by Logan Fox
She got quite a few stares from passers-by on the street outside as the driver exited the stately white vehicle and took her suitcase from her. He nodded as he went around the back of the car and hoisted her luggage into the trunk. It was the last time he acknowledged her.
Five minutes into the car ride, her phone rang.
“Hey, Cheryl,” Pearl answered, trying to keep her voice down so the driver wouldn’t overhear.
“Why are you whispering? Wait, are you in the car right now? Have you been picked up already? What is it? A beamer? No, wait, it’s a Chrysler, isn’t it? A Jeep? A Hum—”
“A Bentley,” Pearl managed. She glanced around at the pale leather interior. The letters F. P. were perforated into the headrests in a fat, curly script.
“Oh my shit.” Cheryl sounded breathless. “That’s serious money. Any idea where you’re going?”
“Nope. I guess I’ll know when I get there.”
“Ask the driver. He’s friendly, right?”
“Nope. Hang on.” Pearl pressed the phone to her breast and leaned closer to the driver. He glanced at her in the rear-view mirror, his eyes immediately returning to the road.
“Can you tell me where we’re going?”
The driver shook his head.
“State?”
Another shake.
Pearl gave him a reluctant nod and slid back into her seat. She lifted the phone to her ear again.
“Nope. Could be the moon. Maybe he’s taking me to a space station. After a few months of astronaut training, I’ll be all set for my new exciting life.”
“It’s a month, Pearl. I mean, I’d do this in a heartbeat. Ask if they take referrals, will you? I mean, I don’t have any experience, but how freakin’ hard can it be, running after a rich man wearing a maid’s outfit?”
Pearl cringed. She hadn’t been entirely honest with Cheryl when she’d laid out her month-long jaunt into the Promised Land.
“Yeah, I guess. Look, I probably have to go.”
“What, you can’t talk and sit in a Bentley at the same time? Did all that real leather rub off on your skin and make you all posh and stuff?” Cheryl giggled.
“You’re such an ass.” Pearl sighed and stared out the window as New York’s familiar streets flowed past her. “Tell you what: I’ll call you when I get there, okay? Right now I have nothing more to report.”
“Fine.” Cheryl sighed the word. “But I want all the details, okay? No holding back.”
“Sure. Chat later.”
“Lucky bitch.” Cheryl ended the call.
Pearl’s eyes returned to the driver. He wore a hat and everything.
“You pick up a lot of girls for these guys?”
This question was met with silence. Pearl sighed and curled her fingers against her mouth as she turned her attention out the window again. She’d gotten zero sleep last night; what with worrying about what the hell she was getting herself into and her mental clock being set for daytime sleeping.
Her eyelids sagged: the blur of passing street vendors and pedestrians was hypnotizing. She rested the side of her head against the crook between the window and the headrest, sighed, and let her burning eyes slide closed.
Tanner Stark. Caden something. Those were the only names she could remember.
And a new guy.
Like her.
Maybe they could be friends.
They could…
Pearl’s head thumped against the Bentley’s window. Her eyes fluttered open, focusing with difficulty on a range of gently sloping hills barred by an ornate metal gate easily six feet tall.
“My apologies, Miss,” the driver said.
She pushed away from the window, blinking at the driver, and then at the slowly opening gates ahead.
“’S okay,” she mumbled. “We’re here already?”
The driver’s brown eyes briefly met hers. “You fell asleep.”
“Shit.” Pearl dragged her fingers over her eyes. “How long?”
“The entire trip. Five hours, give or take.”
Pearl slid to the center of the Bentley’s expansive back seat and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the headrests in front of her as she peered through the windshield.
There was a fountain. A paved drive leading away, out of sight, to the right.
Finally, the gates came to a rest.
The anonymous driver put the Bentley into gear and accelerated into the property with the expertise of a professional. At least, what she would consider professional; this was no yellow cab driver.
