Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Wrath of Isis

by P. T. Dilloway

  “I’m sorry,” she wrote on the address book.

  “It’s all right. We’ll find a way.”

  She nodded to him and then they set out again to find a spell that would cure her.

  Chapter 22

  Emma searched through Ms. Chiostro’s house, but couldn’t find a single dress that fit. Or at least not a dress she could wear in public that wouldn’t look as if she were on her way to a Renaissance fair. If she knew how to sew, Emma might have found a way to modify one of these dresses to be a little more fashionable, but Emma’s skills didn’t extend that far.

  Of course Becky’s house would have plenty of dresses to fit her. The only problem was that Becky would be there in Emma’s body. Becky would go ballistic if Emma showed up there to borrow her clothes. She would go even more ballistic when she heard why Emma needed a formal dress.

  She supposed it wasn’t fair of her to meddle in Becky’s personal life like this. But what was she supposed to do, say no? How could she possibly turn down a date with Dan, even if he thought she was someone else? How could Becky expect her to deny the only man she had ever loved? In better times she knew Becky would understand this and even support her decision. Emma couldn’t expect the same from her best friend now.

  Ms. Chiostro didn’t keep any money around the house, at least not anywhere Emma could find. She could always take one of Sylvia’s magic weapons, though she doubted the club of Herakles or sword of Perseus would be worth much at a pawnshop. Nothing Emma owned would be likely to have much value either.

  The only solution was to find a way to get into Becky’s house without Becky’s knowledge. The question became how to do it. She couldn’t walk in the front door and she didn’t trust herself to climb up along the side of the house in this body. If she had the scarlet armor it would be easy enough to turn herself invisible with the golden cape.

  The answer to her problems swam up the toilet. Emma was brushing her teeth at the sink when Pepe splashed out of the toilet bowl. He shook the water off like a dog before he noticed her at the sink, toothbrush in her mouth. The rat approached her tentatively and sniffed at her feet. He took a step back, but didn’t flee from her.

  Emma spit out the toothbrush and a wad of toothpaste. To speak the rat language was difficult with Becky’s body, as it required such precise enunciation. She carefully formed each word in the shrieks and squeaks the rats used to communicate. “It’s me,” she said. “Emma.”

  The rat commented on how different she looked. “I know I look different, but it’s still me inside.”

  Pepe seemed skeptical of this but went on to describe the purpose of his visit. He and Jim had encountered Becky down in the sewer. The encounter had put Jim into a deep depression as he thought his only human friend had abandoned him. On his own, Pepe decided to search for answers. That search had already taken him to Emma’s apartment, but there was no one there and no sign of her things. He had tried Becky’s house next, but found only Becky asleep on the bed in Emma’s body. So he had come to Ms. Chiostro’s house; he knew Emma often came to see the witches.

  “And you found me,” she said. She patted him on the head. The rat nuzzled her hand like a cat. In tentative ratspeak she described what had happened to her and Becky since they had last seen each other.

  Pepe indicated he could still sense something off about her, no doubt the darkness to her aura that Ms. Chiostro had sensed. “Don’t worry, the witches have gone to find a spell to change us back. You can tell Jim that as soon as they do, everything will be back to normal.”

  The rat acknowledged this and then started to climb back into the toilet to return to Jim in the sewers. Emma called for him to stop. “Before you go, there’s one thing I need you to do.”

  It took several attempts for her to communicate what she wanted Pepe to do. To a sewer rat, one article of human clothes looked like another. To explain the concept of a formal dress took some effort. In the end she couldn’t be certain she was successful or not; she would have to hope for the best.

  The rat curled up in a large purse Ms. Chiostro kept in the shop. Though there were plenty of rats in Rampart City, people generally didn’t like to see them perched on someone’s shoulder like a parrot. As he lay on a cushion of tangled yarn, Pepe indicated he hadn’t slept on such a nice bed in years.

