Illusion

by C. L. Roman

  "Faiza, I will go to the meeting tomorrow, but I do not think I will accept the... the... oh what is the word? The work?"

  "The job. Why not?"

  "Yes, I do not think I can accept this model job. I must continue to try and find Jotun."

  "I know this. How is your search going, if I may ask?"

  Gwyneth sighed. "Not well. Without identification, I cannot file the missing person’s report as you suggested. Amal says that if the police find out I am here without permission, I will be sent home."

  Faiza gave her a searching look, but didn't ask where 'home' might be. "From your description of him, Jotun would be difficult to miss, if he were in the city. A job would provide you with the resources to hire a private investigator." At Gwyneth's puzzled look she explained, "A person who makes a living looking for things people don't want them to find."

  "And you think Jotun doesn't want me to find him?"

  "Oh, my dear. From what you told me, Jotun does not know what to want. Let us hope we can figure out a way to reach him."

  Gwyneth thought about what Faiza had said and the next morning, she was ready to listen, if not to commit.

  The bistro where they met for lunch bristled with energy. People moved in and out, heads down, phones out, conversations on fast forward. Those who took seats with companions talked as fast as those on their cells. Heads turned and voices quieted when she entered the restaurant, but the noise quickly regained volume. Gwyneth allowed the conversation to wash around her and did her best to ignore the attention.

  She and Amal had just taken their seats when Cole and Xavier walked in. Standing, Amal introduced them.

  "You are the man at the shop," Gwyneth said in English.

  Clearly pleased to be remembered, Cole said, "I am. I wondered if you would remember me." He and Xavier took their seats.

  "I kept your card," she said, and he smiled at her.

  "You've been learning English."

  "I have. It is not so good yet, my English. But I have two wonderful tutors so, I learn it fast."

  Cole looked to Amal, who grinned. "My sons, Ben and Yusef. They are quite infatuated with her."

  "I can see why," Xavier said. "Look at that skin, and your hair. Girl! You are going to rock New York's socks off."

  Gwyneth laughed. "This is good? To rock the socks?"

  "This is very good," Cole said. "Have you given any thought to our offer?"

  She took a sip of her tea. "I have, some. But you should understand, I am looking for my husband still. I must make of this search a priority, yes?"

  "Of course, I understand completely. Have you had any luck so far?"

  "None, but I will keep trying." The table was silent for a moment until she continued. "In the meantime, I must live, and in your culture, one needs moneys to live. So, how will our arrangement work?"

  "Well, Amal tells me you lost your papers in a robbery, so..." At this, Gwyneth sent Amal a startled look and Cole hesitated. "In our country you need identification papers and, if you are from another country, you need permission from our government to work here."

  "I know this, but —"

  Cole tensed. "These are the papers you lost in a robbery. Do you understand?"

  "I understand your words, but I cannot —"

  "We are in the process of obtaining new papers for her right now," Amal cut in smoothly. "It shouldn't take long, but in the meantime it would be best if you simply held the majority of her pay until she can get official documentation."

  "Of course. Whatever cash she might need, I can provide for her and hold the rest until she is ready to receive it." Cole's words came out slowly, as if he were considering each one before he spoke it.

  "But — I need to hire a private detective."

  "That won't be a problem," Cole said. "For the time being, the company can pay for it and then, take the funds out of what we owe you."

  Amal frowned. "And you will present her with the receipts then, and reports?"

  "Exactly," said Xavier. "Trust is dandy, but paperwork proves it, I always say."

  Cole looked at him. "You do?"

  "Absolutely. Now, we have a photo shoot set for Thursday, and you'll need a complete body makeover before then."

  "But, I haven't agreed..." The three men looked at her expectantly. Finally, she shrugged. "What else have I to do? But why do I need this 'body make-over?' I thought you said I was going to rock the socks?"

  "And you will my dear, but not with those eyebrows."

  Cole rolled his eyes. "He would give a makeover to the Mona Lisa. Pay him no attention. We will want to get your hair trimmed though and..."

