Trickster’s Hunt

by Kel Carpenter

  That was when I realised I was paying close attention to his mouth and looked up into his eyes. His deep chocolate eyes. I looked over his shoulder.

  “The mother of all fuck ups?”

  He laughed, and finally moved away, looking back to the now embracing, newly-engaged couple. I swallowed and did the same and couldn’t help wondering if that would ever be me. But then, would anyone ever want to marry an always hungry, greedy layabout who’s also apparently racist?

  “I’m sorry.”

  It was inadequate, but it was all I had.

  He looked at me in confusion. “For what?”

  “For assuming you worked at the hotel. I shouldn’t have. Are you staying there?”

  I had to ask. Maybe he knew Amos. Maybe I was assuming stupid shit again. I hadn’t really thought of Amos until then, and the memory set my cheeks aflame. Kissing strangers in hotel lobbies wasn’t usually my style, but he was worth sullying myself for.

  “Think nothing of it, Miss. Are you staying in the city for long?”

  “Until Sunday morning. You?”

  “I have been here for several years. It is a beautiful part of the world.”

  I gazed around, wondering what he could possibly think was beautiful about an overcrowded metropolis. There were just too many people, and the tourists and fat flapping pigeons ruined the whole atmosphere of the place. Must have just been me.

  “Yeah. Doubt I’ll be rushing back, if I’m honest. I prefer heat and sand if I’m going to find somewhere beautiful to visit. And I guess I expect more from the architecture.”

  He smiled, and I took the final bite of my waffle. I didn’t have to elaborate if my mouth was full.

  “What are your plans for today?”

  I continued chewing as I considered my answer. Was ‘sod all’ a suitable response? Was ‘getting to you know better, gorgeous’ too much?

  “I dunno. I hadn’t planned anything. I fancied a walk after breakfast and found myself sitting here.”

  “I can recommend Kensington Gardens. Less crowded. More open space.”

  At that point, I wondered if he was going to offer to go with me. It wasn’t like me, but I was on holiday and he sought me out for a reason. I missed out the night before. No need to continue the losing streak, was there? In for a penny and all that. But he stood up.

  “It was a pleasure to see you. I hope our paths cross again before you leave.”

  I tried to smile, but I think I just pulled a face since he didn’t say anything more and turned, moving down the steps and into the crowds. I watched him, his soft curls bouncing as he descended, and I sat wondering what the hell had just happened until I couldn’t see him anymore.

  The couple had moved on, the gathered tourists had dispersed a bit, and I looked out toward the National Gallery. The iconic structure was impressive, with its domed roof and huge pillars. I supposed it was beautiful, when you really sat and looked at it. The whole area was. Ignoring the crowds and the pigeons, I looked around and thought about it. The architecture was actually nice, and the city was rich with history. There were buildings and pubs that were several hundred years old. Some structures were almost a thousand years old. That was impressive. There seemed to be a lot of parks situated in the city, the deep shades of green breaking up the monotony of the concrete. And the bronze sculptures and fountains were incredible.

  Yeah. Rhett was right. As I took in the tiny details around me, I realized it really was a beautiful part of the world.

  I ended up visiting the gallery.

  In my defence, it was free, and I was there on the doorstep, so to speak. Adam would have been pleased.

  I will admit to being mildly entertained looking at the various works of art. Some impressed me more than others, admittedly, but if we all loved the same sort of stuff, we’d all be boring. So I refuse to apologise for thinking the horse one was crap. Not that I could have done any better, but that isn’t the point.

  There was one, though, that I thought looked like a portrait of a current day actor, but apparently it was painted in 1901. So either Picasso was a time traveller, or the guy had a doppelganger. The nerd in me hoped it was the former.

  I ate there, which meant that it hadn’t been a free day out, but not having had to pay to get in kind of balanced it out. At least I was properly fed and wasn’t given a piddly little portion of something with foam as a condiment, or a scabby looking sandwich that was eighty percent rocket.