Bristling fir trees barred more than a glimpse of a distant gray building. The path wound through several turns before opening into a large circular driveway. The owners obviously had a thing for fountains: there was another one here. Fittingly, the statues featured three foxes in play, water pouring out of their mouths as they pounced and rolled through the spray.
Pearl’s eyes quickly slid past the foxes, though: the building overshadowing it was too commanding to remain background scenery for long.
“It’s huge,” Pearl murmured.
The driver lifted the Bentley’s hand brake. Then he turned to her, their faces inches apart. Pearl stiffened at the sudden intensity in the man’s eyes.
“They’re going to take your phone away now,” he said. “But if you ever need to make a call… an emergency, something urgent…” he glanced away from her toward the looming villa.
The front door was opening.
“What?” Pearl managed, despite the bands of iron tightening around her chest.
The driver’s gaze found her again. He gave his lips a quick, nervous lick.
“Just… if you need to make a call, come find me. I’m usually running errands for them to and from town. But I’m here every other day. Find me, if you need to.”
The driver spun away and opened his door.
Pearl closed her mouth and ducked to look out the window. The front door was fully open now, and a young girl perhaps two or three years younger than her emerged, blinking in the strong late-morning sun.
The driver came around and opened Pearl’s door, waited until she’d slid out, and then went to retrieve her suitcase from the trunk.
“Sorry, what—” Pearl began, but the driver threw her a scowl before tugging her suitcase up the villa’s front stairs. The girl blinked at him too, looking like she’d just woken up, and then grinned broadly when he passed.
The girl said something to him, but Pearl couldn’t hear what. Or whether the driver replied. Not fazed by the driver’s lack of interest, the girl turned to Pearl and waved a floppy arm in her direction.
“Heya!”
Pearl looked over her shoulder. Her exit quickly dwindled between rows of trees. With the Bentley’s engine off, the only sound she could hear was the lively chatter of birds, the tinkling cadence of the fountain… and her own hammering heart.
The girl smelled like bananas. With her yellow braid and billowing yellow sundress, she looked like a banana too. Thick black kohl lined a pair of pale eyes, and glitter lipstick — barely confined to the lines of her mouth — sparkled in the sun.
Pearl stared at her, struggling to process words.
“Heya,” the girl said again. The movements of her mouth didn’t quite match her words. “Merl, right?”
Pearl shook her head. “Pearl.”
“Oh yeah,” the girl said. She touched her fingers to her chest. “Gia.”
“Hi.”
Gia spun around, one hand clutching a fistful of her dress and whipping it out to catch the wind.
“Come on.” She skipped into the house, her fingertips brushing the doorframe as she passed.
What… the… fuck…?
Pearl followed slowly, in case the girl turned and attacked her.
Inside, Gia skipped around a potted cherry tree, its blossoms pale pink against the beige backdrop of the Fox Pit’s entrance hall. The scent of its flowers filled the broad chamber with a sickly-sweet perfume that made Pearl sh
iver.
The villa looked like a talented and industrious burrowing animal had dug it out from a block of pale stone. Despite all visible surfaces being wood or stone or clay, it all looked so soft, so warm.
Pearl’s eyes moved past the girl’s ridiculous bobbing head and swept up a curvaceous flight of stairs, its railing black wrought iron. Archways of intricately carved moldings metered the convergences between the hall and the corridor branching out from it.
“Come on, slow poke. Boss’s coming in at ten, so we gotta get you dolled up.”
Gia had skipped around the cherry tree in the time it had taken Pearl’s lips to part in amazement. She came past, grabbed Pearl’s wrist, and tugged her toward the staircase.
Which went up and down.
The curving stairwell was plastered with more of the warm clay or whatever the hell it was covering the interior walls here. Gia ran her fingers over the surface as she danced down the steps. After a few steps of her own, so did Pearl.
It was soft. And it did feel like clay. Wet clay. Pearl drew back her fingers, but they were dry. Gia disappeared around the curve of the stairs. Pearl glanced back, but they’d already turned half of a revolution: there were only more stairs to see up there.
The staircase opened into a cozy living area. Two girls looked over at them, distracted from whatever television show they’d been watching.