  The rest of the luncheon passed in planning the coming days. Amal had already researched a good private detective agency but Gwyneth insisted on meeting them before moving forward. He promised to make an appointment with them as soon as possible. They finished their lunch and as they stood, Xavier took her arm.

  "Girl, I have got to take you to my favorite salon this afternoon. The mani-pedi they provide ought to be registered as a schedule one controlled substance. It is that good."

  Bewildered, Gwyneth looked over her shoulder, but Amal just smiled and waved her on. He seemed to feel that she was in good hands so she relaxed and listened to Xavier prattle on about foot massages and hand creams that would, "Make your skin feel like Eve's in the garden. Although I must say, she probably had terrible skin. All that sun and not a bottle of sunscreen in sight."

  As Xavier led Gwyneth away down the avenue, Cole turned to Amal. "So, you want to tell me what that was all about? You aren't a man to take advantage of an innocent, so what kind of game are you running here?"

  "I told the truth when I said we are working on papers for her."

  "So, she's an illegal? Where is she from anyway? She's taller than the tallest woman in Guinness, yet perfectly formed and healthy and she speaks no language I ever heard."

  "She speaks a sort of Arabic," Amal said defensively.

  "What dialect?"

  Amal's shoulders slumped. "I have no idea. But she makes herself understood and she has been very kind to our family."

  "What do you mean?"

  Amal told him about the increased profits at their kiosk since Gwyneth's arrival. "She is a natural sales woman. She never pushes, but anything she admires, others automatically want to have. I've never seen anything like it, but that isn't the most important thing," he said, and downed a healthy swallow of his tea.

  "Two weeks ago, Yusef was playing with some boys on our street. Gwyneth was sitting on the front steps with Faiza, watching and talking. Just at dusk the boys were coming in, but Yusef, being Yusef, was stalling, throwing the ball up in the air and daring the other boys to come back for one more round. Faiza says he never even saw the car. It came around the corner weaving like crazy, but headed straight for our boy. She froze. She felt a movement at her side and the next thing she knew, Gwyneth was snatching Yusef out of harm’s way with only inches to spare. The car never even slowed down, but our child was safe, because of her."

  Cole swallowed hard. "Faiza must have been terrified."

  "Faiza is convinced that Gwyneth is Yusef's mu'aqqibat, sent by Allah to protect our boy, and maybe our family."

  Cole scratched his head. "But didn't you tell me that angels are made of light, and they have no gender?"

  Amal grinned, nodding. "But try telling my wife that. She says God's ways are mysterious and not for us to question. Her boy is alive and to her, that is what matters. As for myself — I don't care if she is an ifrit. Demon or angel, I owe her a debt I can never repay. Helping her find her way? It is nothing in comparison."

  "I see your point. So, you have a line on forged papers for her?"

  "I know a guy."

  Cole's brows rose. "Incorruptible Amal "knows a guy"?"

  A dull flush crept up the other man's cheeks at the mention of the old nick name. "I did not say I knew him well."

  "The world is full of wonders. Let's go se
e your guy and put this thing in motion. I want to get her set up as soon as possible." He took out his cell phone and tapped Xavier's picture. "Yeah, Xavier, we're going to need a photo of her. There's a one-hour photo place on Lexington that does passport photos. Take her there and bring the picture to the shop."

  Four hours and $300.00 later, Amal's "guy" had delivered with unexpected speed and efficiency. Gwyneth and Cole stood alone in the Garment District studio as he handed Gwyneth her new identification. A green card and a social security card.

  "Looks like I won't need to hold your pay after all," Cole told her. "And, once you learn to drive, you can use those to get a license if you want."

  She glanced out the window at the loudly packed streets and shivered. "No thank you. I hope not to be here that long. So." She looked at him. "What will be next?"

  "Tomorrow we'll set you up with a bank account so we can pay you above the table instead of under it. After that, you have a spa day and I come back here and start cutting on the new line."