  Sadly, there was no further sign of the dishy not-waiter Rhett, and over my solitary lunch, I found myself daydreaming about Amos. Or, more specifically, chastising myself for not pulling him into that lift with me. I could have gone all night with that one, I swear.

  Rhett clearly wasn’t interested. Why should he be after my mistaking him for a waiter? It was a shitty thing to have done, and I certainly wouldn’t do it again. He’d been bothered enough to set me straight. He’d recognised me among all those people, gone out of his way to come and sit with me, to speak to me, only to pull me up on my faux pas. Who does that?

  And, was he flirting? The way he spoke in my ear… I shivered at the thought of it.

  Away from the hotel, I thought more about the crazy week. A choking incident at an eating comp. You’d think that was common, but it really wasn’t. A near miss with a car that could have killed me if it’d crushed me between it and the railings I’d managed to hide behind. Not one, but three gorgeous blokes who all seemed alike. And being stalked by a weird, ball-licking cat all added up to crazy. It wasn’t normal.

  No wonder I’d taken to walking around art galleries. I was probably safer there. Nobody picked up exotic men in art galleries.

  Nobody was hit by cars in them either.

  I checked my phone. It was after two, which meant by the time I’d safely navigated my way back to the hotel, it would be three, leaving me time for a nap before dinner.

  I groaned inwardly. Dressing for dinner. I could always order room service, I suppose, but that would mean even more time entirely alone. For some reason it was starting to bother me.

  Rather than head back, I decided on another coffee and some cake. The carrot and walnut had looked particularly good. Then I could go back for my nap.

  11

  I woke from my nap at seven, and only because my phone was ringing.

  “Were you busy?”

  “Kind of…how was work?” Now that was a loaded question. It was designed to buy me time to get my head together as he droned on.

  “Awful. Shona was in floods all day. Dickhead Duane shagged that filthy whore Katy behind her back and now she has the clap. Obviously, she’s kicked him out, but she’s left itching and crying. Poor cow.”

  The ‘he said, she said’ in that office was unbelievable. I wouldn’t want to work there, but the gossip Addie brought home was very entertaining. They just didn’t seem to learn. I’d met most of them at his Christmas party and remembered Shona. She was nice enough; a bit dippy.

  Adam never took his partners to work things. They never lasted long enough to make it to a second event and he wouldn’t have them all asking questions about his love life. It was turbulent, messy, and gossip worthy. But he liked to think he was above them, so would never pass them the loaded gun.

  “Well, they will pair up with the same old losers. Have you anything to report? How’s my baby Bruno?”

  “He’s fine. Pissed off that you’ve abandoned him, but he’s still filling his fat face, so it can’t be that bad. I’ve told him you’ll be home in a few days. Have you found yourself a fuck buddy yet?”

  My thoughts drifted back to Amos and I chewed at my lip. “Almost.”

  “What does that mean? Did you pull, then brush him off? How many times have I told you to just get some?”

  “Oi, man whore, I don’t just jump into bed with the first man to kiss me.”

  “Oooh a kiss? Is he a guest? Will you see him again?”

  “He’s called Amos. He joined me for a drink last night a
nd walked me to the lift. I think he’s staying here. He was in the pool yesterday morning, then in the bar last night.”

  “Amos? Sounds freshly plucked from the bible. What was he like?”

  “Just under six, black hair, dark brown eyes. I’m assuming he’s Egyptian—this place is swarming with them. Gorgeous, even by your standards, fit. You know, my type.”

  “Your type are pushy wankers who take advantage and fuck off without a word, Maia. Is there any other talent? What about the masseuse? Did you book him again?”

  “No, I did not. I’m not so desperate that I need to lock a bloke in my room and present myself naked on a table.”

  I was. I absolutely was.

  The week was turning out to be excruciatingly painful with the amount of missed opportunities I was experiencing. But I wasn’t telling him that.

  “Prude. All these standards will lead to dryness. What else have you done?”

