by Barbara Taub
“Ow!” he added as an apple, lobbed with her usual deadly accuracy, hit him in the forehead.
Around a mouthful of apple, he asked, “How about you?”
“It’s hard to date in high school when you look like you’re about ten years old. I had friends, and we went to dances and such, but…”
Her voice trailed off, and then she added softly, “I did think about it, though. I’d see people like my parents so happy together, and I’d see my friends falling in love—my best friend Marnie did it about once a month—and I wondered what was wrong with me. Those guys who didn’t want to go out with me? Well, I never really wanted to go out with any of them. And before you ask, I didn’t want to go out with any of the girls, either.
“The last year before I met you, I finally grew. In lots of ways. There was one guy, Marcus, who took me to my prom, and we had a pretty … steamy … date, just before I got that letter from your grandfather. Then I met you, of course, but for the past year, you’ve been my brother. And I never even thought about Marcus again until just now.”
Thomas snorted. “That’s because he’s named Marcus. Of course you couldn’t fall for him.” His voice took on a falsetto lilt. “Oh, Marcus! Yes, Marcus. Do that again, Marcus…” He reached up to snag the apple he knew would be heading for his head. Then he dropped his arm down and wiggled his fingers.
She put her hand into his and squeezed. “You are such a geek.”
New York was just familiar enough to make the differences jarring. The skyline seemed naked, even though the cab driver taking them to the waterfront proudly pointed out the just-completed New York World building, at twenty stories, the city’s tallest building. Neither could pay much attention. Thomas was contemplating the horrors of the upcoming voyage, and Leila had a new worry. “Thomas,” she whispered. “What about passports?” His eyes widened, but he just shook his head.
The cab driver suggested they check the sailing times listed in the newspaper. Seeing the SS City of New York was due to sail late that afternoon, they made their way to the Inman Line’s pier. To her amazement, the subject of passports never came up. Apparently, documentation wasn’t required unless you were coming to America as an immigrant. Thomas asked about available rooms and was told there were several first cabin and a few second and third cabin staterooms left. A question about the cost had him groaning. “That’s a year’s salary in Seattle.”
Leila pulled him aside. “Before you even think about booking one of the second- or third-class cabins, just remember two things: what happened on the steamer to San Francisco, and only the first-class rooms have private bathrooms.” She looked over the brochure and drove home the final nail. “Oh, and first cabin serves two additional meals a day.”
Thomas returned to the agent and booked the least expensive of the remaining first-class cabin suites. With a final fond pat for the departing bills, he handed over $112 for their fares. The agent wrote out their tickets and told them they could take up to 400 pounds of baggage, but they would have to hurry because the ship had almost finished loading.
“Family emergency,” Thomas smiled weakly and pointed to their two carpetbags. “We haven’t had time to pack much.”
The ticket agent pursed his lips and said, “I should remind you the first cabin does dress for dinner.”
Thomas sighed. “Leila, here’s where you get your revenge for the corset.” He asked if there was a place nearby where he could buy evening clothes. “As a matter of fact,” the agent replied, “a gentleman said someone might be inquiring, and he left this tailor’s card.”
Less than an hour later, a dejected Thomas was being pinned into an evening suit. The tailor explained in a heavy German accent that the suit, along with one of the new-style dinner jackets and several shirts, had been ordered weeks ago but never picked up. Amazingly, he said they would require very little fitting. Eyeing Leila, he told her the same man, who had told them he was taking his son and daughter on a Grand Tour of Europe, had ordered several evening dresses which might interest her. The dresses, which had been made up on Ladies Mile, had been delivered along with gloves, hats, and shoes to be picked up with the man’s suits. Because the items had been paid for by the original purchaser, the tailor assured them he could sell them at a discounted price. Thomas looked like he was going to be ill.
“Significant discount,” emphasized the tailor.