“Hi,” Pearl said, giving them a small wave and a smile.
One of them, a pony-tailed brunette with large, brown eyes, tipped her chin up at Pearl before returning her attention to the television set. The other, an oval-faced woman with her ash-blond hair shaped in an eccentric pixie cut, gave Pearl a tight smile in return.
“Morning.” The blond got to her feet, tugging her dress straight.
A dress exactly like Gia’s.
Pearl’s stomach tightened. Was that why she didn’t have to bring her clothes with? Were they going to expect her to dress like a freakin’ schoolgirl while she was here? She glanced at Gia, who’d skipped around the island of an open-plan kitchenette at the back of the neat living room and now had her head buried inside the fridge.
“This is all a bit—” Pearl began, cutting off the sentence when the blond lifted her hand.
“Overwhelming? You get used to it. Just ignore—” the girl stabbed her thumb toward Gia “—you-know-who and you’ll be fine. She’s constantly high or something. I think Seth smuggles it in for her.” The woman made a cutting gesture with the flat of her hand. “Anyway… I’m getting ahead of myself.” She stuck out that same hand. “Morgan.”
“Pearl.”
“I know,” Morgan said with a smile. “Seth told us you were coming.”
She turned around and pointed to the couch potato behind her. “Opal.”
Pearl leaned past Morgan. “Hi.”
Opal gave a vague wave in their direction without taking her eyes from the television.
“So, you’ve got a few minutes before Seth stomps down here. Let’s get you settled.”
Morgan turned and walked through the living room without waiting for Pearl’s response. Pearl took a last look toward Gia, but the girl had disappeared. Morgan led her through the living area and into a room on the far right. Its door stood ajar; the only one of the seven doors leading off the living room that was open.
“You’re bunking with Gia,” Morgan said, and then the busty blond gave Pearl a grimace over her shoulder. “Good luck with that.”
The room was larger than her entire apartment. A Japanese screen partitioned the space. Fanciful foxes made vague impressions on the barely opaque film between the wooden slats.
“What’s with all the foxes?” Pearl asked as her eyes roved the rest of the furniture inside the room.
Two beds, two nightstands, two desks, two cupboards. Perfectly mirrored. Well, if you didn’t take into account the state of the room on the right. Gia’s bed was unmade, clothes hung haphazardly from her cupboard, and more were flung over the back of her chair. A few books had been stacked on the nightstand, more on the desk.
“Yeah… I’d put that to Tanner when he’s had a few dozen tequila’s down his throat.” Morgan shrugged. “But it won’t make sense, what he tells you. Him and his foxy lady. Or lady fox. Or whatever the hell. He’s so damn weird.” Another shrug. “That side’s yours.”
Morgan glanced at Pearl over her shoulder and pointed out the door.
“We share a bathroom. More like a shower room, I guess. I think this downstairs used to be like a sports center or something.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice. “Sometimes… at night… you can still smell gym socks.”
Pearl let out a small huff of a laugh.
Morgan straightened, gave her a faint smile, and padded past her. She laid a hand on Pearl’s shoulder, squeezing just once before she let go.
“Maybe you’ll like it here. Maybe you won’t. Either way just… enjoy what you can.”
With that, the girl left. Pearl stared at the bed. It was a queen-sized sleigh bed, the mattress close to hip height. The headboard and footboard were both carved from dark wood. The duvet was beige and embroidered with gold thread that suggested what she could only presume were the outlines of many intertwined foxes.
She would have to ask Tanner; it would drive her nuts otherwise.
Pearl sat on the edge of the bed. Bounced. Flopped back and stared at the wooden ceiling. Tiny lights sparkled from it.
Right… no windows down here.
Truly a fox’s den.
She smiled at that, ran her hands over the duvet beneath her. Gloriously soft, warm, inviting. She could sleep for a week in this bed. Or maybe, after a single night, she would wake as refreshed as if she’d been asleep for days, not hours. She shrugged her shoulders into the mattress.
