by Linda Welch
I struggle, put my hands on his chest and push. Hot, panting, glaring, I back away from him.
“Oops!” A voice says. “Sorry.”
We look toward the door where Clide grins like a banshee.
A growl rumbles up Alain’s chest and he turns ferocious eyes on Clide. “I hope you have a good reason for disturbing me.”
“Jeremy’s on the phone. I knew you’d want to speak to him,” Clide announces, still grinning.
Alain’s shoulders droop. “One minute.” Clide nods and backs out but leaves the door open.
“Jeremy Steele is my man in Krapse.” Alain drops his chin and sighs. “I do need to take this. Will you wait for me?”
No, I can’t. My response to Alain shocks me. Moments ago his accusations angered me, then he kissed me and I forgot every word. Only Alain mattered. I let my guard down and would have done anything he wanted. Worse, I still want him so badly it lingers as an ache inside.
I move back. “I won’t be another of your trophies, Alain.”
“Trophy?” Alain sucks in his gut as if the word is a blow. Pain flashes in his eyes, and is gone as though it never existed. He’s very still, a stance which speaks of rigid control, his voice so level it could raze a city block. “How can a woman with your intelligence can be so, utterly, dense?”
I toss my head. “You’re too used to getting your own way, you want a woman, she comes running. Not me. Go scratch your itch with someone else.”
I storm across the courtyard knowing I left a very angry man. Looking at the gargoyles, I thrust up a finger. “And you can go to hell, too!”
The vampire sentry looks amused but wipes the smile off his face when I skewer him with my eyes.
Outside the compound, I feel like sagging all over. What possessed me, ripping into Alain like that?
Fear. For a moment Alain made me think he really cares and that I wanted to believe him scares the crap out of me.
*
Chapter Thirteen
River leans on the window frame and watches Rain weave among other pedestrians as she walks along the street. Traffic is a muted roar from the next street over. She looks small down there, a slight figure in black walking with head angled down.
He lingers at the window after she moves out of sight, watching the street and all the fantastic creatures mingling with humans. He resists the temptation to put names to some of them, those his mind says are developments of old tales. Rain said it will be a mistake, because he’ll automatically endow them with traits they don’t possess and underestimate the dangerous sides to their natures.
His gaze tracks up, above the rooftops. Of all the bizarre things he sees Downside, the sky should be the least of it, yet among the supernatural, the magical, the ghastly, the sky seems strangest of all. It reminds him of a sunset seen from a Manhattan rooftop, a bruised bloody-red sometimes streaked with purple, dark-gray or mustard yellow. Warm rain often falls, from a misty drizzle to a pounding deluge, yet clouds never scud in the sky. This place gets plenty of moisture but how can anything grow without sunlight?
Magic, says Rain. Magic created Downside and holds it together.
During the day, the streets are like Manhattan at dusk. Colors look muted except under artificial light, which River supposes is why the streets are dazzling with neon and phosphorus lamps. But stray from the principle thoroughfares and shadows cling to every wall. True night, the sky is dark-red a shade from black, unrelieved by moon or stars.
He supposes he will eventually get past comparing Downside to Upside. Rain said she did, and he must. He remembers to say Upside instead of Earth. According to Rain, Downside is Earth, but a different part of the globe.
She’s often a solemn little thing. Distant one minute, warm the next, and short-tempered. She seemed dour, until she smiled and his insides flipped.
When she laughed and her face lit up, he wished he had a camera to capture the image.
After a time, he sits on the bed and looks at the money. Although Rain handled them as if they are paper, the rectangular notes are made of wafer thin, flexible tinted metal with rounded corners. He folds one and rubs his thumb along the fold; it springs out and flattens, creaseless, when he opens his hand. A pattern of unrecognizable shapes is etched along the edges. The center of each note has a picture which reminds River of a rune, but is not.
He looks around the studio apartment, nothing more than a small room with a bed and the chair which hangs from the ceiling, a stack of cubes for her possessions, a stove, sink and fridge. The bathroom is tiny. There isn’t room for him, he should get his own place.
The thought turns his insides hollow - he doesn’t want to leave her. It’s as if something has been missing from his thus far brief life and she is it. He experiences an overpowering need to protect her, when according to Rain, he is the one in need of protection until more informed of this peculiar new environment.
Why is he drawn to her? Because she’s the only person like him?
He shakes his head irritably.
Did she and her partner have a deeper relationship before he died? She speaks of Castle as if his name slips from her mouth accidentally, with sadness and longing River doesn’t believe she knows her voice and expression reflect.
