She slid the card from its envelope and opened it. It was a tightly folded three-panel thing made from handmade paper that smelled faintly of the lavender from the arrangement. Ruby couldn’t help but smile when she recognized the handwriting as Jaccob’s. One of the things she found most endearing about him was his penchant for handwritten notes. This particular quirk in a man who ran a technology company so large his logo was on the back of nearly every electronic communication device in town was particularly adorable.
"Dear Ruby," the little card read, "I am so sorry to hear you’re under the weather. I understand these headaches can be brutal. My assistant assures me you likely have a proper pharmaceutical remedy, but a quick search of the internet suggests certain easily procured items might also be helpful in easing your discomfort. Please accept my gifts of fragrant lavender, caffeine, red wine, and dark chocolate in hopes of helping you feel better. And if these things prove to be no help in improving your condition, then I trust you will find enjoyment in them once you have recovered. Feel better, Jaccob."
Ruby was beaming as she held the little card to her chest. This was an unexpected and wonderful surprise. She couldn’t imagine a more delightful side effect of her feigned illness than this very personal and very thoughtful gift from her would-be beau. Maybe she’d have to fake a headache more often. Future headaches were a matter for another day, however. Today, she would be satisfied with the progress his lovely gift signified ... and with having one of the delicious-looking chocolate bars for lunch. Whether her migraine was real or imaginary, dark chocolate could go a long way toward improving her afternoon.
Spurred on by chocolate and the thrill of having received Jaccob’s gift, Ruby spent the rest of Monday afternoon making remarkable progress. She could use the Eye, focus power through it--or, rather, focus its power through her. She was able to feel it and sense it and tune into it even when she was no longer touching it. It was clear she was channeling power--that the power wasn’t yet hers. But it was still an excellent development in her quest to regain her power, a giant step in the right direction. She might not have power of her own, but there was power she could use, and that was a marked improvement over her former condition.
By the end of the day, she had been confident enough in her use of the item, and in her mastery of the little magic she had gained access to, that she was able to bring it out of her sanctuary and onto the main floor of her house. And by the time the sun had set, she had enough confidence in her ability to interact with the thing that she decided to head back to the penthouse. Granted, she did so with the Eye securely inside of an earth-filled lead box she had long ago cast a ward upon. On top of those precautions, she’d only been willing to make the trip inside of her similarly shielded town car, but she had gone home.
It had been her intention to move into the Ruby Tower full time as soon as her apartment was ready. The result of that decision was that her favorite items of wardrobe, décor, and personal comfort had been relocated to the penthouse weeks ago. It wasn’t that her rooms in the Regency Heights mansion were at all uncomfortable, just that she had already begun to feel more at home in the high-rise downtown.
And, of course, Stardust did not live across the street from her house in Regency Heights. She very likely wouldn’t see him tonight. But he’d know she was home. She fired off a quick text from the car letting him know how much she appreciated his very thoughtful gift. He’d see her lights on--she’d make sure to leave them burning late into the night. He’d probably think about coming over; he probably wouldn’t actually stop by.
But he’d be thinking about her, like he’d been thinking about her today.
And that was enough to satisfy her for now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ruby had originally been against the idea of building a helipad on top of her tower. She’d wanted more of an art deco feel to the roofline--graduated tiers leading to an antenna--along the lines of the Chrysler or Empire State building. But when Arsho had explained the break they would get on their insurance premium by putting in the helipad (something about the ability to evacuate people off the roof in case of a fire or some such--truly she’d stopped listening after the dollar figure), she’d made the practical choice and agreed to it. The building was still exquisite, even with its more squared-off top, and she was saving almost a million dollars a year on insuring it. Ruby wasn’t often one to go in for compromise, but that was one she could get behind.
The only time anyone had ever landed on the thing had been when the Fire Marshal had come to inspect it. There were times when Ruby had all but forgotten it was there. So when she’d gotten a frantic phone call from Arsho telling her that Marine One was incoming with the President of the United States aboard, it took a moment for that to register. She’d made that call to Prather’s office trying to get ahold of Loki. And when it had come out that the President wasn’t currently on intimate terms with his immortal benefactor, she’d thought that would be the end of it.
She hadn’t dreamed the President would so much as try to call her back, never mind showing up on her rooftop. Even with her powers intact, Ruby wouldn’t have been certain she could assert her will over an avatar of Loki, and these days she knew she had no magical will to assert. So she hadn’t considered any relationship with Mr. President to be in the cards.
But, she figured, as she watched the famous helicopter descend toward her building’s roof, apparently her overture to Prather had made some sort of impression. With or without the aid of magic, she was about to have to deal with him.
She wasn’t altogether sure at first how she was going to play this. Lyle Prather was an ass. And he was a moron. He’d only ever gotten anywhere in life thanks to Loki’s influence. And as much as Ruby didn’t mind using the god herself when it suited her purposes, she drew a firm distinction between using Loki and Loki using her. The latter was never going to happen. But that was Prather’s entire raison d’etre. Still, he was the President of the United States and he was paying her a call. She supposed the least she could do was meet him on the helipad.