With less than an hour to spare, they piled the boxes into a cab and raced back to the pier. As they drove, Leila turned to Thomas. “How weird was that? How could they have had just what we needed? And in our sizes as well? It was almost like those clothes were waiting for us.”
“Well, if they were,” Thomas was glumly counting the remaining bills in their wallet, “I wish they’d already been paid for as well…”
“Stop!” Thomas blinked at Leila’s shout, but their driver obediently halted the carriage as it passed through Chinatown. Telling the cab to wait, she dashed into the nearest grocery stall and emerged clutching a bag. “Crystallized ginger.” She handed it to him with a flourish. “My mom gets seasick, and she says this is the best cure there is.”
“You once proposed to me,” he said fervently. “I accept.”
They were among the last to board because they stopped back in at the ticket office to arrange a telegram letting Thomas’ grandfather know of their scheduled arrival. As the steward showed them to their stateroom, he pointed out the elaborate salons available for first cabin passengers, including the incredible domed dining hall, barber shop, ladies lounge, and smoking room. “It’s like a palace,” marveled Leila. The steward also told them the ship carried over 2000 people, making it so huge the first cabin staterooms and salons barely registered the motion of the ocean beneath. Thomas, already chewing a mouthful of candied ginger, looked hopeful.
The steward showed them where the steward call bell was located, demonstrated the features of the stateroom with its all-important bathroom, and presented them with a schedule of meals and information regarding the voyage. Then he reminded them dinner would be served shortly if they cared to dress.
“That’s British for ‘Don’t show up looking like American savages,’” translated Thomas after they were alone. They busied themselves with unpacking and hanging up their new wardrobes. “This just keeps getting worse and worse,” Leila complained as she looked over the billows of ruffles and lace on her side of the wardrobe. With a sigh, she reached for the corset.
She piled her hair onto the top of her head and headed out to their little sitting room. Still struggling with the back buttons on her swirling pink dress, she looked up to find Thomas heading out from his room as well. They stared at each other in shock.
“Thomas,” she whispered. “We look really stooo-pid. Victorian-Barbie-does-Victorian-Ken.”
“What are you talking about? I think I look fine. And you look … fantastic.” Thomas fastened her last buttons as she presented her back to him. “But Leila—did you see that dinner menu the steward left? If I had to put on a clown suit and paint my face blue to get to that dinner, I’d do it. Now let’s get down there before all the foie gras is gone.”
“A cheeseburger,” mourned Leila. “With fries… Why is it too much to ask?”
At the door of the first cabin dining parlor, the steward told them their friends had already arrived and were waiting for them. Leila looked at Thomas. He shrugged slightly, took her arm, and followed the steward down the huge parlor to one of the side tables. Two clean-shaven, elegantly dressed gentlemen rose politely.
“Sam!” Leila stopped so quickly Thomas stumbled into her. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the mustache.”
He gave a small smile. “I see you got the clothes I left.”
“Told you,” Leila coughed into her hand toward Thomas.
Thanks to one nightmare debutante-prep season of Cotillion to which neither Leila nor her parents could refer without shuddering, she did know the rudiments of polite behavior. Shoving an el
bow into Thomas’ ribs as he glared at Sam, she nodded at her chair. As the stranger with Sam moved to seat her, Thomas transferred his glare to the man and ostentatiously pulled out her chair. The three men took their seats, and silence reigned until the waiters had taken their orders.
“Sam-what-ever-your-name-is.” Leila frowned at him. “Seems like you keep showing up. But we still don’t know why or what you did with Alex. And I’m not even sure I want to ask how you knew we would be at that particular tailor shop.”
“Alex is right. I’m not allowed to do anything to him unless he’s actually interfering with another human’s free will. So the most I could do when he kidnapped you was remove him.” Sam smiled faintly. “Okay, maybe there was a little shooting involved, but as I told you, his kind recovers pretty quickly.” Instead of answering the rest of her questions, Sam gestured toward the other man. Like Sam, he had dark hair and classically handsome features. He looked vaguely familiar, but Leila couldn’t place him. “This is my … associate, Raymond. After I found out about the attacks in Seattle, I asked him to keep an eye on you until you reach Sebastian in London.”