So her roommate was a junkie. Lovely.
Then her thoughts turned to her suitcase. Morgan’s words: that Seth smuggled in drugs for Gia. Which meant they weren’t allowed? Which meant…
Morgan was in the process of seating herself beside Opal when Pearl burst out of her room.
“My bag,” Pearl said. “Where’s my bag?”
“Did the driver grab it?” Morgan asked, her eyes already on the television.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll see it when you leave, probably. Unless you got like medication in there or something.”
“I need it. I mean, I have… stuff in there—”
Morgan turned to her. The welcoming look that she’d plastered on her face wasn’t there anymore. Instead, she suddenly seemed as disinterested in Pearl as the girl beside her.
She shrugged. “They search everything. You can ask Seth when he—”
“Ask Seth what?” a gravelly voice demanded.
A man stepped into the den, his eyes immediately latching onto Pearl.
Pearl’s hands balled into fists, and she took a step back before she could stop herself.
It wasn’t his presence: as commanding and direct as Owen’s had been. It wasn’t his body, which was built like a slab of finely carved granite.
Nope: just his eyes.
Black. Impenetrable. And focused solely on her, as if she was the only thing in this world briefly worthy of the scant attention he laid on her.
Seth narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t tell her to dress?” This directed at Morgan.
“I’m not her mother,” Morgan said.
“What did I say when I came downstairs this morning, Morgan?”
Morgan sighed and pushed the back of her head into the couch, staring upside down at Seth. “You were being serious?”
“You thought I was joking?” Seth still hadn’t taken his eyes off Pearl. They pinned her where she stood, leaving her incapable of movement, of breath, of thought.
“Not really. Not anymore. But you were smiling.”
Pearl couldn’t picture the man wearing a smile. She couldn’t even picture him listening to a joke. His mouth was set in a line, corners down-turned. She cou
ld even see the bulge of his hard-set jaw through the thick beard he sported.
Beside her, Opal snorted. “You hit your head bonking the Wolf last night? Seth doesn’t joke.”
“Enough,” Seth said in a rough voice.
He strode past the two girls and came to a halt in front of Pearl. He scanned her, black eyes pausing only briefly on her hips, her breasts, her mouth, her hair. Then he pointed to the room.
“Get changed. A dress, no shoes. And brush your hair.”
When she didn’t move, he blinked, eyes narrowing again.
Finally unfreezing, Pearl took a step back, then another. She spun, hurrying into her room and shutting the door behind her. Her stomach had tied itself in a tangle, and her skin radiated waves of hot and cold.
Holy shit.
Pressing unsteady hands against her belly, she forced a few deep breaths inside her and slowly ran her hands through her hair. It wasn’t as smooth as when she’d left home, that was for sure.
As she walked to the cupboard, voices filtered through the room’s thick door.
“…listen to me. Your attitude… kitten… regret.”
Pearl strained to hear more, opening the cupboard door as silently as she could. Inside, row upon row of yellow dresses waited for her.
Morgan’s voice. “…think I’m… secretary… don’t… contract… shit.”
She tugged one of the dresses from its hanger and held it up to her shoulders. It ended just above her calves. Looked the right size.
Seth’s voice. “Keep throwing that in my face, Morgan, see how far you get.”
He was speaking louder now, his voice tight.
No, not louder. Closer.
Pearl spun to the door as Seth shoved it open. His eyes skipped over the room, found her, latched on again. Paralyzed her again.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’re not dressed yet?”
He strode over to her and snatched the dress from her hands. Took hold of her hoody’s zipper and tugged it down too, baring the vest beneath.
“Caden hates it when we’re off schedule.”
“Hey—” Pearl began, trying to drag closed her hoody.
It was a battle she couldn’t win.
Maybe if Seth hadn’t undressed her with the skill and efficiency of a drill sergeant, then she might have screamed and fought. But he didn’t stare at her, didn’t ogle her, didn’t do anything except strip her and dress her, all with that same deadpan expression on his face.