Wuthering Frights (Dulcie O'Neil)

by HP Mallory

Christina rang my doorbell precisely thirty minutes after I hung up with Quill. This time, she was dressed in dark blue jeans with flared legs, white sneakers, and a white T-shirt, which made her natural olive complexion look even tanner. She didn't have a speck of makeup on, not even eyeliner or mascara, and even in this most natural state, she was still very pretty. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, which I immediately noticed because I'd always had an aversion to wearing my hair up and revealing the points on my ears. Apparently Christina wasn't a self conscious fairy. Point for her, I guess.

  "Hi," she said in a chipper voice as she poked her head in my entryway, scanning my house nosily. She pulled her head back out and offered me a heartfelt smile. "Cute place!"

  "Thanks," I grumbled as I eyed her jeans and sneakers again. "You were lots taller last time we met."

  She laughed and shook her head. "Those were my Sam Edelman's. Pretty hot shoes, don't you think?"

  I couldn't argue because they were hot. "Yeah," I managed to squeak in reply.

  "You saw me in my work attire; usually, I look like this," she said, glancing down at herself, and shrugging like "what you see is what you get."

  "Much more practical," I commented, noting that I was wearing an outfit almost identical to hers. She seemed to notice it too and smiled at me in response.

  "My dad always said not to get all dolled up every day because if you do, people will always expect you to look that way; but if you get dolled up every once in a while, people will really notice how beautiful you are."

  "I like your dad's advice," I replied, locking the door and closing it behind us.

  "It's good advice." She started down the walkway with me at her side.

  "Thanks for picking me up," I chimed, feeling like I needed to do my part to seem sociable and friendly, especially since she was so gregarious. And you know what they say about catching flies with vinegar …

  "Sure, Quill wanted you to be able to drive the car on loan from Melchior, so it made sense for me to pick you up."

  I hadn't thought of that. Guess my brain wasn't working on all eight cylinders. 'Course, I'd had all of, what ... four hours of sleep in the last few days? It was a wonder my brain was even working at all.

  "Yeah, that does make sense," I said and watched as she whipped out her car keys and beeped her remote, unlocking the doors to a lifted, black Jeep Wrangler which was covered in mud. "You drive a Wrangler?" I asked in awe, suddenly finding respect for her. I mean, there are cars, trucks and SUVs, and then there are Jeeps.

  She opened the driver's side door and sort of launched herself up and into the seat, something which probably sounds comical but somehow she managed it with the grace of a ballerina. I, on the other hand, wasn't quite as polished and bashed my knee into her glove box. She raised her eyebrows at me as if to ask if I were okay. I just nodded and buckled my seatbelt, watching as she pulled her door shut, turned the engine on, stepped on the clutch and put the Jeep in gear. It was even a stick-shift. Another point for her.

  "Yep, I'm a Jeep girl. Sorry about the mud, but I took it off-roading the other day and still haven't found the time to wash it." She pulled into the street and looked over at me again. "I can be a huge procrastinator."

  "Do you go off-roading a lot?" I asked, finding myself naturally drawn to her. It was sort of hard not to because she just seemed so much ... like me.

  "Yep, the bigger the rocks and steeper the hills, the better," she said, coming to a stop at the end of my street, and casting me an impish smile. "Live like there's no tomorrow, right?"

  I just nodded … I'd basically lived by that mantra the majority of my adult life. She took a right on Lucky Street and downshifted as my eyes roved over the inside of her Jeep—it was almost exactly the same as mine had been. "I used to drive a Wrangler, myself," I said, lamenting the loss of my most favorite vehicle. "It was canary yellow."

  "You wanna know what's funny?" Christina laughed and shook her head, as her eyes narrowed on me. "I totally pegged you as a Jeep girl." She also apparently knew her way around my neighborhood because she took all the back streets, apparently good with this incognito stuff.

  "Well, I was a Jeep girl," I said, pausing to allow myself to reminisce. "That was before I had an accident and totaled it."

  She shook her head. "I'm sorry." Then she focused on driving, following the hairpin turn of the street. Once it was straight again, she turned to me. "Did you take yours off-roading a lot?"

  "A few times," I said with a sigh, feeling my exhaustion gaining on me. I yawned, covering my mouth with my arm and then tried to shake the feelings of fatigue right out of my head. It didn't work.

  "You gotta get some sleep, you know?" Christina said as she arched a brow at me. "You can't go all day and expect to go all night too."

  "Tell that to Quill," I answered simply as I stretched my arms over my head and relaxed into the seat.

  "I will." She came to another stop before turning left and jumping on Highway One, which led to the loading docks. As if suddenly unnerved by the silence in the car, she reached over and turned her CD player on. It was like the wrath of Hades was unleashed when the speakers blared a loud array of tantric beats. I nearly jumped out of my skin as the noise rattled the speakers.

  "Shit!" I yelled, trying to calm my heart down as she reached over and lowered the volume. "I'm awake now, that's for sure!"

