“You’re trying to turn that mutt into a bloodhound?”
Elora gaped. “Who are you calling a mutt? For all we know this may be the finest Alsatian alive.”
“The finest what? Elora, that dog is a German Shepherd.”
She looked dubious. “Whatever. Lots of dogs are good at tracking, Storm. Not just bloodhounds. They train Beagles to look for termites. I think Blackie could do just about anything he was asked to do.” She absently ran her hand behind Blackie’s right ear. “You’re welcome to come along if you want.”
Storm was wearing that signature, skeptical look, but he was amused, too. “Sure. Let’s see what happens.”
After a few minutes most of the people went on about their business. To the rest she said, “Sorry everybody, if you’ll excuse us, Blackie’s on a mission today.”
People looked intrigued, but backed away as requested.
Elora took Ram’s tee shirt out of her backpack and put it in front of his nose as she had done with Baka’s shirt. But, instead of saying, “Find the vamp,” she said, “Find Ram.”
Blackie brought his head up and his ears far forward as he looked at her to make sure she’d got it right because those weren’t the words that signal the beginning of the game. With an intelligence that was superior to many people, he was saying, “I’m not sure I understand you.”
She repeated. “Ram. Find Ram.”
He whined and wagged his tail so she unhooked the leash. He started sniffing in circles almost frantically. He trotted to the lounge, then backtracked, sat down in front of the elevator and looked back at Elora as if to say, “Make this thing open.”
Elora knew Ram was hiding on one of the two sublevels because those were the conditions of the game. Storm, Elora and Blackie entered the elevator and pushed SL1. When the doors opened, Blackie exited and sniffed around. Elora held the doors open waiting to see what would happen. After a couple of seconds Blackie trotted back into the elevator. She pushed SL2. When the doors opened, Blackie exited, sniffed in a circle, and took off running.
Elora looked up at Storm and grinned an I-told-you-so. By the time they jogged the length of the first hallway, Blackie was out of sight. They turned the corner, looked down the second long hallway – also nowhere to be seen, but they could hear him barking in a tone that sounded a lot like a song of victory. When they reached the end of that hall and turned the corner they found Blackie standing outside the cage that used to be his nightmare, wagging his tail. He had one paw up on the chain link gate as if to say, “Got you.”
Inside Ram was sitting inside cross legged, reading a book.
Elora went to her knees to smother Blackie in pets and,“Good boy’s”, while he licked every inch of her face.
Ram stood up and let himself out of the cage. “I’d be askin’ for a hello kiss myself if you were no’ wearin’ so much dog drool on your face.”
Storm shot Ram the obligatory nasty look for talking about kissing while looking at Elora, then congratulated her on a successful exercise.
***
CHAPTER 16
BLACK SWAN TRAINING MANUAL, Chapter 16, #39.
The myth that vampire may sometimes be repelled by religious symbols is the result of misidentification of cause. Religious symbols, particularly in the form of jewelry, are often made of silver or contain silver in the alloy. Vampire instinctively recognize silver as a potentially fatal substance since it can incapacitate and render the vampire helpless. It is, of course, the metal and not the symbol that creates the aversion.
The plan to work at Notte Fuoco was given the green light and jobs were arranged. Ram spent a couple of hours at the lounge bar every day being trained on bartending. He carried a handbook with him so that he could study drink recipes and Elora quizzed him nightly. By week’s end, he could pass for a bartender. What he didn’t have in flashy moves he more than made up for in sex appeal.
Female wait staff at Notte Fuoco wore white tank tops with the club logo and tight, black mid thigh skirts. Elora worked with field operations to modify the uniform to a black, mid thigh, tiered skirt with a saucy kick and knee high boots.
Male staff wore black tee shirts with the club logo and jeans. With their size, physiques, and presence, Kay and Storm were completely believable in the role of bouncers. There was no unobtrusive way to hide a splat gun behind tee shirts and jeans so they went bare bones.
Elora, on the other hand, could easily attach a splat pistol to a garter underneath her skirt. They ordered multiple pairs of low heeled boots with enough room in the calves so that stakes could be attached to specially sewn, elastic loops.
When the duty roster was posted, B Team was in rotation for the first time in months. They had Thursdays and Sundays off since those were the slowest nights at the club.
Monday night, the first night on duty, Ram seemed as at home behind the bar as if he’d been doing it all his life and, of course, there was always a throng of women three deep slurping drinks while following every move he made with lust in their hearts and dreamy expressions on their faces. Even though he seemed oblivious to all the female attention, Elora found it irritating. The fact that she was irritated made it all the more aggravating.
Storm and Kay tried to be as inconspicuous as two very large and striking men can be. To the casual observer, they might appear to be relaxed, but they were always on duty, aware of everything going on in the room, dividing their attention between watching for developing trouble of the human variety and watching for vampire to surface, prepared to lunge into action at a millisecond’s notice.
Elora, on the other hand, struggled to get her bearings. She didn’t always recognize the names of the drinks being ordered and cursed herself for not studying the handbook Ram had used. Whenever, she entered the far end of the bar to place an order, Ram looked up and gave her that special smile that she had come to know was for her alone. The one that said, “The sun just rose in the heavens because you’ve arrived.”
