Sleight of Hand

by Mark Henwick

  As we got back to our study-office, a text came in from Jen. She was going to be busy till late with the organization of the ball. Tullah was headed home, enormously pleased with herself, and I decided I needed to be out and about, doing things.

  The drive down to Mrs. Desiarto’s was familiar, and yet it felt strange. I hadn’t been here in over a week, but it felt much longer.

  A lot of things change in a week, I guess. Mrs. Desiarto wasn’t pleased with me. First no boyfriends, she shouted, then I go off for a week without telling her and then I have the wrong sort of boyfriends around in the middle of the night. Two of them! Two! The shame of it, the noise, the rudeness, what was I thinking?

  “Mrs. Desiarto, I don’t have one boyfriend, let alone two. And I haven’t been back since a week yesterday.”

  She blinked at me as if I were speaking a different language, then resumed where she’d left off, not to be distracted from her stream of complaints. I imagined the real problem was that I hadn’t been dropping in and giving her the chance to talk for the last week.

  It was time to move somewhere else. Diana certainly expected me to take up residence at Altau House soon. I was at Jen’s for the moment, even though I felt uneasy about taking that for granted.

  Mrs. Desiarto grabbed the keys from my hand. Part of my paranoia had always been that only I would have the keys to my room, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to sneak a look at it, and see what destruction such a perverted orgy might leave behind.

  She turned the key in the lock and I finally started thinking again. I lunged at her, too late to stop her from opening the door.

  Chapter 42

  The blast was small and directed. If they heard it, the neighbors probably thought it was a car backfiring.

  Mrs. Desiarto didn’t hear anything. She assumed I had attacked her, and she had one defense—her voice. She screamed as loud as she could, which as it turned out was like an ambulance siren.

  It was only the second time I’d ever seen Mr. Desiarto. He stumbled out onto the porch, expecting bodies lying in the road and the tangled wreckage of at least three, maybe four cars. As it was, Mrs. Desiarto was lying on the porch unhurt except for a few bruises. I had landed on top of her. I wanted to kid myself it was a protective action on my part, but I think I was just tired of carrying bruises all the time.

  As for me, I was kneeling beside the door, peering around. The door itself was a ruin, shredded by gunshot. There didn’t seem to be anything else about to blow up, and I cautiously made my way in.

  The box was nailed to the floor. It was a simple design, an electrical connection broken by the door opening, which triggered a circuit and cooked a couple of shotgun shells held in short iron tubes. Simple, effective and lethal. A sweet feeling of relief flooded through me. If Mrs. Desiarto hadn’t come to complain at me, I would have walked through that door.

  The iron tubes were stuck through the eyeholes of a skull mask. Death’s eyes. This was Onebrow’s work.

  The apartment was ransacked. I hoped once my landlady recovered her wits, she would see that not even the most energetic of orgies could have been responsible for the devastation inside. Every item of furniture had been taken apart, every drawer emptied, clothes torn, books torn. The mattress was ripped open, the small fridge emptied over the floor. My panties were pinned to the mattress with a knife.

  What were they looking for? Why the messages? The mask and the panties? Because there was a good chance I wouldn’t have been killed by this. Onebrow wouldn’t have known I had the only keys to the apartment. As far as he was concerned, it could have been Mrs. Desiarto, and in that case, he wanted me to know he’d been responsible and what he’d do if he got his hands on me.

  I backed out without touching anything.

  “Mr. Desiarto.” I grabbed him and lifted him away from his wife, who had subsided into a plaintive wailing. I showed him the device and the damage. “These are dangerous men and they may be back. It’s very important you get inside and stay there. I’m calling the police.”

  He looked at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed as I shepherded the pair of them back inside their house.

  I closed the door to my apartment and held it in place by moving a porch chair in front of it. Then I called Lieutenant Edmunds on the number Morales had given me. This might not be quite what the Snakebite team was intended for, but I’d ask forgiveness rather than permission.

