by Amy Patrick
Dammit. How am I supposed to get him out of there? Too bad Sway doesn’t work on animals. I’d have no reservations using it on this grimy little rat.
What do cats like? He’s already eaten, so I doubt luring him with food will work. Maybe if I offer him a game of some sort? I haven’t “played” since I was about ten, lacking any siblings, or pets, or any playmates who weren’t adult servants on my mom’s payroll. I’m not sure if I even know how to anymore.
Stretching out on the couch, I pull Laney’s headband from my pocket and dangle it over the edge of the cushions near the floor, wiggling it around as if it were a live thing. A tiny paw emerges and swipes at it. Ah ha. Stretching my arm out farther, I repeat the enticement, imbuing the red headband with lively personality. This time the whole kitten dashes out and lunges for his prey. And I grab for mine, getting a hand around his skinny mid-section before he realizes what’s happening.
“Gotcha. And now it’s bath time, my friend.”
Cupcake doesn’t scratch or bite. Not until I try to submerge him in the sudsy sink water. Then it’s man against beast. Unfortunately for the beast, I’ve got about a hundred eighty pounds on him and opposable thumbs. Unfortunately for me, this kitten has claws. It isn’t easy, and I lose a decent amount of epidermis in the process, but I manage to soap and scrub and rinse him until I’m reasonably sure we are both pest-free. He certainly smells better.
I’ve just finished toweling him off when Laney emerges from the guest room and pads down the hallway on bare feet. She’s wearing the t-shirt I left out for her, and my heart nearly stops at the sight of her in it. Her long hair is wet, her face fresh-scrubbed and shining. The t-shirt is huge on her small frame. It covers her decently, but it’s still short enough to reveal a killer pair of legs, and the soft fabric draped over her body hints at a tempting shape beneath.
Laney’s parents might still see her as a child, but I do not. In fact, at the moment she is the sexiest woman I have ever seen. It’s a wholesome kind of sexiness, completely unintentional and unselfconscious.
I on the other hand, am sweating and probably look like I’ve been in a knife fight with a windmill. “Feel better now?” I manage to ask, my voice sounding a bit strained.
“Oh yes. That was wonderful. Your shower is much better than mine back in—” She catches herself before saying the name of her town, moving farther into the room with a rueful grin.
“I thought we agreed you were going to tell me where you’re from.”
“No,” she chides. “I agreed to tell you why I’m here. Although, I’m not really sure why you’d care. I’m not sure why you’re doing any of this—letting me stay in your home, feeding me dinner. Surely you have better things to do with your time than babysit a country bumpkin visiting the big city.”
“As a matter of fact I do. I have a very important appointment with a bowl of ice cream. Would you care to join me for dessert?”
“Maybe a small dish,” she answers. “I had a big supper.”
I grin widely. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. I’m sure you can find some room for Chunky Monkey. Here—there’s a bar stool here at the kitchen island. Just climb up—there you go.”
I move between the freezer and the counter, taking out bowls, spoons, scooping some ice cream for each of us. As I open drawers and cabinets, Laney waits patiently, following my movements with her face, if not precisely her eyes.
I set a bowl in front of her and sink a spoon into mine. But I don’t actually eat any ice cream. Instead, I watch Laney eat hers. I’m struck by a sense of unreality. I have a human in my house. On purpose.
It’s strange having anyone in my house—I spend most of my time alone and have since I went off to Eton at age thirteen. Even there, I had a private room. But having her here—it’s hard to explain. She fascinates me.
Watching her is appealing in a way nothing else has ever been. Maybe it’s because I can allow myself to really look at her, instead of taking a quick glance and then glancing away, which is what I usually do with humans and Elves alike.
Direct eye contact has always been uncomfortable for me—because of what I see in the eyes looking back at me. Desire. Admiration. Envy. Infatuation. All of it false. All of it brought on by my glamour.