  With the rat asleep in her purse, Emma climbed onto a bus bound for the historical district. She sat on a seat—two seats really—with the purse on her lap. When Pepe began to stir, she hissed at him to stay hidden. The rat squeaked an affirmative. “Is there something in your purse?” an old woman asked.

  “Just a toy for my dog,” Emma said. This served as both a cover and a threat, as if Pepe emerged from the purse prematurely he might end up in the jaws of some dog. The sewer rat understood this well enough to remain hidden.

  Emma got off the bus a block from Becky’s house. She stopped in front of a house two down from Becky’s, where she could crouch down amongst the bushes. There she finally let Pepe out of the purse. “Get what you can and bring it back to me. Please.”

  For a half-hour Emma remained in the bushes, until both of her feet fell asleep. She braced herself for someone to discover her: the police, a neighbor, or Becky. When they did, how could she explain what she was doing? Maybe she could tell them someone was illegally occupying her house. Once she showed the police her identification, they would have to believe she was the real Rebecca Scherr. Of course if it came to that Emma’s body—with Becky in it—might end up in a loony bin for examination.

  When something rattled the bushes she was certain the jig was up. It was only Pepe with a bundle of clothes in his powerful jaws. He slid this up to Emma and then reported that no one had seen him. From what Pepe had said, Becky was still asleep in the master bedroom. As she checked her watch, Emma saw it was already one in the afternoon. What had Becky been up to last night?

  She decided there would be no point to ask Pepe. Things like tattoos and piercings didn’t mean much to a sewer rat. She would have to hope Becky hadn’t done anything worse than drink a bit much. “Thank you for your help.”

  She unwrapped the bundle the rat had retrieved from Becky’s house. Despite the language barrier, Pepe had managed to guess correctly; he’d brought her a long purple dress. She patted the rat’s head again before she folded the dress back up to stick into the purse. “Can you find your way back all right?” she asked him. The rat signaled an affirmative. Then he skittered off into the bushes to make his way back to Jim.

  Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Now she just had to get ready for her date with Dan.

  ***

  Emma turned in the mirror. It still came as a shock to see Becky reflected in the glass, the purple dress tight against her flabby stomach and saggy breasts. Emma tried to smooth down a few wrinkles in the fabric so it didn’t look so much like it had been dragged from a closet by a rat and then stuffed into a purse. As for the smell, she had done what she could with a bottle of perfume; she would have to hope Dan didn’t notice.

  She wished Sylvia were here to help with her hair. Emma had combed Becky’s dark hair and then put it up into a loose bun. A rogue tress drooped into her eyes; she tucked it behind her ear with one finger.

  She smiled into the mirror to make sure she didn’t have any lipstick on her teeth. As she applied makeup to Becky’s face, she was reminded of when they had tried to give each other makeovers when they were seven. The result had made them look more like clowns than sophisticated women. Mom had sternly warned Emma not to waste her expensive cosmetics and then banished Emma to bed. Only after the door was closed did Emma hear her mother laugh. This time went much better, with Emma far more discreet with the makeup.

  Pepe had not brought Emma any stockings or shoes; that would have been far too much to ask of the rat. She reused the stockings she had worn to work the day before; she hoped they didn’t run too badly. As for shoes, she found a pair in Ms. Chiostro’s closet. The shoes were too narrow and too long,
but she managed to get her feet stuffed into them. She paced the bedroom a few times in these shoes to get used to them; the last thing she wanted was to fall on her face in front of Dan.

  She nearly tripped over these shoes when she climbed up the stairs of the bus. Emma stood on the ride back to the historical district so she wouldn’t sit in someone’s used gum or any other filth left on the seats. She kept one eye on her watch; the seconds ticked away towards seven o’clock. She would have to get to the house before Dan, to intercept him before he knocked on the door and Becky answered in Emma’s body.

  The bus let her off at the corner at six fifty-eight. Emma ran awkwardly in her uncomfortable shoes. Her hair came free from its loose bun to fly into her face. She swiped it aside in time to avoid a woman and her dog. She apologized profusely while at the same time she tried to plow ahead.