  She frowned. "Under the table? Would it not be easier to simply put the money in my hand?"

  Cole gave a shout of laughter. "Yes. Yes it would and I will do that, I promise."

  "And you must cut up the line?"

  He sighed. "Unfortunately, the very thing that makes you stand out means that all the clothes you model will have to be remade to fit you. In most cases, we're going to have to start from scratch." He gestured toward the door and they got into the elevator together. "On the upside, you get a whole new wardrobe because whatever fits you is not going to fit any other model." He left out the added bonus that she would be wearing his designs exclusively for the foreseeable future and gestured toward the door. "So, let me put you in a cab, and I'll see you in the morning?"

  "All right. Let me ask you one thing first though." She held out her hand to him, displaying neatly trimmed nails in violent purple with neon blue stripes. "Is this a normal manicure?"

  Cole shook his head. "Well, for Xavier it's actually pretty tame. He generally comes home with some kind of animal print on his toes. I'll set you up with a color change for tomorrow."

  "Color change?" she asked, staring at her skin.

  "Trust me. We'll take care of you. Taxi!" he shouted, and a yellow cab slid up to the curb. "Get some rest," he said, handing her into the cab. "Tomorrow is going to be a blow out." He saw her mouthing the words, '...blow out?' as the cab pulled away.

  Surt slammed his fist onto the oak coffee table and a jagged crack sprang from under his hand to run down the middle. "I told you this would happen. You spooked them and now they've moved the summit." The TV on the wall, tuned to a local news station, rattled against its bolts but continued its recap of the day's information in muted tones.

  "It is a minor complication. In fact, it may even be an advantage. I admit though, finding where and when they've moved it to without spooking them will be a challenge." Jotun sat back in his chair and crossed his legs with a contemplative air.

  "No. We don't wait. We go to his house and snatch him up."

  Jotun shook his head. "There are too many eyes there."

  "Then we close them permanently, simple."

  "Always the bloodiest solution with you. I told you, murder draws attention we cannot afford. The girl you killed on the train? Her face still flashes across the news every night. They search for you even now." Surt shot him a startled look and Jotun rolled his eyes. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? You insist on watching the news every evening to glean information. I remember her."

  "If I were to hunt, I could get the necessary energy to change my appearance. Then —"

  "Then there would be another body, or worse, a live witness, and the search for you would grow more intense. Control your appetites, Surt. Order your steak tartar and be satisfied with it."

  "I do not need meat," Surt said.

  "Well, it is unlikely that room service will bring you a warm glass of blood, so you must settle."

  Surt's eyes blazed and he surged to his feet. "It is so easy for you, with your battle glow and your refined appetites. For me it is different."

  Templing his fingers, Jotun stared at him over the tips. "Yes, I've noticed our needs are different, but if we are both fire giants, then should we not be the same?"

  Surt stomped over to the suite's kitchenette. Whipping open the refrigerator, he avoided Jotun's inquiring gaze by pulling out a beer. "I have a condition," he muttered after taking a long swig.

  "What kind of condition?"

  "I was..." Surt's glance shifted from the window to the bathroom door and back again. "Injured in a battle long ago. I took a mortal wound and it festered, poisoned my blood, so that now I require blood, not to live but to remain healthy and strong." He curled his lip. "You would not understand."

  "No, I do not. But if you say it is so..." he let his words trail off, writing the question in the air. Surt did not reply. "Our next step is still to find the new location and date of the summit. They will want someplace either very quiet or very noisy. I think they will choose noisy..."

  "What they choose will not matter if we cannot get the information in time."

  "Then we will have to move quickly. Do not concern yourself. We will find a way. Sabaoth will help us."

  Surt grimaced. "I am sure you are right." Grabbing up an overcoat, he headed for the door.

  "Where are you going?" Jotun asked.

  "To the zoo. I need to clear my head."

  "Don't kill any of the animals. These humans seem to like them more than their fellows."