That was one of the things I enjoyed about being with Ava. When she looked at me, there was an honest reaction there. Good or bad, I didn’t care—at least it was real. Laney’s even better. She is completely, one hundred percent unaffected by my appearance. And it relaxes me in a way I never thought possible.
She lifts the spoon to her plump pink lips, sliding it in between them and bringing it out again, wearing a small smile of private pleasure. My breathing quickens as my eyes roam over her face, cataloging the details—the brown eyes that seem to change according to the light, sometimes clear and bright, sometimes dark and deep—the soft arch of her eyebrows, the small, rounded nose, the pink tint of her cheeks that comes not from makeup but from within.
Maybe I shouldn’t stare, but it’s amazingly pleasurable to be able to look at someone closely like this, without the embarrassment of being caught at it. She doesn’t know I’m doing it, so she won’t read anything into it like any other girl would if she were to catch me studying her closely. If I stared at any other girl, she’d get up from where she was sitting and move toward me, leaving her friends—or her boyfriend—behind.
There’s no expectation involved here. Unlike everyone else I encounter, Laney doesn’t want anything from me. I can just enjoy her beauty without doing anything about it. And she is beautiful—so much more so than I even realized the first time I saw her. Is it always like that with people? The more you look at them, the more appealing they become?
“Why aren’t you eating yours?” Laney asks, shocking me out of my perusal and private thoughts.
“Oh. I uh... I like to let it melt a bit first,” I lie, looking down at the disgusting puddle in my bowl.
She wrinkles that perfect little nose. “Gross. Ice cream soup.”
“Exactly. A delicacy. You should try it sometime.”
“No thanks. I like my frozen desserts frozen.” She pushes the bowl away. “I’ve had enough, though. I think I’ve managed to gain five pounds my first day in California.”
She starts to get off the bar stool. “I’m pretty tired, so...”
My hand darts out and wraps around her wrist. “Oh no you don’t. You haven’t told me about this elusive guy you’re searching for here in Los Angeles.”
Sliding back to the center of her stool, she faces me across the counter, silent for so long I think she’s going to refuse me and I’ll be forced to sway her after all. But then she opens her mouth, closes it again then finally answers.
“I have a brother, Joseph. We’re very close. He’s not one of those annoying older brothers you hear about who torture their younger sisters or tell them to get lost. We’re only eighteen months apart in age, and we grew up as playmates and best friends. We played pretend and Legos and built a tree fort together. We watched superhero movies and battled on the Xbox for hours.”
As she describes her childhood, I picture Laney as a smaller version of herself, running wild through a suburban backyard, laughing and playing with this much beloved brother.
“Joseph was amazing when I lost my sight,” she continues. “He was good at so many things, but he’s always dreamed of being an actor. He’s really talented—always the star of our high school’s drama productions. He saved his after-school and summer job money for two years, planning to move to Hollywood to try to break into the film business. About a year ago he moved here, enrolled in acting classes, found work waiting tables. And then...”
My insides go cold, anticipating what’s coming. A whirring noise begins in my ears as Laney continues her story. I almost don’t want her to.
“At first we heard from him often. He was going on auditions, getting call backs. He had friends. He was so happy. Then he called and texted less and less. He stopped
answering our calls. My parents were worried. They tracked down one of his roommates—Travis. After a lot of pleading from my parents, Travis admitted Joseph had tried S one night when they were out with friends. After that...”
She stops her story there, but I already know the ending. “And now he’s missing,” I say grimly. “You’re here to find him.”
“No. It’s too late for that.” She shakes her head, her voice breaking. “Joseph is dead. I’m here to find the person who killed him.”
Chapter Five
Don’t Mention It
For a moment, I’m actually relieved. Horrified, but relieved. “Your brother was murdered?”
“Yes—by the drug dealer who got him hooked on that awful stuff.”
The relief evaporates, superseded by another, more visceral emotion. My breaths are harder to come by now—something heavy sits on my chest.