Once an hour, management sent people from other levels down to spell Ram and Elora so they could take ten minutes. After the third hour, Ram suggested they go up and out onto the street to fill their lungs with some freshly, exhaust-filled air.
Getting outside of the club did make it feel more like a real break.
They had just arrived on the street when a boisterous group of young women half stumbled out of the club. Seeing Ram, one of them approached, opening her coat with pride to the striped, sequin tank top underneath. She stepped in front of Elora and pressed farcically inflated, permanently pushed up breasts into Ram’s torso while batting fake Bambi lashes that outlined eyes both shiny and red rimmed from too much drink.
The interloper was wearing her long, straight hair in one of those silly, sideways pony tails. Acting on pure impulse, without thinking it through, Elora reached out, grabbed a fist full of sideways pony tail in her right hand and pushed the skank toward the curb saying, “Find something else to do.”
The woman had to take a couple of steps and grab on to friends to catch her balance and keep from falling. While turning the air blue, she gave Elora a look of challenge like she was thinking about coming for her.
Seeing this play out on the woman’s face Ram laughed, shook his head and said, “Oh. I definitely would no’ if I were you.”
Deciding on the better part of valor on her behalf, her friends encouraged her to move along with them. Giving Elora one last look that could kill, she half walked, half staggered away.
Ram turned a high beam expression of delight on Elora who was stunned by her own territorial behavior and feeling embarrassed. She looked around anxiously. “I really have no idea why I did that. It was wrong. I mean it’s not as if you can’t take care of yourself or decide whose fake chest you want pressed against you.”
“Elora…,” he began.
She started away. “I’ve got to visit the Ladies before time’s up. I’ll see you down there.”
“Hold on. Partners stay together.” In
two long strides he caught up. “Remember?”
Shaking herself internally she fired back. “You are not using that as an excuse to come in the women’s restroom with me.”
He smiled. “No? Well, then I’ll wait outside for a count of one hundred.”
Tuesday night, when it was time to go on duty, Elora answered Ram’s knock with her hair cut to within two and a half inches all over her head and spiked up in a messy, edgy do that was appropriate for club work. Ram did a double take.
She shrugged. “Kay’s right. Long hair’s too easy to grab. I found that out last night.”
Ram nodded and gave her a little smile. He had loved the gorgeous, many colored mane, but her appeal didn’t depend on it. She was inalterably adorable. He reached up and ran his hand over her head while she resisted the impulse to lean into it.
“Still beautiful,” was all he said.
Elora hadn’t realized how much his opinion mattered until she saw his reaction and heard the reassurance.
Baka took short breaks when the bands did and longer ones when a band brought their own bass. He usually spent his free time staring at Elora and she could always feel it, like hands on her body. She knew he was aware that he made her flush and she knew he enjoyed the power he was transmitting telepathically; the very potent threat, or promise, of passion with single minded purpose.
Wednesday night Baka made eye contact on one of his breaks. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he gave her a beguiling, teasing smile with just the slightest peek of fang. In response she turned her right side to him, brought her foot up to rest on the seat of a chair, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then raised her skirt enough to flash the garter that held the splat pistol all while returning his smile with a wicked twist. He retracted his fangs and laughed. And, damn, if laughter didn’t look good on him.
The phrase ‘flirting with disaster’ came to mind. Prudent or not, she enjoyed the heady rush she got from Baka’s attention.
B Team worked for three nights without incident, falling into a routine. The fourth day was Thursday, one of their days off. On Wednesday Ram asked if she would like to spend Thursday with him. She said she had already promised the day to Storm. He had agreed to do two things on her Break Out List: go shopping at the mall and teach her how to drive.
“He’s takin' you shoppin' at a suburb mall and teachin' you to drive? Okay.” Ram shook his head. “Better him than me.” Elora gave him a pretend punch in the bicep. “Sunday. Give me Sunday.”
“Sure.”
“What touches your fancy?”
“Surprise me.”
“My pleasure. Ten thirty. Street clothes.”
Elora’s driving lesson was filled with the usual frustrations for both driver and teacher, but the trip to the mall went better. Storm owned a sports car that had been modified for his long legs, but suspected that Elora would need cargo space for packages so he borrowed a large SUV. The mall shops were on three levels. They explored the map so they could narrow the choices down to a few stores. They hit Ann Taylor, lululemon, J. Crew, Shoecolate and stopped at Starbucks for a hot chocolate.
When Elora wanted to spend time at Victoria’s Secret, Storm decided he would be drop the purchases at the car and wait for her at the food court.
She shopped for lingerie that felt good, function plus comfort. If it also looked good, well, icing on the cake. Last, she splurged on a costly, but sublimely soft, all-purpose, angel white robe.
When she turned the corner of the food court her eyes immediately locked on Storm looking so out of place, sitting in a chair that was too-small for his big body in front of a Formica top table amid strollers, spilled popcorn, and screaming toddlers. How surprised passersby would be to know that a real live knight, who keeps their children safe at night, was sitting there looking lost in front of the Panda Express. And she liked him all the more for spending his day off doing things to please her.