Thomas looked up from his plate. “Sebastian?”
Sam smiled. “Your grandfather and I have known each other for a long time.”
The rest of the meal should have been awkward. Thomas attacked each dish as though it would be his last chance at food, while Sam sat back and just watched. But although he never asked about anything to do with the future, Raymond kept the conversation flowing with an endless stream of questions for Leila. Each of her answers triggered a story of his own.
Boom town Seattle after the Great Fire? He’d been in a hotel in Chicago the night of the Great Chicago Fire in 1871. “I was with a young lady acquaintance, and we were quite happily minding our own business when the fire alarm sounded. Next thing I knew, we were both in the street wrapped in just a sheet. A shared sheet.” He shook his head sadly. “She felt chivalry decreed she be given custody of the sheet…”
Steamer travel? “I’ve never been seasick myself,” he mused. Thomas set down his fork to glare indignantly at him. “But at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago a few years ago, I tried their Ferris Wheel.” Raymond shuddered. “By the time we reached the top, I was sicker than I’d ever been in my life. Jumping out and falling 250 feet was starting to seem preferable to waiting out the rest of the Wheel’s rotation…”
Thomas eyed him with slightly less hostility. “I don’t have any trouble on Ferris Wheels.” He reached over to give Leila’s hand a brief squeeze before grabbing the roll from her bread plate. “When we get to London, I’ll take you on the Eye. When they build it, that is.”
At last Thomas, having finished both his dessert and hers, suggested they return to their cabin. Raymond and Sam stood to follow them. “Alone,” growled Thomas. Both men bowed slightly. As they reached their room, Thomas unlocked the door, sighed, and turned back to the hall. “If you’re going to follow us around, you might as well come in and tell us what’s going on.”
Leila’s eyes opened wide as Sam and Raymond strolled elegantly around the corner. “Good ears,” murmured Sam.
As they moved into the little sitting room connecting their two bedrooms, Raymond surveyed the small chairs and tables. “I’ve slept in worse. If Leila can lend me a sheet, I will at least endeavor to remain covered in case of emergency.”
The ensuing battle was epic.
Thomas specified just what the weather conditions would have to be in Hell before he allowed Raymond to sleep in their cabin. Raymond countered with comments about Thomas’ youth and lack of experience.
Sam wandered over to the glasses set out on the little sideboard, removed an ornate silver flask from his pocket, and poured a shot of whiskey. He raised eyebrows to Leila, who shrugged and held out her hand.
After a few sips, she put down the glass and headed back to her room. There hadn’t been time to do much in San Francisco, but she and Thomas had managed to each buy a pair of the stiff new “riveted denim work pants” the Levi Strauss Company were selling as additions to their original overalls. When she emerged wearing her jeans and a short jacket, all three men stared. She drained the rest of her glass and took possession of the most comfortable chair in the room. “Thomas is right.” She pointed her little gun at Sam. “If you can’t tell us who you really are and what’s going on, we can’t trust you. So start talking or get out.”
Sam smiled slightly as he turned to Raymond. “Remind you of anyone?”
With a glare for Sam, Raymond pulled a chair directly in front of Leila and leaned toward her. “We both know your father. He’s worried about the path you’re on right now. We have an ... associate … who can sometimes see the future. It’s hard because for the most part there are a lot of potential outcomes. But in most of them, he says you don’t survive. For now, I should tell you Alex Menard was right that you hold the key to getting Raziel’s Book to protect Null City and the Metro. There is an epic struggle going on, and what happens to you will change what happens to the Watchers and the Fallen, as well as the Nephilim. Our job is to make sure you stay alive, at least long enough to reach the decision point.”
“Way to not tell me anything.” Leila sat stiffly, the little gun still pointed. Thomas came to stand behind her chair with his hand on her shoulder. She reached up and covered his hand with her free hand. “So let me get this straight. You want to make sure I stay alive because there’s something I have to do.”