  As expected, Dan arrived at exactly seven o’clock. She saw him emerge from his car fifty feet ahead of her. He didn’t seem to notice her as she charged towards him; he obliviously made his way up the path for the front door.

  She caught him just as he was about to knock and grabbed his shoulder with one hand. He spun around and a smile broke out on his face. “Hi. I was just about to knock.”

  “Taking…walk,” Emma said between gasps. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. Do you need to go inside and grab anything?”

  “No! Let’s…go,” she said.

  For their first real date nearly six years ago, Dan had taken her to a French restaurant, which had not gone well at all. They had then gone to the opera, which the Black Dragoon had interrupted to effectively end the date.

  This time things were very different. For one thing, Dan seemed far more relaxed around her as Becky than he had around her as Emma. On their way to the restaurant, he described some research he was doing for a planned dig in the Meroe region of the Sudan. “We tend to think Egyptians lived around the pyramids, but at one point their kingdom stretched into other parts of Africa,” he said.

  “That sounds fascinating. When will you be going over there?”

  “A few months if I can work out the funding. The Plaine Museum has been getting a little bit tighter in the last few months. The director has been trying to scale back on expenses. She actually charged a guy for taking a pen out of the museum in his pocket.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “I’m hoping she’ll see the potential of what I want to do. This could open up whole new possibilities for the museum.” He didn’t get time to expand on those possibilities as they arrived at the restaurant—an Italian bistro this time. Like a gentleman he came around to help her out of the car, which she appreciated when she almost tripped over the awkward shoes.

  The maitre d’ gave them a curious look as they approached. Emma could sense the thought on his mind: why was a handsome man like Dan on a date with a cow like her? She could sense the restaurant patrons wondered the same thing as she squeezed around the tables; she was careful not to smack anyone in the head with her gut or rear end. Dan was of course oblivious to her discomfort; he held her arm as the maitre d’ led them to a booth in the back, where she would conveniently be hidden in shadows. Emma sucked in her stomach so it wouldn’t overlap onto the table surface.

  “Are you all right?” Dan asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  The last time they had dated, she had been too young to drink. This time she insisted they order a bottle of red wine. Dan had the waiter bring the most expensive stuff in the place. Then they began to examine the menus, which were written in Italian. Emma resisted the urge to translate for Dan; Becky didn’t speak any languages beyond English.

  Most of the dishes were familiar enough anyway: spaghetti, ravioli, linguini, and so forth that Dan wouldn’t need her to translate. They ordered an appetizer of fried ravioli while Emma decided on the short ribs with risotto—she figured this would be far less messy than the pasta dishes—and Dan ordered chicken parmesan.

  As they waited for the food, Dan said, “I’m really glad you let me thank you properly for what you did.”

  “I didn’t do that much.”

  “Don’t be so modest. Getting Councilwoman Napier’s office involved is going to be a big boost to our efforts to have the Scarlet Knight abolished.”

  Emma took a sip of her wine to hide her look of disgust. “I’m not sure how much difference it’s going to make,” she said. “The police have tried to catch her before.”

  “They always looked the other way before. Now they aren’t going to have any choice but to go after her.” Dan leaned forward and looked around to make sure no one watched them. “They’re going to form a special task force dedicated to bringing her in.”

  Emma took another healthy gulp of her wine. She knew she shouldn’t drink too much as it might loosen her lips to the point that she let something slip, such as that she was really Emma Earl, but she couldn’t help but feel in need of a jolt when she heard Dan talk about arresting the Scarlet Knight. “Maybe it won’t matter,” she said. “She hasn’t been around in weeks.”

  “That’s not what I heard. I saw on the news this morning that she’s back in town. She busted up some Korean market—again.”

  “She did?”

  “Yeah, broke a window this time. The owner was furious.”

  “I can imagine,” Emma mumbled. “But she caught the thief, right?”