  Edmunds was as rapid as before. He and a small team made it there in half an hour.

  After telling Edmunds what little I could, I tried calling Morales, but could only get his voicemail.

  Edmunds chased me out and told me he’d talk to Morales.

  “We don’t know what the hell’s going on, Farrell,” he said, out of earshot of the others. “But Morales has assigned us to be available. If this isn’t vampires, it’s still a crime. Guess what we spend the rest of our time doing?”

  He made sure he had the right contact details for me. “Morales trusts you. You’re on the side of the angels, eh?” He smiled, a bit lopsided. “And if the devils are trying this, you must be hurting them. Go on, nothing more you can do at the moment.”

  “Take care,” he called after me.

  What had I done to deserve this kind of backup? I drove away praying that they would find something significant that would wrap this case up before a trick like that caught me.

  That definitely did it for staying at the Desiarto’s. I was angry and shocked, of course, but I felt sick that the trap could have killed Mrs. Desiarto.

  I would pay for the damage somehow and I’d have to find somewhere else to stay. Jen’s was the obvious place for the moment, and hopefully after I completed her case, it wouldn’t be so dangerous to get an apartment again. I felt uncomfortable about being dependent on her in the meantime. Even if I was only staying a couple of days, I’d have to talk to her tomorrow, if there was time.

  As to the rest of it, well, it wasn’t so bad. I had half my clothes lying destroyed on the floor at the apartment and the other half split between the trunk of the car and Jen’s guest suite. Luckily, everything I really needed I had with me. I’d lost my books, but I could buy them again. Not a material girl, me.

  I turned towards Wash Park and put it behind me. Time to kick little brother’s ass.

  His car wasn’t outside and the lights were off in his house. I knocked anyway, but it was all quiet. I checked both cell phones and got the voicemail. In the end, I let myself in.

  It was clean and tidy, except for the unmade bed and a pile of laundry. There was nothing to suggest any problem, and there was a limit to what I could do. I left a grumpy message on the table, and headed back to Jen’s.

  She was still out, busy with the ball committee I guessed.

  Frustrated, I changed and took a run, down Takayama Park and along the trail through Glendale and as far as Judge Joseph Park. The gun made the jogging bag uncomfortable, but running still eased out the tensions. At Judge Joseph, I turned and sprinted back. The whole way.

  I felt strange back at the house. Tired of course, but not as much as I should have been, and all overlaid with a mixture of equal parts despair and elation. Normal fitness can only go so far. There should have been no way I could sprint the three miles back. This sort of performance could only mean that I was further down the track to becoming Athanate.

  Within a minute of getting back, my heart rate had fallen to a resting level. In the bathroom, I stripped down. I was hot and flushed and sweating, but my breathing had fallen almost as quickly as the heart rate. I looked at my body in the reflection from the full-length mirror. I opened my mouth and looked at my teeth. I wanted to see something different, something I could point to and say, that’s changed, but there was nothing.

  I rested my forehead against the mirror.

  “This is what a vampire looks like, Tara,” I murmured.

  “Not quite yet,” she replied.

  After my shower, I did as Top said I should do and put eve
rything else aside while I thought about Jen’s case again.

  I sat in the living room, wrapped in the bathrobe and balancing my laptop on my thighs. I alternately flicked through Verdoon’s emails and the financial spreadsheets for the Kingslund Group, concentrating on the cash assets. A little of the Guyanese rum warmed my stomach and oiled my thoughts.

  When I was finished, there were two new things which had emerged.

  Firstly, whatever game of hunt-the-lady Verdoon was playing with his shuffling of the Kingslund Group’s cash assets, it had to end soon. He was running out of reserves to shift. Even as the financial controller, there was a limit to what he could hide.