  A low growl was the only response as Surt slammed the door on his way out.

  Jotun turned his attention to the computer. Killing Conroy would not be wise, but a reconnaissance mission to his home might be just what was needed to move things along. What was the name of that search machine Surt talked about? Ah, yes.

  He pecked out the letters in the search bar. G - O - O...

  Starting with the man's full name, finding his home address proved no more challenging than flipping through the first three pages of search results. A few clicks later, Jotun had a location in Maryland, but hesitated on his way out the door.

  A slight change to his appearance would be wise. A moment’s concentration replaced his normal look with longish, brown hair and thinner, older features. How to get to his destination required more deliberation.

  The Shift would be faster, and less detectable than flying. Plus, he could be sure of arriving at the exact location rather than a general one. Still, something about entering the dark-in-between made him uneasy. He shrugged. It was the best way.

  A single step took him into the dark. He felt its icy touch on his skin and in the distance; a circle of lights rotated, oriented and began zooming toward him.

  Jotun's heart rate rocketed, slamming against his ribs. The temperature rose so rapidly that he started sweating with his first breath.

  Got to get out.

  The lights surrounded him. "Choose," a voice intoned.

  "No!" The lights jumped closer, nearly on him before he could re-focus on his destination and step out of the Shift. The gentle hills and houses of rural Maryland popped into focus as he fell to his knees, gasping and shaking in the frost crunched grass. At the top of the hill a quaint red farm house gazed out over green pastures. A horse, roan with white splotches on his hindquarters, stared at Jotun over the fence. Pain screamed up the back of Jotun's neck, cascaded over his head and rained down over the rest of his body. With a groan, he forced himself to his feet.

  "You ok, Mister?"

  Jotun looked up. A young boy, maybe ten summers, stood staring at him, a slingshot in one hand and a smooth stone in the other. Along the fence line a scattering of fallen soda cans gave evidence of his expertise. Jotun swayed and the child dropped his slingshot and ran forward.

  "You better come up to the house," he said. The boy took Jotun's hand and the angel's eyes widened. The pain was gone.

  "It’s all right," Jotun sa
id. "I was feeling — poorly. But it has passed now. What is your name?"

  "David Conroy," the boy answered. "I still think you should come to the house. You look a little sickish."

  A grin tugged at the corner of Jotun's mouth, but he faced the child squarely. "Sickish, is it? Well then, perhaps I will come with you."

  The boy led him along the faint path next to the fence and into the yard proper. A woman stood on the porch, one hand covered in a dish towel held across her torso, the other on her hip.

  "Who is this then, David?"

  "This is," he looked up at Jotun and bit his lip. From the corner of his mouth, he whispered, "What's your name, Mister?"

  "Call me Joe," Jotun whispered back.

  "This is Joe, Mama. He 'bout passed out near the road down there and you said we need to entertain angels unaware of us, so I brought him up here."

  The woman's eyes twinkled and her lips tightened. "I said we need to be kind to strangers. The angel's thing is from the Bible. Are you all right, Sir? My son is not wrong; you do look a little winded."

  "I’ve, uhm, been traveling...a long way, and just sat down to rest a bit. Your son was kind enough to invite me up to your house, but I should be going now."

  "David is good at kind thoughts." She gestured with one hand to a rocker on the porch. "Why don't you sit a moment? I'll get you some water." Jotun nodded and she spoke to the boy. "David, you run in the house and get Joe some water."

  David sprinted up the steps, the door slamming to behind him and Jotun eased himself into one of the rockers. "You don't need that, you know," he said to her.

  She pulled the towel off the pistol. "Probably not, but I like to be prepared."

  "Yet you offered me water instead of sending me off."

  "Being careful does not require one to be inhospitable."

  "I see."

  "Where are you traveling to?" she asked as David brought out the water. Jotun noticed that the gun was once more concealed under the towel.

  "I am hitchhiking across America, seeing the nation. I started in New York about a month ago."

  "Alone? That is brave of you."