  That was not the issue. I didn’t tell him that either. Instead, I ran myself a bath and proceeded to tell him about my educational morning in the gallery.

  “Oh, and that waiter found me.”

  His voice raised several octaves. “Pizza guy? In Trafalgar Square? Is he stalking you?”

  I am fucking hoping so.

  “I don’t think so, but he isn’t a waiter.”

  “How did you find that out?”

  “He told me and asked if my assumption about his profession was because of his skin colour.”

  Adam could hardly breathe for laughing. “Oh, Maia. I think you can cross him off the list, honey.”

  I laughed, too. Everything about that week had been so incredibly fucked up, if I didn’t laugh, I’d have to cry. Laying it all down to Adam made it all seem even more insane.

  “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that one is a write off. Even if he had been interested, that ship has definitely sailed.”

  “Well, I’m off. I have Phillipe coming over tonight, making the most of the house being empty. Get you some, and I’ll text you!”

  He made a kissing sound down the phone and hung up abruptly. I just blinked at the handset for a moment before dropping it on the towel on the floor by the bath and sinking beneath the water.

  Dinner was okay. I was satisfied, at least, but only because I asked for three extra sides of farmhouse potatoes. Yes, I got some odd looks. No, I didn’t care. No, I wasn’t impressed with the Baileys iced parfait.

  After eating, I took myself into the bar and ordered myself a cocktail. I needed something sweet, and since the ice cream had been crap, I decided to do it with fruit juices.

  I didn’t look for company. To be honest, I didn’t really want any. If Rhett turned up again, I’d probably scream stalker. A fit stalker I’d probably invite up to my room, but it would still be weird.

  If Amos joined me I’d probably die from internal clenching, and I didn’t need that. I should probably book in for a massage…

  My thoughts were interrupted by a streak of grey to my right. I turned to the chair and frowned. “Didn’t know they let waifs and strays inside. What are you doing here?”

  The cat blinked once and licked at his paw.

  “Why do you keep following me? If you get me turfed out, I’ll catch you and skin you. Shoo.”

  The obnoxious feline started purring and rubbed his paw behind his ear.

  I looked around, confused. The doors were all closed, air conditioning on full whack, other hotel guests sipped their drinks and chatted to their companions, and the barman was in conversation with a waiter. Nobody had noticed the fleabag come in.

  When I looked back down at him, he stretched, then leapt over to sit in my lap and began kneading at my skirt.

  “Oi! Sod off!” I tried to bat him away, but he hissed at me, baring his sharp pointy teeth, and continued, claws fully extended, shredding my skin and my skirt . “Fuck off, you vicious little cretin!”

  The barman and waiter looked up in alarm as I yelled, and seeing the cat, both hurried over to the table. The cat didn’t move when they arrived, his claws cutting through the thin fabric of my summery dress and tearing it to ribbons. I started screaming, swiping my flattened palm at his snarling face. I felt a good cut on my thigh, making me hiss in pain, and I finally managed to get to my feet. “Piss off, evil little bastard! Fucking hell!”

  The two useless employees looked horrified as they swiped at the cat with their hands, not that it bothered the monster that was hanging from my leg and was biting at my clothes. All the while they were shushing me for swearing in their five-star establishment.

  I felt like telling them to kiss my arse, but I sort of needed help with the bloody cat that wouldn’t let me go and was now hissing furiously at the two men trying to dislodge him. Most of my upper right leg was visible to everyone in the bar and they all sat gawping at the scene surrounding my little table.

  In a last effort to free myself, I tipped my drink over the little shit, and with a yowl, he let me go and took off toward the bar. For all the use the hotel employees had been, I hoped he trashed it.

  “Are you alright, Miss?”

  I glared at the waiter. Was I alright?

  I was bleeding, my leg was ripped to bits, my dress was ruined, and I was covered in fifteen quid worth of piña colada. Add to that the entire bar was staring at me, one woman was shaking her head and clicking her tongue in disgust, po-faced old witch, and that fucking cat was still in the room.