  Secondly, there was a hint about where the key to his behavior might be coming from. Verdoon’s private and business lives were well separated in most aspects, and his emails from his work computer were mainly to do with business. The personal emails that caught my attention were from hospitals. Someone was extremely ill and there were regular account statement emails copied to his business address. I guessed Verdoon was paying the bills. None of which would have been particularly significant until the name of the hospital changed to one down in New Mexico, shortly before the Kingslund money started to be moved into new deposits. It was the smallest hint of a connection, but it felt right.

  I emailed Jen with my notes, avoiding saying why New Mexico made the connection for me. I then emailed Victor, asking him to look into the hospitals and find out who was being treated.

  I went to bed.

  I was asleep later when the bedroom door opened a crack, waking me. I tensed, but it was only Jen. She peered into the darkness and then the door closed quietly again. She was checking that I was in.

  My heart began racing and my jaw started to ache. I clenched my teeth together and waited for the sensations to pass. My prion reading had reached 0.5 this evening. Maybe staying here wasn’t going to be possible, for Jen’s safety. I couldn’t ever go back to Obs now. I’d be back in that cell. My options were shrinking all the time.

  We are your harbor when you need it, Diana had said.

  FRIDAY

  Chapter 43

  Whatever the worries of the night before, I liked my short commute in the morning.

  I was on the phone confirming Victor’s team’s access to the convention center when Tullah and Jen came into the study, laughing. Tullah had wanted a tour of house, and Jen had been happy to oblige.

  “You’re welcome to use the gym or the pool, of course,” Jen was saying to Tullah. “Amber’s using the gym, and it’s good to see.”

  I hung up and offered them coffee. Tullah had brought the new business cards from the printers and I opened the packet.

  “Perfect timing,” said Jen. “You’ll need them tonight. You should have received a welcome packet with your tickets which tells you to bring cards and exchange them with everyone: dance partners, people at your table and so on. Ethel—Mrs. Harriman—is big on everyone mingling and making contacts.”

  I got the cards out and kept my face carefully neutral. Tullah had gone way overboard on this. The background color was a skin-bronze gloss. Along with the tag line ‘Reliable – Efficient – Discreet,’ the contact information was written in black in the bottom right corner in a languid italic font which I recognized with a start.

  “I copied the font style you used for Tara’s plaque,” Tullah said. “It doesn’t seem to be a standard font so I just made up the letters I needed. Is that okay?”

  I’d designed the font at school when I’d first thought of getting the plaque made. I could remember thinking, this is how Tara would write. Tullah had got the style exactly right.

  “It’s fine, Tullah,” I said. “Just a bit of a surprise.”

  “The color is your skin tone,” said Jen, holding one against me, and she was right, it was close.

  “They’re beautiful,” I said to Tullah. “Possibly not quite what’s expected of a PI.”

  “Don’t be stuffy,” said Jen. “Oh, look at the time, gotta go. See you at the ball, honey.” We kissed cheeks and she went off in a rush.

  “They’re good, really, Tullah,” I said. “Thanks for getting them done.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” She looked around the study. “Jen’s really nice. The house is awesome.”

  “This office is just temporary, until we wrap this up.”

  She settled down and started working through the emails. “Yeah, but it’s still nice of her to let us use the place. She likes you.”

  “Yes. You seem to get along well with her,” I said noncommittally.

  “Yes, but—”

  “And Matt too, from what I understand.” Bullseye! Tullah actually blushed.

  She hurriedly changed the subject. “I meant to say, if you want, I’ll help today, I’ll do the driving. I really want to see the dress.”

  I grinned. “You’re on. You’ll have to bring your camera. My mom is going to need pictures to prove it’s real.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  I can sense the sun slip down, not in the failing light, but in the weakening of the million certainties that have kept me at bay. Under the cold stars, jabbering hind-brains let me be.

  How does it FEEL? It is the adoration of multitudes, it is strength, it is the desire of strangers and the fear of those that know. I catwalk to the reception area, enjoying the heads that turn. The midnight green silk billows with my movement.

