by Claire Kane
“Pretty good stuff, isn’t it, Lace?”
Without thinking, she found herself nestling slightly against him. One of his hands touched her shoulder, while the other handed her the tub of facial cream. She looked at it, giggled again, and tossed it aside, ignoring the sound of it hitting the concrete behind her. “You’ve been holding out on me, Mister Mendoza,” she said, turning fully around to look up into his eyes; they really were mesmerizing. “All this time, you had so much more depth than I ever knew. You shouldn’t be behind the camera, you should be center stage.”
A swooning sensation swept her mind, and she suddenly caught a hint of a new scent, this time coming from Greg. She placed her hands on his chest and leaned in close to smell his collar. “Mmmm,” she said, drawing back only partially. “You are a man of so many surprises.”
Vaguely, something in the back of her mind was screaming at her to get away—to flee from this guy. Warnings of deception cried out, but she casually shoved them away. She’d been confused, earlier. Blinded by emotions. Yes, she’d miss Victor, but Victor had been a boy. Greg Mendoza was a man. A married one, perhaps, but things could change. A new wave of heat rushed through her, mingling with the musky call of his scent. His hand came up to the small of her back, and she burrowed her face into his neck, breathing deeply like a drowning woman coming up for air.
“I have a business proposition for you,” Greg murmured into her hair. “I know you said you want to leave KZTB, but Lacey—I don’t know how we’ll make it without you. You were a hit in our trial runs in Japan. I hate to beg, but I’d triple your salary if it’d convince you to stay. And with your savvy, I think you’d be the perfect choice for the producer of the show there.”
“And how,” she asked playfully, “will a station verging on bankruptcy afford to pay me triple?”
Greg smiled and stroked her head. “We’re going to make a little fortune in the cosmetics business. You’d make an excellent business partner. And the good thing about Asia is there’s no drug war there. And they’re a bit more… reasonable… about their government oversight, if you know how to go about things.”
He held her at arm’s length, and she felt herself getting lost in his piercing blue eyes. “With your talent, you’d be a killer saleswoman. And with your looks, you’d be the perfect model, especially for an Asian market. You and me, Lacey. We’ll take on the world. Whaddya say?”
“I say,” she said, tilting her chin up ever-so-slightly and reveling in the emotions coursing through her, “that we should definitely consider it. And,” she walked her fingers up along his chest, ignoring the continued screams of protest from deep inside her skull, “that we might want to consider a few other things. Perhaps starting with dinner?”
A beautiful smile spread across his face, and Lacey felt her breath catch. Her lips pursed of their own accord, and her eyelids fluttered halfway closed. She leaned forward, half wondering what she was doing, knowing that this was so wrong on so many levels, and yet almost unable to help herself. Fire and ice warred inside her, driving her on through the intoxicating haze of the perfume and cologne. She wanted this. Needed this. Greg seemed to need it as well. His eyes closed, and he began leaning in purposefully, his lips angling toward hers.
“Mendoza-san!”
Like a light switch being flipped, Lacey was snapped out of her trance. She and Greg practically leapt apart, and the lovely fog her mind had been swimming in seemed to evaporate into a faint, sickly mist. Lacey shook her head clear, and wondered, with horror, what she had almost done. A staccato slap of footsteps on concrete caught her attention, and she pivoted to see a stocky Japanese man striding toward them. Fierce-looking dragon tattoos wrapped around his thick arms; his face seemed set in a permanent scowl; to top it off, he seemed to be shrouded in an almost palpable darkness, something that sent shards of ice through Lacey’s innards. Though she felt she should be able to place him, nothing distinctive came to mind. She hid her urge to swallow hard.
“Mendoza,” the man spat, “why do you insist on wasting product?”
Greg swept his arms wide as if to embrace the man, and put on his most charming smile. “Kombanawa, Orochi-san. You’re here early.”
“Cease the pleasantries,” the Japanese man barked, before turning his eyes on Lacey. Lacey felt him practically dissecting her, but rather than the hunger she saw in most men’s eyes, she saw cold calculation, as if she, too, were more “product.” He scowled. “Who is the woman?”
