" I asked as I looked at the sky nervously.
Quill shrugged. "We're pretty safe out here. They tend to hover around residential areas where the eating is regular. There's nothing out here."
Feeling slightly relieved, I followed him from the Ford into the cover of the oak grove. He stopped walking once he was parallel w
ith the nearest oak tree and then glanced down at his wrist like he was checking the time.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Checking my compass," he answered. He walked three steps to the right, then two steps directly in front of him, then turned ninety degrees to the left. "Yep, got it," he said softly and then ran his hand back and forth in the air in front of him. "Don't come too close," he warned me.
I waved him away with my hand and frowned. "I could get sucked in," I finished for him, not missing his expression of surprise. "I know, Bram already told me." Bram was a vampire and a pseudo-friend of mine. He'd also served as my guide to the Netherworld.
Quillan nodded and didn't seem surprised. That was when I remembered that Bram had told me he'd contacted Quill to let him know that I was rotting in a Netherworld prison for failing to apprehend him. And speaking of Bram, I hoped he'd discovered that I’d been released and returned to Splendor. At any rate, tonight I planned to pay Bram a visit to his nightclub, No Regrets, just to make sure he knew I'd returned from the Netherworld. I figured it was the least I could do considering the huge favor he'd done for me in taking me there.
“Well, let's not waste any more time,” Quillan said, glancing over at me with a sad smile. I took a step nearer, but he held me back with an outstretched arm. "Do you know how to get through one of these?" he checked.
I just nodded. I'd learned the rules of portal crossing with Bram.
"Okay, you'll have about three seconds once I cross over," Quillan continued. I nodded again and watched him simply lift his leg and sort of catapult himself forward. Then he merely disappeared into the air as if he'd never been there. Remembering the three-second rule, I leapt forward and threw one leg into the air where Quillan had just disappeared. The air was always denser in a portal, like a gel—balmy and wet. It was like being in a wind tunnel for all of one second. I kept my eyes clamped shut and tried to fight the feelings of nausea.
Landing on my butt, I glanced around myself, trying to figure out where I was. Looking to my left, I noticed Quillan standing there with a smile and an outstretched hand. I took it and stood up, taking a deep breath as I realized I was truly out of the hellhole known as the Netherworld and back in good ol' Splendor, California.
Two
After we arrived in Splendor, with the portal spitting us out in the absolute worst part of town—by the loading docks where the smell of rotting fish was pervasive—Quillan led me to a spare car. He kept it in a storage facility near an unoccupied warehouse. It was the perfect backdrop for suspicious activities. The portal we'd just come from was Quillan's mode of travel to and from the Netherworld, so the spare car was used for the express purpose of portal travel.
After about twenty minutes of being on the road, I found myself back in my unremarkable apartment all alone. As soon as I walked through my front door, I took a shower. I hadn't had one in Hades only knew how long and the urge to wash as much of the Netherworld out of my hair and off my skin was the only thing to occupy my mind. Well, that wasn't exactly true. Thoughts of Knight were first and foremost in my head as I wondered where he was and if he'd made it home yet. Being released from High Prison wasn't as simple as being escorted out and slipping through the portal back to Splendor. There would be reams of paperwork both Caressa and Knight would have to wade through, so he'd be lucky if he made it home by the evening.
And of course I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him and reassure myself that he really was out of the Netherworld and safe. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized things between Knight and me were going to have to be different from now on. I mean, I couldn't willingly continue in a relationship with him anymore, knowing I was hiding such a huge secret. I couldn't look him in the eye, while I rammed the proverbial knife in his back.
Yes, I did consider the possibility that I should just tell him what happened—how I was backed into a corner and agreed to work for my father. Well, first I'd have to tell him who my father was. And I had to imagine that in itself might jeopardize things between us, considering he hated my father. But I soon realized thinking along these lines was a waste of time anyway because of Melchior's words—that if Knight ever found out I was working for my father, it would mean the end of Knight's life. I wasn't about to take those odds. And knowing Knight, he'd fight for what was right and end up right back in the Netherworld and there wouldn't be anything I could do to help him. Nope, any way I looked at it ... this time, I was stuck.
Of one thing I was certain though, I would have to break things off with Knight but I'd also beg to be reinstated as a Regulator so I could get back into the ANC to act as the eyes and ears for Melchior. In so doing, I'd tell Knight I couldn't work for and date him at the same time—it was a conflict of interest.