  The doorman is too stunned to take my ticket. I press it into his hand and run a shiny green gloved finger down his slack jaw. It has a nice line.

  I pass through the scanners, but my weapons are not metal.

  Inside, Jen turns to me, blue eyes wide. “Amber,” she says, and that’s my name, but is it who I am?

  It’s not a cheek she’s offering and I kiss the soft tension of her neck. I can hear her heart leap to my touch and her pulse beats like a butterfly against my lips.

  What am I doing? Stop it!

  “Hi Jen, how’s it going?” I managed to wrench it back.

  She gasped and pressed her hand to her chest. “You gave me such a shock,” she replied, blinking. She took a step back and looked me up and down.

  “Oh, my God, Amber,” she said.

  “You like?” I smiled, held my arms out and turned slowly on a heel, trying to shed the über-vamp aura. That poor doorman. Poor Jen, for that matter.

  “Amber, I like. It’s divine. No, it’s—”

  “It’s not fair, because you always look so elegant, and all you’ve ever seen me wear is jeans and a T.” Jen was wearing a strapless red silk dress—a simple, classical look that she made special. “You’re looking wonderful.”

  I’d left a kiss of peach lipstick against her neck, but I noticed she wasn’t rubbing it off.

  “Who did your hair?” she said. My hair, normally simply tied back, was too short for anything elaborate like Jen’s Grecian pile. It had been left straight with a slight curl to frame my face.

  “Klara—that’s Werner’s wife—and Tullah. They fussed over me the whole afternoon.”

  “It works well,” said Jen. Someone came up and murmured to her.

  “We’re sitting together at dinner,” said Jen, “so I’ll see you shortly, but I’ve got to welcome the delegation. Oh, if anyone asks, just say you’re doing some security consulting for me.”

  I squeezed her hand and made my way in, leaving my stole and slinky gloves at the coat check.

  From my bag, I took a small headset. It looked like a cell phone system, but it was a comms link to Victor’s guard outside. I’d been so fixated on my effect on the doorman, I hadn’t looked around to check he was in place. I flicked the switch and carefully looped it over one ear, avoiding the earrings I had borrowed from Lisa.

  “Reynolds, this is Farrell. You awake out there?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Nice entrance. Very discreet.”

  I chuckled. “Guilty. I’ll check the comms from time to time. Talk to you lat
er.” I slipped it back into my bag.

  My sister was standing with her back to me, talking to a group near the bar with Taylor beside her. I had said I would see her before the ball, so I walked across.

  The silence and turned heads alerted her. She swung around, her face as blank of recognition as Taylor’s.

  “Hello, Kath,” I said.

  “Amber? Christ! You…oh, everybody,” she cleared her throat, “this is my sister, Amber.”

  “Just Amber,” I said to the man on her right, who had put his hand out in welcome. “Not Amber Christ.” He laughed. Obviously, not a bad guy if he liked my jokes.

  Kath recovered the situation with introductions all around, and then made an excuse and led me away.

  “What a surprise. Amber, I haven’t seen you in a dress since high school. You look good.”

  And you haven’t said that to me since high school, I thought. Something seemed to have mellowed her attitude a little.

  “I promised you a quick review of your case.” She looked down and frowned. “I think Carter is an ass. His lawyers think he’s an ass. About now, even he’s starting to think he’s an ass. He’ll be looking for a way out, but the easiest solution would be if you backed down and then he can be magnanimous. If we don’t give him that, he’ll withdraw the suit anyway in a week or two. Just leave it to me, and whatever you do, don’t talk to him. He’ll be here tonight.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” I said, “and thanks for taking it.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that, and lunch. I guess Carter’s not the only ass.” She gave me a quick, uncertain smile.

  I felt a flicker of hope that, after this was over, we could behave like sisters again. I didn’t know what demands being Athanate might have on me, but surely, I would be okay for that.

  “You’ve been under pressure. I understand,” I said.