The TV guru patted his friend’s back; the man shrugged it harshly away. “Where are my manners?” Greg said grandly. “Orochi, allow me to introduce the lovely Lacey Ling.” The man called “Orochi” sniffed with disinterest. “Lacey Ling, allow me to introduce Mister Orochi Watanabe, a close business associate of mine, and my Asian counterpart in this endeavor.” Lacey hesitated, then extended a hand to shake. Watanabe eyed it, but didn’t take it. After an awkward moment, Lacey folded her arms, and returned the man’s scowl. She wasn’t about to be cowed by some stranger with a bad attitude.
“We must speak,” Watanabe said to Greg, not taking his eyes off Lacey. “Privately.”
Greg gave Lacey an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Lace. Business stuff. But hey—think about my offer. Three heads are better than one. For now, you can head back to see the birds if you want.” Watanabe’s eyes flashed, but Greg gave him a soothing look, and the Japanese man said no more. Lacey, still struggling with the realization of what had nearly happened, quickly excused herself and retreated further into the warehouse.
The twittering birds grated at her. As beautiful as they were, there was something about their ceaseless screeching that got to her. And yet, she welcomed the distraction from the creeping sense of… whatever it was coming from the Watanabe guy.
“Victor,” she said quietly, through the tap-tap of her heels and enough bird noise to drown out normal conversation. And yet, he didn’t answer. Victor, she repeated in her mind, trying to “think loudly,” and not knowing quite how to do that. Still, she heard nothing from him. Instead, chilly tendrils seemed to weave through her mind, and she shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.
Glancing behind her, she could only barely make out Greg and his companion. Ducking around a corner, into what appeared to be another room, she stopped. Row upon row of shelving was covered in bird cages, far more than she had imagined. Even from outside the room, the cloying stink of parakeet poop wafted out on a fine layer of dust that made her sneeze almost as soon as it touched her nose. Something seemed off about the birds. Squinting, she saw that their eyes looked strange; almost milky. Stepping closer, she noticed that several of them had some kind of goop oozing from their eyes. She made a disgusted noise.
As if they all heard her at once, the birds broke into a cacophony. She covered her ears and backed hurriedly out of the bird room, only to find the two men walking toward her. Acting as casual as possible, she slipped back into the noise, and decided to look for another way out. Maybe there was another stairwell to the roof. She could just go upstairs and wait for Greg. Or, better yet, take Victor’s advice and just call a cab. Jogging past the cages, soon coughing on the dust, Lacey reached the far wall only to find it stacked high with more wooden crates, each one bearing a small cluster of photographs.
Curious, she stepped up to one, and noticed a starving little Japanese girl staring back from the picture. The caption, as best she could translate, alluded to poverty and… darker uses for children, the kind no one ever talked about. She gasped, and placed a hand on her chest. Almost against her will, she looked at another crate. This one showed a cluster of children in a similar state as the first girl. The words didn’t hint at slavery, but even without them, it was clear the children were in dire need of help. Scanning the crates quickly, she found they all seemed to be the same.
She wondered what was in the crates. Was it food supplies for the kids? Clothing and toiletries? Or was it something worse? Was it the children themselves? She took a
deep breath, regretting it instantly, as she launched into another spat of coughing and sneezing. When it subsided, she told herself she was just being paranoid and, before her nerves got the best of her, reached to open a crate.
It was nailed closed. She tried another, with the same results. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that she was still alone, and turned back to the crates. They all seemed to be nailed shut. Casting about, she found nothing that was likely to serve as a crowbar. Frowning, Lacey reined in her investigative instincts and made a mental note to get the address for this place. She’d come back with the proper tools and find out what Greg was keeping in the crates. Turning quickly, she made for the door.