She dumped the packages next to him and asked if she could get him something to eat. He looked around, sniffed in a semi-superior way, and said, “Thank you, but I’ll hold out for something edible.”
It seemed that Storm had gotten used to the VIP treatment The Order showers on active operatives. Edible meant dinner reservations at a small inn with a five star restaurant. Fortunately they didn’t have a coat and tie policy, but probably would have let him get by in street clothes regardless.
The food, appointments, and service were no better than the Mess where they ate every day, but this place had the advantage of dinner alone with Elora. Even if it wasn’t going to end with a kiss, at least it was a night when he could have her all to himself.
They easily slipped back into the comfortable, relaxed way they had conversed with each other daily when Elora was in recovery. They talked about books they liked and why they liked them. She caught him up on gossip she heard from Elsbeth while he marveled that there was a whole underbelly of speculative discussion going on without him having knowledge of any of it. He said he missed their chess games and worried constantly about the danger she was in as a member of B Team to which she said, “You just take care of yourself. I’ve got my back and yours, too.”
Over chocolate mousse and coffee, he grew quiet and pensive. “Something wrong?”
“No. Just trying to figure out how to say this. I guess the best way is just to come out with it.” He took a deep breath like he was building confidence. “I want you to know I have feelings for you, the kind that Order policy prevents me from expressing adequately. I don’t want to put you in a position of violating a pledge, so I’m not expecting a response. I just need you to know that things would be different if…things were different.”
The only thing about this confession that was surprising to Elora was the vocalization. She looked at Storm solemnly so he would know she took it seriously. Her only reaction was a slight nod followed by downcast eyes. He took that to mean that she agreed it was best not to talk about it so he changed the subject.
“Got one more surprise.”
“What?” She perked up.
“Sanction is on duty tonight. We have an empty seat at the Thursday night poker game if you want to play.”
“You sure that’s okay with the others?”
“Yep. They say they’re just as happy to take your money as his.”
She laughed. “Yes. Well, I wish I could say that wasn’t the probable outcome. What time is the game?”
He looked at his watch. “Matter of fact, we better get going, Princess.”
The Thursday night game was held in a private room off the back of the lounge. On the way in they passed a little gathering watching a contest of darts.
“Ghost is the undisputed champion of darts. Kind of unusual for an American, but he spent a few years in Scotia. Every now and then somebody challenges him and odds get made, but you’d be crazy to bet against him.”
As they were passing by, Ghost looked up and pinned her with a stare which was unnerving as his eyes had the same identical lack of color as vampire. There may have been a flicker of malice before his expression melted into an affable smile, but she wasn’t sure she didn’t imagine it. She knew less about him than any other knight or trainee because he had declined training with her.
“I never asked how Ghost reacted. I mean, my taking Lan’s place on the team.”
Storm shrugged. “He wasn’t happy, but he took it like a man.” He cut a puckish smile her way when he said it.
She chuckled more to be accommodating than because she thought it was funny. “Hysterical.”
Truthfully, she wouldn’t blame Ghost if he did take it badly. It had to be hard looking so ghastly and being surrounded by men who could be Polo models. She doubted he had ever had a date. Certainly the dreadful looks were unfortunate, but then there was also an undeniable creep factor.
The table in the private poker room sat eight and six were already there. The table, itself, was a work of art, a rosewood octagon with orna
tely carved legs. The space was lit by an octagonal, low hanging stained glass Tiffany lamp; the ambience conveying an opulence that said, “If you need to ask how much to play, you don’t belong in this game.”
The room was equipped with a specially designed exhaust so that players could smoke without leaving stale smells or allowing tainted air to escape to other parts of the building.
Storm hadn’t mentioned that Ram was one of the regulars. As she took the seat opposite him, he gave her a look that said, “You know that no one knows you the way I do and it’s our secret.”
A couple of people who regular worked the lounge stayed late on Thursday nights for the extra tips they got serving players. There was a steady circuit of delivery of food or drink. Or aspirin in Finnemore’s case.
Elora’s rum and coke was served in a squat, crystal glass heavy enough to feel substantial in big, strong hands. They started a bar tab for her. Another first.
The dealer went over the customary rules and limits for her benefit. Then they all hunkered down for a night of cards. Elora had never seen Storm smoke before, but, when he lit a small, thin, black cigar, like the ones Sol smoked, she remembered the faint smell of cigar that night that she was carried to the infirmary with what was left of her face pressed against his chest.
When Storm had taught her how to play poker, he had figured out quickly that her face was too expressive to expect that she wouldn’t divulge her reaction to cards. So he had instructed her to go the other direction, pretending to be delighted, or smug, or confused by every hand so that no one watching would be able to discern a pattern of “tells”.
Storm would never have suggested including her if he thought she might be humiliated by her lack of experience, but he had learned while teaching her the game that she had “card sense”; an innate communion with the sacred geometry of playing cards that can’t be either taught or developed with practice. As he predicted, she did okay using the tips, tricks, and strategies he suggested along with some slight modifications of her own. She didn’t win, but she didn’t lose much either.
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