  No. I was not alright.

  “Not at the moment, no. Can you have another drink brought to my room?”

  I could tell from his expression he was going to try to bill me for it.

  He could tell from my expression that I would probably break something if he did.

  Mine won.

  “Of course. Room?”

  “Two nineteen.” I was already limping away.

  I didn’t look up from the ground as I made my way up to my room, and I didn’t wait for the drink before I peeled off my dress and kicked off my pumps when the door closed behind me. I really don’t think I’d ever experienced pain like it as I sank onto the bed to examine the damage. There was no marker to show where one ended and the other began, the scratches were so many and so deep.

  “What the fuck got into him? Who let him in?”

  Yeah, I was talking to myself. I didn’t really care that I wouldn’t get an answer. I didn’t want one. The only explanation available was that the thing was possessed, and after the rest of that week’s crazy I didn’t need any more. As I set to work dabbing at the bloody mess on my thigh, there was a gentle tap on my door. I shrugged on a robe and clutched it shut.

  “Piña colada and a first aid kit, Miss. Can I help at all?”

  At least the waiter had the grace not to laugh. “No, thanks. Thank you for the first aid kit. That was kind of you.”

  He gestured I let him in, so I stepped aside and allowed him to leave the items on the bedside table. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No. Cheers.”

  He smiled and left me to it. I’d downed the drink before the door closed behind him and when I heard the lock click, I removed the robe and snatched up the little box. All it needed was a quick clean and some antiseptic cream. It’d be fine.

  It wasn’t fine.

  I couldn’t touch it. It was hot, and it was red, and it was agony. There was only one thing for it: I’d have to shower it off.

  It didn’t matter how cold I set the water, the burning pain was unbearable. I cried sitting on the edge of the bath, holding the shower head as close as I dared get it to the wounds, wondering why it had done that. How it had even gotten into the damn bar. How were its claws so sharp? Why me? What had I done to it?

  I blamed Rhett, whoever he was, for feeding the thing. Was it his cat? He said he lived in the city. Why was he feeding it in a hotel?

  My head hurt with all the stupid questions, so I turned off the water and limped back into the bedroom holding a towel to my shredded leg. There was the
tiniest tube of antiseptic in the first aid kit, and I carefully squeezed it out and dabbed it over the expanse of my thigh. I was sure it would get infected. If that happened, it could affect my performance at the final and I’d be devastated if I couldn’t compete.

  Damn cat was ruining my life!

  Unhappy and in pain, I lay on my side. Once the cream had soaked in, the scratches would dry up and hopefully begin to heal by morning. Without moving too much, I reached for my bag and the remote, turned on the TV and retrieved my phone. First off, find something to watch. At that time of night there was always a film on, so I selected the film channel and let it play to itself while I did a quick internet search on cat scratches.

  Mistake.

  Dr. Internet said I was probably going to die. The way I was feeling, that may not be a bad thing.

  Maudlin, stinging, and alone, I sprawled on the bed and watched one of my favourite crime films, contemplating my impending death by cat scratch. Everything I had thought over at the art gallery came back, and now I added devil cat to the list of weirdness that plagued my week. None of it made much sense. Not that much ever did, but then nothing ever really happened in my life.

  I must have fallen asleep despite the pain because the film ended very differently that night.

  12

  Rhett

  I glared at him.

  He had decided to stake some sort of claim on her without knowing the first thing about her. A plan to keep her with him? Because of the burning mark? Not only was it dangerous, but he made it sound as if she had no say in this plan.

  “Are you so busy letting your cock make the decisions for you, Silas, that you cannot see the risk she poses to us?”

  Amos’s brows rose, but he did not bother to say anything. He remained on Silas’s pillows with his hands behind his head, looking mildly amused. He was as bad. He had kissed her despite the risk.

  “She is a girl, Rhett. Beautiful, fuckable…tell me she doesn’t have your cock twitching.”