She was nearly to it when Watanabe stepped through from the main warehouse area. His eyes narrowed instantly, and he moved toward her with purpose. She wanted to run, to scream, or to whip off her heels and attack him. Instead, she strode straight toward him, face tight, jaw set. He reached for her, but she quickstepped past him like she owned the place. Watanabe was quicker. A powerful hand crushed her bicep and jerked her backward.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
Lacey whirled on him, but refrained from slapping him. “Take your hand off a lady.” She tugged hard, but he only tightened his grip. “Greg Mendoza is a personal friend. I don’t think he’ll take kindly to the idea of his business associate mistreating me.”
He yanked her close and seized her other wrist. “Empty threats do not frighten me, Miss Ling. Mendoza-san will not protect you from your own idiocy.”
“I said let go,” she hissed, ramming her foot sideways into his shin. He grunted in pain, then slapped her hard enough to spin her around. She stumbled into a wall, blinking away the stars. Before she could orient herself, she lunged for the door—barely dodging Watanabe’s grab—and out into the open. “Greg? Greg!”
The man’s head appeared from behind a shelf a stone’s throw away just as the Japanese businessman snatched her left arm a second time. “Yeah, Lacey?”
“Mister Watanabe wanted to show me around. Care to join us?” Watanabe growled beside her and dug his fingers in. She held back a wince, and jerked forcibly away, finally breaking his grasp.
“Orochi’s good. He knows the place. I’ve got a couple things I’m looking at over here.”
Lacey put on her “sexy pout” face, and a tone to match. “Please, Greg? It would mean so much to me.”
Greg looked side to side, scratched his neck, and shrugged. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Why not?”
Beside her, the stout Asian man growled again. “Do not let yourself be confident in your sense of safety, Miss Ling.” With that, he turned and walked quickly back into the parakeet room.
Sighing inside, Lacey smiled as Greg reached her. Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her around the whole facility.
*
The helicopter ride home was practically boring after the night’s events. Greg had apologized profusely for Watanabe’s behavior and “condemned in the strongest possible terms” the fact that the man had slapped her, promising that he’d have a “little talk” with his associate.
“Not to change the subject too much,” he continued, “but what’d you think of my little aviary?”
Lacey took a thoughtful breath. “I hated them. It’s why I got rid of my pet parakeets as a child.”
Greg laughed. “Not the answer I was hoping for, but to be honest, I don’t like them much either. Turns out, certain Asian markets are glutted with them, and I get them at bargain basement prices. I ship them their aphrodisiacs, then they ship me their birds. Great profit margins both directions. It’s easy to sell parakeets anywhere in the country.”
“As delicacies?” she teased, trying to keep him off balance.
Greg laughed again. “No, as pets. C’mon, Lace. You know me better than that. Would I really invite you into a business that wasn’t totally above board?”
She gave him a smile to cover her thought of, Why do you think I left KZTB?
“Already the first quarter’s profits are in. They’re even bigger than we expected—and we haven’t even tapped a tenth of the potential market. I tell you, we’re going to go so big with this that KZTB will almost be an afterthought.”
Lacey turned to look out the window. “I bet you’ll do a lot of charity write offs, too, right?”
A strange wariness crept into his tone. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “I remember seeing homeless people when I was in Japan. And I’ve read articles about human trafficking across Asia, and beyond.” She locked eyes with him. “Even of little children.”
Greg studied her for a moment, then smiled casually. “You always were so astute, Lacey. And yes, I noticed them when I was there, myself. In fact, Orochi Watanabe is helping me fight that kind of thing. His firm has connections, and—don’t tell him I told you this—his own sister was, shall we say, ‘sold’ twenty years ago. Ever since then, well… he’s had an agenda.”
Lacey’s stomach lurched. She hadn’t even considered the man’s past. Though he clearly had no idea how to treat a woman, losing a sister to something worse than death certainly would sour a person. “You know,” she said, deciding to take a different tack, “I’d have an easier time getting behind ending human trafficking than I would just selling cosmetics. I’m flattered that you think so highly of me,” and she didn’t miss the quick examination he gave her, “but I’d rather feel like I was standing for something. You know what I mean?”