But then she changed her mind. The helipad was windy, and having a giant rotor-driven machine landing on it was only going to make it more so. It wouldn’t do to entertain a sitting President and the avatar of an immortal with her hair all askew. She fired off a text to Arsho instructing them to have Prather brought to her private office--the one in the residence, on the fiftieth floor, with the view of the river. Arsho answered instantly that they were already on the roof and trying to placate some very perturbed members of the United States Secret Service.
Ruby, who had no time for caring about the squabbles of the nation’s chief executive and his government-issued minders, rode her private elevator up to her penthouse and stationed herself behind her rococo desk to wait and see if Prather was going to show up. She knew there was every chance his security detail would overpower him and strap him back in the helicopter for a tantrum-filled trip back to D.C., but if he made it into her office, she’d talk to him.
Ruby took a moment to check her email while she waited; Jaccob had taken to sending her pictures of puppies or kittens or baby pandas he randomly found in the internet, and if she didn’t go through them regularly, they clogged her inbox to the point of exasperation. She was still laughing at one of these unsolicited examples of cuteness when Prather came through her office door.
He spun around immediately and shut it behind him, turning the tumbler to the lock suspiciously, as though he were on the run from the law. Of course, if he’d slipped his Secret Service detail between here and the roof, she supposed technically he was.
"What’s the matter, Prather," she called to him from behind her desk, "afraid of police brutality?"
Prather’s eyes got wide as he took a step away from the door. He shot one nervous glance behind him and then looked back at Ruby.
"You know that doesn’t happen to rich white guys, right?" she teased.
The President shook his head as he c
ontinued toward Ruby’s desk and took a seat across from her. The closer he got, the more obvious his distress became.
He looked like hell. For a fellow who was the acknowledged most powerful person in the world, who had gotten everything he’d ever wanted out of life, he seemed awfully miserable to Ruby. His skin was so pale and clammy that if Ruby hadn’t known better, she’d have guessed he’d had a run-in with Plague on his way into the office. Something was dreadfully wrong, and she did not want to hear about it. But she had a very distinct feeling she was about to.
Prather bent over then, collapsing at the middle with his head in his hands. If he was going to cry right now, Ruby was going to throw him out. She had no time for such inappropriate displays of emotion, even from the leader of the free world.
"He won’t talk to me," Lyle whimpered. "He won’t answer when I call."
Ruby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. The "he" Prather was speaking of had to be Loki. Who else would he be so upset over losing touch with? And why else would Ruby be the one he was unloading on? The fact that Prather had been a some-time avatar of the god wasn’t public knowledge. She guessed there was a very limited subset of people who knew, and an even more limited number who had ever interacted with Loki themselves.
As the President of the United States sat before her, whining like a preschooler in her baroque parlor chair, Ruby began to wonder if maybe she was alone in that regard.
"You do understand how this whole ‘avatar’ thing works right? You’re in his service, Prather," she reminded the President, "not the other way around. He is an immortal god, which more than trumps your temporary elevation to most powerful public servant. Maybe he’s just reminding you which one is boss."
"But he used to--" Prather stammered. "--he was always there. Why won’t he come to me now? He got me here. And I need him. Why isn’t he here when I need him?"
"Because he doesn’t like being summoned." Ruby rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Will you listen to yourself, Prather? You’re beginning to sound like those pathetic evangelicals you had to court during the election. Oh, why hast my god forsaken me?!" she mocked. "It’s pitiful. And it’s unbecoming of the office. You want to know why Loki isn’t returning your calls? Here’s my best guess: you’re a little high-profile these days, Mister President. You’re sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb. I’d guess the last thing Loki might want is for word to get out that the acknowledged most powerful mortal on the planet is bound to his service. He’ll call you when he needs you," she assured him, "and not a moment before. Until then, you get to be the President. So go out there and be the god-damned President. Pun intended."
"But--" Prather began to challenge her.
"Did I stutter?" Ruby snapped.
"But I don’t know how to be the President," he whined. "I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! I thought he’d be here, I thought he’d help me."
Ruby rolled her eyes. This really was one of the most pathetic displays of humanity she’d ever seen in her life. Here he was--the President of the United States, throwing a tantrum in her office like a scolded child.
"Just do what you’ve been doing," she counseled with a shrug. "Smile and wave, go on tour. Enjoy your fame. Hell," she added, " pretend you’re one of the Young Dudes. I can have them play a show for you if you want. You’d get to stand on stage with them and everything."
The idea of a White House concert had come to her not long after she’d spoken to Prather on the telephone. She wasn’t sure whether seeing her talent associated with the current administration would be altogether beneficial, but she was sure if they were going to do such a thing, sooner was better than later. Having a show at the White House this early in the Prather administration left the artists better than three years in which to turn around and denounce the man. If it was going to happen, now was the time. She’d wanted to run the idea by Loki first, just to make sure, but if Loki and Prather weren’t on the best of terms at the moment, she figured the god couldn’t likely care less if she exploited his avatar for a little publicity.