I felt my heart break even as I considered the whole concept of never being intimate with Knight again, but I wouldn't allow myself to wallow in my own self pity. I'd made my bed and I'd have lie in it. All that mattered was that Knight was no longer in High Prison, at the mercy of my father, and for now, safe. And it wasn't like I'd never see him again. Quite the opposite—we'd be working together, which meant I'd see him every day—that dazzlingly handsome smile and those gorgeous blue eyes. I'd hear his hearty chuckle and have to remind myself that no matter what happened, Knight was still alive. And that would have to be enough for me ...
I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in my robe, sliding my feet into my dog head slippers and padded into the living room. My stomach gurgled with hunger, but somehow I couldn't bring myself to eat. The thought was completely unappealing. Instead, I threw myself on the small sofa and didn't move for the next thirty minutes, at least. It was almost as if I was incapable of shifting position. I could have gone to retrieve my dog from an old coworker and friend, Trey (a hobgoblin who'd been watching my dog, Blue, while I was in the Netherworld). And I still had to pay a visit to Bram to let him know I was safe and sound ... At the moment, however, I couldn't bring myself to do much more than sit on my couch and zone out on the television which wasn't even turned on. Not that it mattered because there was no way I could have paid attention to anything on it. But then, thinking I was being a bad friend, I picked up my cell phone and texted my best friend, Sam. I wrote:
Hi Sam, I'm home and safe.
Let's catch up tomorrow because I'm exhausted and not in the mood to talk.
Love you, Dulce.
Thinking I should do the same for my other good friend, Dia Robinson, who worked for the ANC in the bordering province of Moon, and whose help I'd recruited while I was in the Netherworld, I pulled up her information and texted her something similar to what I'd just texted Sam.
Then I put the phone down and resumed staring at the grey of the television screen while my mind raced. I had to figure out a story for Knight. Why? Because he was too smart not to question his release as well as my own. And the worst thing I could do was go into that situation unprepared. So I forced myself to remember everything that had happened before I broke into my father's building. I forced myself to remember the way Knight and I had left things.
We'd been sitting together in High Prison when Caressa announced that I was to be set free, per orders from above. It was pretty obvious that Melchior had been responsible for my release, probably once he'd realized his "prized" daughter was rotting away in a Netherworld prison, awaiting her death sentence. At the time though, I had no clue Melchior was responsible and neither did Knight. Well, Knight didn't know Melchior had anything to do with me ... as far as I knew anyway. So on that point, I'd just play it cool ... I'd say I'd been released for reasons unbeknownst to me, that it was as much a surprise to me as to Knight. What it amounted to, really, was that I'd have to become a good actress. I could not, under any circumstances, blow my cover, or it would mean Knight's life.
I was prohibited from further planning my cover-up when the sound of someone's fist against my front door broke through the silence. I felt my heart ricochet i
nto my throat and I stood up, feeling wobbly as I did so, since I hadn't had a good meal in days. I walked to the door and got up on my tiptoes to see through the peephole.
Knight.
I felt my palms go clammy as my body reacted of its own accord and I flung the door open. I didn't know what to say or do and ended up doing nothing. I just stood there staring at him. And he did the same thing. Neither of us said a word, but just gazed at one another as if we hadn't seen each other in twenty years. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, my breathing just as obvious.
"You," I started, but the words caught in my throat, dying on my tongue. He was just as beautiful as he'd always been—so tall he nearly took up my entire doorway and almost just as broad. His dark hair was longish, owing to his time in prison. His eyes were the same crystalline azure I remembered, contrasting against the healthy tan of his skin. Knight is by far the most handsome man I've ever seen and even though he still had dirt and bruises distracting from the sculpted planes of his face, he was simply breathtaking.
"I was released," he said quickly, shrugging in as much wonder as he said it.
I realized then that I had to act surprised. As far as he knew, I'd been released, but I shouldn't have known he'd been. "You were?" I started again, having a difficult time finding my voice. I cleared my throat, surprised that seeing him was so tough for me. "You're here," I finished, my voice cracking as tears flooded my eyes.
Knight didn't say anything. He simply nodded and offered me a warm smile, his plump lips revealing large, white teeth. I swallowed hard and glanced down at my feet for a second or two, willing the tears to subside. I didn't want to cry—no, this was supposed to be a happy moment. I returned my gaze to his striking face and felt my heart begin to race again. There was just something about him, something I couldn't place.