  Christina giggled. "Sorry." She pushed the “forward” button on the face of the CD player, sparing me further torture.

  "Do you like punk rock?" she asked with an amused smile.

  "I don't know. Name some groups."

  "Um, Pennywise?" she answered. Before I had the chance to respond, she added, "Here, this is My Own Way and it's one of my favorites."

  Then, without waiting for my response, she turned up the volume as a barrage of drums and guitar assaulted me with a beat so fast, I felt like we should have been head-banging.

  "I also love Bad Religion!" she yelled over the singer's voice and started nodding her head while slapping her hand against the steering wheel in time with the beat.

  Even though our tastes in music were miles apart, the thought struck me that if this situation had been different, Christina and I might have been friends. Why? Because so far as I knew her, I liked her—an independent woman carving her niche in a male dominated industry, refusing to take no for an answer. And even though we were on separate sides of the moral spectrum, I couldn't stop myself from liking her. There was just something about her that made her easy to like. She was definitely the type of person I would enjoy spending time with—she wasn't afraid to get dirty and had an affability about her that was refreshing.

  It was a damn shame she worked for my father.

  Once the song was over, she turned the volume down and glanced over at me with a smirk. "So, what'd you think?"

  I shook my head. "I consider myself lucky to have survived it."

  She broke into a giggle, which was quickly reduced to a smile. "Oh well, I guess it's an acquired taste."

  "You think?" As soon as I felt like I wanted to laugh, I changed the subject. I mean, there was no point in becoming friendly with her when things couldn’t end well. I was now, more than ever before, convinced that I had only myself to rely on if I were to get out of this shitty situation. Who knew where that left Christina? Instead of making useless small talk, I should have been grilling her for information. "So how long have you been working with my father?"

  The smile vanished from her lips, replaced by a pensive expression. She rolled her eyes, as if trying to remember. "Um, I think maybe six years now."

  "Wow," I said, surprised it had been so long and disappointed all at the same time. I wasn't sure why, but I was hoping she was a new recruit, unaware of what she'd gotten herself into. Obviously such was not the case.

  "Have you been working for your father your whole life?" she asked.

  I shook my head, too tired to come up with yet another lie. "My father actually just
came into my life a few weeks ago." I couldn't help my less-than-thrilled tone. I didn't think it was possible for me to actually sound happy about anything involving Melchior O'Neil.

  "Really?" she asked, eyeing me curiously. "So what made you decide to work for him?"

  "He asked me to," I answered, reminding myself it wasn’t exactly a lie, maybe just a white one. I mean, he had asked me to work for him.

  "Oh and how do you like it so far?"

  At this point, I was tired of trying to be something I wasn't and no longer caring whether or not it would come back to bite me in the ass later, I opted for candid honesty. "I don't."

  Her eyebrows arched in an expression of curiosity. "Why is that?"

  I shrugged. "As you mentioned earlier, the hours suck."

  She laughed at that, and then took the opportunity of a red light, to ask me, "So if you aren't enjoying what you're doing, why are you doing it?"

  I sighed and shook my head. "Personal reasons."

  She nodded as if she respected my answer and wouldn’t try to pry. "At least the pay's good?"

  "I wouldn't know," I grumbled, suddenly aware that I hadn't exactly made it onto my father's payroll. Apparently, Christina had. Well, good for her. "What about you?" I asked, turning the tables. "You don't seem like the type of person to be involved with something like this. It doesn't seem like you have anything in common with the Baron Escobars of the world."

  "He's a real piece of work, isn't he?" she asked with a smirk as she shook her head, probably recalling her less than pleasant memories of the Titan.

  "Piece of work doesn't even do him justice."

  "With regard to the Baron Escobars of the world, I could say the same of you," she started. "Doesn't seem like you two have anything in common either."

  "I don't, but I also don't have much of a choice since he works for my father."

  "Yeah, I can see that. I guess your situation is a little more complicated. Mine is pretty straightforward."

  "What is it?"

  She shrugged and took a deep breath. "I started working for the ANC in the Netherworld and met your father during a convention. He was one of the presenters. I was really impressed with his business sense and asked him a ton of questions, probably too many. Anyway, he was really patient, and at the end of our conversation, he told me to drop my resume off with his secretary. So I did, never expecting to get a call back."

  "But lo and behold you did," I finished for her.

  She nodded with a smile. "Yep, and he asked if I was interested in working for him."

  "Did you know what you'd be doing?"

  "No, of course not," she sighed, as if remembering how she used to be, before her innocence was corrupted by street-potion-trafficking.

  "Otherwise you probably wouldn't have agreed?" I asked, eyeing her surreptitiously.

  She nodded and sighed. "I probably wouldn't have." Then she was quick to answer, "But I like the situation I’m in now, so I have no regrets."

  And that, right there, was the difference between us.