Her former boss nodded carefully, and drifted the helicopter down over the taller buildings in Seattle. Already, Lacey thought she could see the helipad lights at KZTB. She held her breath as they made the final descent, hoping Greg wasn’t planning her any harm. She’d probably shown her hand more than she should, and his wariness was barely hidden. Though she thought him morally bankrupt, she knew he wasn’t stupid. Still, she wasn’t an idiot herself; Greg could be outmaneuvered with a little careful thought. And that involved making sure he wasn’t thinking so carefully.
She briefly considered trying to capitalize on whatever mistake she had made in the warehouse, but the mere memory of being close to him made her skin crawl. She did, however, take his proffered hand after they set down, and he hurried over to get her door. As she stepped down, he took both her hands in his; it took all her willpower to not pull away.
“Sorry again about Orochi,” Greg said. “Thanks for taking time to hear me out. I know things have been pretty rough on you, especially with your ex. Were you two… close?”
Lacey bit her lip and looked away, allowing him to take that however he would. Greg baited, and reached up to stroke her face. “It’s hard to lose someone you love. I can’t make up for him being gone, but hopefully,” and he flicked a glance to the side, “I’ve given you some things to think about tonight.” He locked eyes with her, and she could tell he was still dwelling on what had almost happened in the warehouse.
“Sure you won’t come back to work? I’ll give you a week’s paid bereavement leave, just because. Think about what I said—the show, you as a producer, that cause you were talking about. We could do great things for the station. For us.”
She cringed inside at the way he said “us,” but kept her reaction measured. “Let me sleep on it, Greg. Thanks for the ride back to the station.”
“Hey, beats walking clear from the industrial district.” He chuckled lightly, and Lacey gave him a courtesy smile as she stepped away.
She could tell he was hoping for at least a peck on the cheek, but she wasn’t about to honor that. “Goodnight, Greg. I’ll be in touch.” She turned quickly away and strode for her car. She wasn’t sure how well she’d sleep on anything, tonight. Where are you, Victor?
No response came, and a small tremor of betrayal rippled through her. She’d have words with him next time he showed up. If nothing else, she was sure he’d attend his own funeral. And if he didn’t show up before then, she’d make sure he was glad he was already dead.
The irony of the fact that he could no longer “run for his life” was not wasted on Victor St. John as he ran, leapt, and flew through the darker parts of Seattle. The demons were on his heels, hissing coldly as they always did. He’d seen them as soon as he’d accidentally thrown himself from the helicopter Lacey and… that guy… were in, and the demons had seen him too.
A claw raked across his side, sending a searingly cold sensation through him. He tried dodging around a corner, only to be forcibly reminded of why that no longer worked; three of the dark spirits burst through the wall next to him, surrounding him instantly. Throwing himself toward the sky, he grimaced as their attacks on his mind dragged him toward dark places.
“Rao? Tibbits? Cat? Hey! Why you gotta leave me again?” The cat didn’t answer, and he had the sinking feeling that she probably wouldn’t save him any sooner than the last second, as she had during his first encounter with Legion in Tokyo. That meant that his only hope was finding a sanctuary in time. The only problem was, he didn’t know this part of Seattle—he’d always avoided it in life—and he didn’t have the time to pick random strangers’ brains on the off chance that they might just happen to be thinking about how to reach the nearest church.
Twisting and turning through the city streets, Victor tried desperately to recall what Rao had taught him about warding demons. He knew, from Rao, they couldn’t stand much light, and that they couldn’t stand truth. But what did that mean? He’d tried quoting facts at them—heck, he’d quoted scriptures and Catholic catechisms—but his efforts hadn’t even phased the creatures. And light, well, nothing in nighttime Seattle could glow like Rao had when she’d first saved him and, in fact, the spirits seemed quite comfortable with neon lighting, if the number of demons he’d seen hanging around bars was any indication. All he could do was keep forcing himself forward through his growing despair and desire to curl up into a ball and cease to exist. He felt himself slowing down, felt Legion beginning to surge around him.