Sam and Raymond nodded.
She could feel the red mist trying to steal over her vision. “You aren’t going to tell me what it is. You aren’t going to tell me if I’m going to die afterward.” Her voice deepened. “And you think I should trust you more than Thomas, who has saved my life. Several times.” Her growl was so deep it couldn’t have come from a human throat, but her face was emotionless, and her little gun never wavered. “You have exactly five seconds to start talking or start leaving.”
Raymond met Sam’s eyes. “We’re going to have to tell her.” Sam didn’t look happy, but at last he nodded.
“Leila.” Raymond stopped and held out his hand for Sam’s glass. He drained it, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Leila, in about a hundred years, I’m going to meet a beautiful young girl. It isn’t supposed to happen that way, and I’d give anything to have things work out differently. But we’re going to have a baby girl, and her mother is going to die.” He reached toward her, hesitated, and dropped his hand. “You’re going to be that baby.”
Leila blinked as her eyes lost their red glow. “Raymond? You’re my Donor?”
Raymond looked confused.
“I already have a father.” She felt Thomas’ hand tighten on her shoulder. “He taught me to shoot and ride a bike and build brick restaurants. He bought braces for my teeth and took me to Disneyland.” She glanced up at Thomas. “And I have a Protector. He’s given up the past year of his life for me.” Thomas smiled down into her eyes. She stared back at Raymond. “You’re just the one who donated his DNA.”
“I’m not sure what DNA is,” confessed Raymond. “And even though I’ve been around for a long time, I have no idea how a father would act. But I want to find out.” He glanced at Thomas and then at Sam. He leaned closer to Leila, sighing as she flinched back. “I hope you’ll at least give me the chance.”
Sam moved to the door, and Raymond reluctantly followed. Thomas turned the locks behind them and returned to Leila.
Her green eyes were confused. “Who needs him?”
Thomas went down on his knees in front of her chair and took both her hands. “You are so lucky.” Her startled eyes met his. “You have two parents who love you, and a ‘Donor’ who wants to love you too. My only brother is dead, and my parents can’t even look at me…”
His face was so close; she didn’t even think as she leaned forward to touch her lips to his. He froze and she smiled. “You are so not my brother.”
His gray eyes blazed as he pulled her
to the edge of the chair. And he was kissing her at last.
Thomas must have kissed someone since his nursery school love, she realized. He knew just what to do. Although she had enjoyed kissing her high school boyfriend, it was clumsy and a bit embarrassing. They bumped teeth, he hit her nose with his chin, and she had no idea what to do with her hands. With Thomas, it was as if they dispensed with all the awkwardness. They had paid the year the Metro charged them, a year of being together, of fighting and taking care of each other, of inside jokes and teasing. She knew his smell and the sound of his breathing and the shape of his mouth.
What she didn’t know, she realized, was how that mouth slanted so perfectly she was already opening to his tongue. Or how those hands she thought were too big were actually just right for unbuttoning her jacket and slipping under her blouse. Just the right size for covering each of her breasts. Just clever enough to rub each nipple until it was standing up hard against his palm.
She knew what his chest looked like, but she didn’t know when she finally got his vest off and his shirt unbuttoned her own hands would feel just as good against his flat brown nipples, or that they would also stand up for her. Or what they tasted like.
He groaned and his hands were unbuttoning her shirt. Hurry, she wanted to tell him. But he was her careful Thomas. Each button he opened had to have the flesh it revealed thoroughly kissed. She thought she would scream by the time he finally spread open the sides of her blouse and pushed it from her shoulders. He froze.
“Thomas?”
So slowly, so carefully, his mouth closed around one nipple. He suckled, gently at first and then with stronger pulls of his tongue. Her hands closed on his shoulders, and she rubbed her other breast against him in urgent appeal. He laughed and transferred attention to the neglected nipple.