  ###

  Ten minutes later, Christina pulled into the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse beside the loading docks. I immediately noticed a bright red Mercedes sedan sitting in the parking lot and Quill standing beside it.

  "Hmmm, looks like your dad sent the E550," Christina said with a smile. "Not too shabby."

  "So much for being incognito," I said, shaking my head, thinking I was going to be about as inconspicuous driving the red, flashy thing as the flying monsters of the Netherworld.

  "Invest in some good sunglasses and a big hat," she replied as she pulled alongside the Mercedes and killed the Jeep's engine.

  I took off my seatbelt and opened my door. The smell of rotting fish was enveloping even this far north of the docks. Trying not to breathe through my nose, I jumped down from the Wrangler and faced Quill with a frown. "This better be quick because I haven't slept in four days."

  "You beat me to it!" Christina called out. She was referring to our previous conversation when she said she'd talk to Quill about my sleep deprivation.

  "I guess I did," I said over my shoulder before turning back to face Quill, my lips going tight.

  "Nice to see you too," he said, smiling at both of us before his eyes settled on me and he dangled the keys to the Mercedes. "From your father," he said with a glance at the car. "He said to send his best one."

  "I could care less. As long as it works, I'm happy," I grumbled.

  "I know," Quill said, grinning at me as if he appreciated the fact that I was completely unimpressed by material things. "And I don't think this meeting should take that long."

  I accepted the keys, and with Christina by my side, followed Quill toward the warehouse for our rendezvous. Overgrown bushes and piles of rubble from the neglected building created obstacles in our path and all three of us had to step over them. It was a feat for Christina and me since we had more in common with the Munchkins of Oz than I wanted to admit, at least where our height was concerned.

  Looking up at the decrepit building, I noticed the paint was nearly completely chipped off what was left of the edifice. Graffiti covered the first six feet of the crumbling walls and the windows had been broken long ago, although glass still littered the ground. The inside was in as much disarray as the outside, with old, broken furniture scattered on the floor. What looked like the remains of an impromptu fire pit proudly occupied the center of the room, and next to it lay the bones of some unfortunate animal. I could only hope the transient who'd sought shelter here was now long gone.

  "There will be six different shipments of Draoidheil coming in at the same time in six different locations," Quillan started, alternating his glance between the two of us. "Melchior wants these first shipments to hit the streets in exactly two weeks."

  "Two weeks!" I repeated, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. "That gives us no time to prepare at all!"

  "Where will the drop-offs be?" Christina asked, apparently unconcerned about the timeline.

  "He wants drop-offs to occur here, in Moon, Sanctuary, Estuary and Haven. There will be two drop-off locations in Splendor, on the loading docks and the East side."

  "There is no way we can do this ourselves," I said, shaking my head, while the anxiety bubbled in my stomach.

  "Melchior realizes that," Quill responded patiently.

  "Then all the traffickers will have to be involved?" I said, recognizing that the three of us were just going to play the parts of orchestrators now, rather than potion pushers.

  "Yes," Quill said, his lips tight as he faced me. "We'll have to contact everyone in the know and plan it out."

  "In two weeks?" I continued with a frown, shaking my head incredulously. "And the dupe? Will there be six of those as well? Because that will require more ANC staff than we currently have."

  Quill shook his head. "No dupes. Melchior's orders are that the ANC can't find out about the Draoidheil at all."

  "No dupe?" Christina started, but I interrupted her.

  "Too late. The ANC already knows."

  Both Quill and Christina gaped at me. Christina’s mouth hung wide open while Quill's brows knotted in the middle. Nope, there was no way either one of them had spilled the beans to the ANC, they both looked entirely too astounded.

  "What the hell do you mean ‘they already know’?" Quill asked in a harsh tone of voice.

  I took a deep breath. "We got an anonymous letter the other day."

  "What did it say?" Christina asked as she crossed her arms against her chest.

  "It didn't name the Draoidheil specifically, but it did say an incredibly addictive potion was hitting the streets soon and to increase patrols. Knight is already on it." I didn't include the part about him keeping me off the case because of my alleged emotional imbalance.

  "Who the hell could have?" Quill started and then shook his head, probably realizing anonymous meant anonymous.

  "So we are going to need a dupe or six," I finished. "Unless Me
lchior wants Trey to sniff out the real stuff."

  "Melchior doesn't want the Draoidheil in ANC hands," Quill said staunchly. "Period."

  I threw my hands on my hips in exasperation and raised my voice. "Well, it doesn't sound like he has a choice." I took a deep breath, rubbing my temples because a headache was starting to form between them. "Besides, it's not like the ANC wouldn't bust it at some point anyway. Our track record is good."

  Quill held his hands up. "I'm just the messenger."

  "Well, we need to figure this out ASAP," I answered, still as pissed off as before. My father was delusional and I didn't feel like dealing with his maniacal fantasies in the exhausted state I was currently in. "Something's going to have to give because Trey is very good at what he does."