  “Sure, but she destroyed three hundred dollars of property to stop the guy from stealing eighty bucks.”

  “But now he’ll be in jail.”

  “For six months—probably less. Then he’s right back out stealing again.”

  “So you think we should let criminals run free?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Dan said. Despite the heat of their argument, he still smiled at her. “I only mean that we should let the police do their job. If everyone goes around thinking they can act like her, the whole city would be immersed in chaos.”

  “I suppose.” Emma finished her glass of wine; Dan poured another for her. “I’m not sure how much of a difference it would make.”

  The waiter saved Emma when he arrived with the fried ravioli. She speared one with her fork and jammed it into her mouth. Before she knew it, three-quarters of the ravioli had joined it. Dan ate his far more delicately; he sliced it into pieces before he put it into his mouth.

  The conversation turned to happier subjects. He told her again about his upbringing by his stepmother, whose frequent trips to Egypt encouraged Dan to study that ancient civilization. She had heard all of this twice before—once on their first date and once after he returned from Egypt with Isis. She didn’t mind to hear it a third time; she could listen to Dan talk forever, his words so full of passion and his boyish smile so infectious.

  When the waiter set her short ribs in front of her, Emma tried to show more restraint than she had with the ravioli, which seemed to have all disappeared into her stomach except for one. As she broke up one of the ribs with her fork, Dan asked, “What about you? Did you always live in Rampart City?”

  “No, I lived in Parkdale with my mom and sisters,” Emma said, careful to give Becky’s background and not her own. “I went to college in the city. My friend Emma moved in with me after she came back to work at the museum.”

  “That’s right, she’s your friend. How is she these days? I haven’t really seen her since the museum let her go.”

  “Well, since they fired her, she’s been working on some other projects. There was a geological survey in Russia recently.”

  “It’s good to know she’s landing on her feet.” Dan took a bite of his food; his smile grew wider for a moment. “How did you decide you wanted to work for someone like Napier? Or did it just fall into your lap?”

  Emma looked down at her plate, which despite her best efforts was already half gone. “Well, I suppose I wanted to work in politics because I wanted to make a difference. Even in a city like this one you can make a difference.”

  �
��That’s very true.” Dan raised his glass for a toast. “To making a difference.”

  “To making a difference,” she repeated with a smile. She hoped he never found out what kind of a difference she had made in the city.

  ***

  The rest of the date went much more smoothly than last time. Instead of an opera they went to a musical comedy. They had seats in the balcony even though Dan was afraid of heights. Emma was more than willing to let him sit in the back row, where it would be harder for anyone to see her. Don Vendetta wasn’t there to hit on her—and probably wouldn’t have in any case—and the Black Dragoon didn’t appear to ruin things.

  The play didn’t interest Emma much; she barely paid attention to the action on the stage as she focused on Dan. Unlike last time, he seemed far more confident to put an arm around her shoulders during the first act. In response she rested her head on his shoulder. It had been nearly six long, torturous years since Dan’s body had been pressed against hers like this. It didn’t matter that he thought she was Becky; it only mattered they were together.

  The play ended far too quickly. To her delight, Dan suggested they go to a café around the corner for coffee. This time they kept the conversation light; they discussed the play, especially the female lead character who had hit sour notes all night. “Her understudy couldn’t be that bad, could she?” Dan said.

  “Only if her understudy is a greyhound,” Emma said with a giggle.

  They continued in that vein until it was nearly midnight. Dan finally took her home—to Becky’s home. Emma hoped the real Becky didn’t see them and scream at Emma to leave. So concerned with this, she didn’t hear Dan say goodnight until he kissed her. Her eyes widened at this in surprise and then she kissed him back. He tried to pull away after a few seconds, but she held on to him to make the kiss last.

  It couldn’t last forever; eventually she had to come up for air. “Well, I guess I’d better get going,” Dan said. His face burned as red as Emma was sure hers was at the moment. “I’d really like to see you again.”