"Do you think they’d let me sing?" Prather asked, his voice suddenly hopeful as he sat up straight in the chair for the first time since he’d come in.
For the dozenth time in so many minutes, Ruby rolled her eyes. "Don’t press your luck."
Prather’s whole bearing wilted. He looked back up at her with an expression that reminded Ruby very much of one of the puppy pictures Jaccob had emailed her. It was pitiful.
"Maybe for the finale," she allowed, "but not with a microphone."
The President shrugged, but seemed a bit more chipper than he had a minute ago.
"Now," Ruby addressed him firmly as she stood from her seat, "shall I walk you out, or will the Secret Service pounce on me? Normally I’d go in for that sort of thing, but I’m seeing someone."
"Yeah," Prather replied. "I heard about that."
"Congratulations," Ruby snarked. "It seems you own a television."
"They won’t hurt you," he promised.
Ruby inclined her head in a gesture that told him in no uncertain terms she wasn’t sure she believed him, and that he had better be correct. Knowing what he did about her, and about her relationship to Loki, she was sure he understood.
It was fortunate for all involved that Prather’s detail didn’t seem to mind her in the slightest when her office doors opened and the two of them passed through them. Ruby had to stop for a moment to admire the way Prather had managed to pull himself together. In the few moments it had taken them to cross from one room into another, he’d gone from a blubbering wreck to his wholly recognizable, pompous, puffed-up self. Sometimes it was easy to forget Prather had gotten his start in infotainment, but his ability to turn this façade on and off was a dead giveaway. He might be a downright lousy president, but this was one trait Ruby could point to that made him one hell of a good politician.
They spoke in generalizations and pleasantries all the way out of the penthouse, through the glass doors to the terrace, and up the stairs to the helipad, Prather rattling on about how he was excited to work with her on a concert, and Ruby gushing about what an honor it was to be invited to the White House. Anybody who had ever met either one of them would surely have been able to tell it was all total bull. But it didn’t matter. The feigned politeness was enough to keep the Secret Service from appearing to give a damn about Ruby’s being in such proximity to the President.
She walked Prather and his entourage all the way onto the helipad, where she found Arsho standing, almost at attention, staring at the shiny black Sikorsky sitting there. "You wanna walk up and touch it?" Ruby whispered in her employee’s ear, just as she and Prather parted company. The rotors were beginning to spin, and the President and his detail were moving quickly so as to get aboard before the rotor wash became too unpleasant. "I bet Prather would let you touch it," she added.
Arsho, who had started mightily at the first comment in their ear, had finally managed to get ahold of themself. "No, ma’am, Miss Killingsworth," Arsho answered, very obviously trying not to appear too rattled by their boss’s surprise words in their ear.
Ruby laughed out loud at her employee. She had never in her life met anyone more consummately professional than Arsho Barsamian. Ruby didn’t like people, she didn’t care for most of humanity in the slightest, but she had a soft spot for Arsho for some reason. Which was a damned good thing, she reasoned, since it had been Arsho’s good intentions that had fouled up her ritual last Christmas and cost her her powers to begin with. Still, her building manager was good with money, even better with tenants, and worth every damned dime Ruby paid them.
And she’d have her magic back soon enough. Arsho hadn’t meant to do her any harm, nor had they any idea they had. No, they could be forgiven soon enough, and for now it was best for all involved not to dwell on past mistakes.
Ruby elected to stay on the helipad to watch Marine One’s departure. She hadn’t ever seen a helicopter
come or go from her building before, and she realized she enjoyed the thought of the President of the United States popping by like this, although she would have much preferred the person holding that office to be someone other than the man who currently occupied it. The wind was almost as bad as she’d feared, but she figured there was no harm in her hair being mussed after a presidential visit. She’d just go down to her rooms and fix it before getting back to work for the day.
Marine One was still nearby, clearly visible over the afternoon skyline, when Arsho’s phone began to buzz. They looked at it quickly before excusing themself and dashing away. Once again, Ruby was glad it wasn’t her job to deal with whatever it was that had her building’s manager running at top speed from the rooftop.
Ruby still had her gaze fixed on Marine One as it continued its trip over Cobalt City when she heard a familiar rumbling behind her. She smoothed her hair almost frantically, still watching the sky in the distance until she recognized Stardust was indeed coming in for a landing just to her left. She hoped she’d done enough to repair whatever damage the presidential helicopter had done to her appearance.
Ruby smiled as she turned to face her guest. Even with her hair not at its best, she’d much rather be entertaining Stardust than Prather.
"Was that--?" Stardust asked her, his voice a peculiar mix of wonder and annoyance.
Ruby couldn’t tell whether he was more impressed or confused. Either way, at this point in their association, she liked that she had him guessing.
"It was," she affirmed, folding her hands at her waist and inclining her head toward the ever-shrinking dot in the sky that was Marine One on its return trip to Washington.
Stardust frowned distinctly--it was clearly a frown of consternation, and the most severe she’d ever seen the hero look. "Huh," he replied after a moment. "My capital really has slipped."
Rites & Desires Page 11