“He did... have a choice. He chose to take it,” I say, feeling like the slimeball I am, even as the words leave my lips.
“No! It’s not like him.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Joseph was never a drug user in high school or junior college. He barely even drank. I know he was going out with his friends here to nightclubs and stuff, but according to them he never tried cocaine or pills, not even pot. I don’t understand how it could have happened.”
She stops, the frustration and grief seeming to steal her breath away. After sitting silently for long moments, she resumes her sad tale. “Anyway, it’s too late to help Joseph. But I can help other people like him. I can work in the clinic, help people beat their addictions. And maybe by doing that I can gather enough information to find the person responsible and stop him from killing other people’s brothers, and sons, sisters, and daughters... and friends.”
A tear slides down one of her pretty cheeks, devastating me.
Why the hell do I care?
It’s not like I didn’t know people were dying of S overdoses. I avoid watching the news for the most part, but it’s impossible not to see the destruction the drug has wreaked on the human population. I see junkies first hand on practically a daily basis, in the clubs and bars when I stop in to hand out “samples.” I don’t exactly like it, but I sleep just fine at night. I’m just doing my job, following orders.
But this—this feels different. I never met the guy, but after listening to Laney’s description of him, seeing how much she cares for him, I feel like I knew him. Joseph. He had a name. A family. People who loved him, who miss him now that he’s gone. And it’s very possible I am the one who introduced him to the S that ended up killing him.
“I’m... sorry.” The inadequate words hang in the air between us.
Laney wipes her face and gives an embarrassed laugh. “Aren’t you glad you asked?” she says sarcastically. “I think I will go to bed now. I’d rather not sleep all day tomorrow, in spite of my threats earlier.”
Rising from my chair I take her arm. “I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“Do you mind if Cupcake sleeps with me?” she asks.
“Well, he’s certainly not sleeping with me. We just met—I’m not that kind of guy,” I joke, and she laughs.
As if understanding our conversation, or perhaps sensing he’s about to be left alone with the mean force-bather for the evening, Cupcake vacates his spot under my couch and scampers down the hallway ahead of us.
When I open her door for her, he shoots inside, and Laney turns to face me. “Thank you again for all you’ve done today. You really have been so nice to me.”
“It’s nothing.” My face heats with embarrassment and shame. “Don’t mention it.” Please.
“It’s not nothing,” she insists. “You don’t give yourself enough credit—you’ve gone out of your way to help a stranger without asking for anything in return. I may not be able to see things with my eyes anymore, but my heart sees a lot. And what it sees in you is a good person.”
I have never despised myself as much as I do in this moment. I feel like chucking up. If the roof opened and lightning struck me, it wouldn’t be half what I deserve for deceiving this girl—and for what happened to her brother.
“Yes, well... I’ll see you in the morning,” I mutter. “Sleep well.”
“Good night, Culley Rune,” she says with a sweet smile and goes into her room, closing the door behind her.
I’m not sure how long I stand in the hallway staring at that door. What am I doing? What have I done? Suddenly I’m thinking back on my actions these past few months and seeing them through a different lens. I don’t like the view—at all.
Slowly, I turn and shuffle to my own room for a shower and then bed. I’m not sure I’ll get any sleep though. In the morning I’ll be driving Laney to a drug addiction clinic so she can work to counteract the results of my actions. So she can ask questions and track down the person responsible for her brother’s horrible untimely death.
Me.
Chapter Six
Pop In
The doorbell rings early. Way too early as far as I’m concerned. I roll over and ignore it, struggling to stay in the vivid dream that’s put a smile on my face and convinced my body it’s having a very good morning.
No one who actually knows me would come by this early anyway. They’d know my usual schedule includes staying out at nightclubs until the wee hours of the morning and sleeping in late. It’s probably some sort of solicitor or maybe a package delivery.
The bell rings again. I bolt upright, suddenly remembering I have a houseguest. The noise might wake her. Scrambling from the bed, I grab a pair of shorts from the floor beside the bed and slip them on—it wouldn’t do to parade around naked in front of Laney. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to see me, but if we were to touch accidentally...
The thought is too reminiscent of my dream. I shake my head to dislodge the disturbingly appealing images then throw open the bedroom door. I’ll get rid of whoever this is and hopefully be able to go back to sleep and re-enter the dream if I’m lucky.
Directly across the hall, the guest room door opens, and the star of my sensual vision stands there, looking sleepy and warm, her hair appealingly messy and those knockout legs taunting me from beneath my own t-shirt. The doorbell must have awakened her, exactly as I feared.
It rings again, longer this time, more insistent.
“What’s going on?” she asks in a sleep-roughened voice. “What time is it?”
“Too early to get up. Go back to bed. That’s what I plan to do as soon as I get rid of whoever’s out there.”
Striding down the hall, I stop just inside the door and peer out the security port, prepared to release the deadbolt and yell at the persistent mailman/charity collector/cookie-selling child. Instead, my hand freezes on the lock.
It’s my father. Shit. The lingering pleasure buzz from my dream vaporizes, replaced by nerve-shredding unease.
He never visits my place, preferring to summon me to his downtown office or his luxurious home in Bel Air. What is he doing here?
Backing away from the door on silent bare feet, I crane my neck back to glance down the hallway and make sure Laney’s safely tucked away in the guest suite. She’s not. She’s right behind me. I nearly stepped on her.
Shit shit. I spin around and grab her shoulders. “What are you doing?” I hiss. “I told you to go back to bed.”
Ding dong ding dong ding dong.
The bell is chiming in a persistent pattern now. Father is clearly growing tired of waiting. Bile rising in my throat, I twist to stare back over my shoulder at the condo’s entry door. I won’t answer. He’ll assume I spent the night out and will go away. No, that won’t work. He owns the building. He knows the code to my garage door keypad. If he opens it and sees my car, he’ll know I’m home and let himself in.
Laney’s face lifts in a knowing smile. “Why do you want to hide me? Is it a girl?” Her voice teases. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend.”
I have no time for this conversation, no time to expla
in. I need to get rid of her and answer that door before Father—
The sound of the garage door opening sends a white hot slash of fear through me. Shit shit shit. He’ll be in the house in a matter of seconds. My eyes go wide as I stare down at Laney. I can’t let him see her.
Bending over, I sweep an arm behind her knees and lift her off her feet, poised to carry her back to her room. She lets out a little squeak of surprise.
“Be quiet,” I order in a low voice. “I’m taking you back to your room.”
Rushing out of the kitchen, my gaze catches on the sight of her purse on the countertop, her sandals beneath one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. Damn. I can’t grab her things while carrying her. I’ll have to come back for them.
I hear the door open from the garage into the kitchen. It’s too late. I won’t be going back for anything. I can’t pretend Laney isn’t here. There’s only one thing to do now.
Instead of carrying her into her own room, I veer into the master suite, tossing her onto the large bed then spinning and shutting the door. I dive for the bed myself, pulling Laney roughly with me toward the pillows and yanking the top sheet over us.
Laney gasps. “What are you doing?”
My words come out rapid fire, low and urgent. “It’s not a girl. It’s my father. There’s no time to explain. Just go along with whatever I do—your life depends on it.”
Her expression morphs from surprise to fear.
The soles of Father’s highly polished Oxfords echo down the hallway, sending my pulse into a new galloping rhythm. As I hear the bedroom door open, I dive for Laney’s neck, covering it with kisses and pulling her tightly against my body. A groan rises in my throat, only partly for effect. It’s as if my dream is continuing without my having to go back to sleep.
Knowing Father is watching, I let my hand glide down her side, over her hip as my mouth continues its explorations. Under the covers, her small hand clenches my shoulder, though I’m not sure if she means to stop me or encourage me.