Nothing River knows about food prepared him for the sublime taste and texture. He wants more. Rain’s fridge holds milk, a bottle of lager, a jelly jar and something yellow and runny in a plastic container. He grabs his coat, shrugs into it and leaves the apartment. Hopefully he can do a little shopping and beat Rain home, or she’ll flay him with her tongue.
Stepping to the sidewalk, he looks over at the convenience store next to the motel and debates going there. In a residential street, its customers are probably from the two motels and all the apartment blocks. Convenience stores set their prices high, but finding another shop means leaving the immediate area and he’s not confident he can move about this city and not become lost.
He crosses the street with the demeanor of someone who knows where he’s going. Nope, uh-uh, this strange place doesn’t blow his mind. Nobody looks at him. He’s not as conspicuous as he feels.
A bell tings as he opens the door and again when he shuts it. At first glance, Maddox Market is little different from a Mom and Pop corner store in Manhattan, with shelves and bins and cold storage units, all illuminated by bright florescent ceiling lights. He snags a wire basket and wanders through the small store with one hand on the notes in his pocket and no idea what they are worth. Items are not priced individually, but tags on the shelves bear the same rune characters as on the notes. In lieu of content listings on boxes, bottles and cartons, colored pictures or black and white sketches mark the containers. It works, for those he recognizes; he’ll need an interpreter for others.
He picks up butter and eggs in the dairy isle, sliced bread and a six-pack of cherry soda. Rain doesn’t have a toaster but he can fry the bread in butter and make scrambled eggs.
River stops stock-still in the middle of the store. He knows how to scramble eggs and fry bread. He sees it in his mind, but has never seen it with his eyes or done it with his hands.
He felt familiar with Manhattan and knew he’d have little problem living there - well, would not had he a physical presence - but knows little about Downside, and takes a moment to contemplate. They use money he didn’t see Upside and has no memory of, commodities are not labeled with the written word and the fresh produce, while recognizable, is not quite as his mind tells him it should be, and how can there be green vegetables without a sun?
If magic is so powerful it’s behind everything which looks similar to an Upside counterpart, why doesn’t magic create a blue sky with a yellow sun, and a moon and stars at night?
From most of what he sees, he could easily be in an Upside market which sells exotic goods, yet a beardless gnome is selling a pack of cigarettes to a gremlin with a burring accent.
The gremlin leaves and River takes his purchases to the counter. Angling over, tr
ying to do so casually, he sees the gnome stands on a wooden box. He can’t be more than four feet tall, yet the shelves behind him rise to a high ceiling and there is no ladder. River hesitates to ask for the small box which catches his eye, but gives in to temptation.
He points up. “Can I look at that?”
The gnome’s gaze follows River’s to the top shelf, he shakes his head of brown curly hair. “Should have thrown it out. Newer technology don’t work Downside,” he says in a voice which sounds like two rocks rubbing together.
“You call that new technology?” River squints up at the shelf. “Why are you selling it when it doesn’t work?”
“They come Downside, their gadgets don’t operate. They don’t have money. So I help them out, give them a few drachs. Don’t expect to sell any of it.”
River knows the notion is absurd, but the box seems to call to him, not with a voice but a tug in his guts which as good as says, come on, take a look, you know you want to. “Can I see it?”
The gnome’s bellow almost knocks River’s head back. “Betty!”
The floor vibrates. River hastily backs away as a gigantic female figure lumbers through the arch behind the counter, although only her huge naked breasts and clothing indicate her gender. She’s hairless, with smooth gray skin and blunt features. The red and green flounced skirt, golden arm bangles and dangling red crystal earrings look incongruous.
“Customer wants thata thing,” the gnome says with a jerk of his stubby thumb at the box.
Such are the size and rigidity of her breasts, for an inane moment River thinks the gnome will use them as a step to access the top shelf, but she reaches up and removes the box with sausage-sized fingers. After passing the box to the gnome, she retreats into the back.
Slightly shaken, River opens the box after blowing at and wiping off a thick layer of dust. Black and sleek, the contents feel good in his hand. He slips it in one coat pocket, the accessories in the other and leaves the box on the counter. “I’ll take it.”
The gnome grimaces. “Your money, your loss.”
He rings up River’s purchases using a machine similar to an old-fashioned till and puts everything else in a paper sack. “That’ll be twenty-five drachs.”
River settles a note on the counter and the gnome scowls at him. “You got nothing smaller?”
River finds a note with a different rune and holds it up.
The furrows in the gnome’s broad forehead deepen. “You’re going to take all my change.” He peers at River from beneath ridged brows. “You’re him, ain’t you, the guy Rain brought down.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Don’t get many new ones nowadays,” he comments, leaning on one elbow. He surprises River by offering his hand. “Name’s Noddy.”
River instinctively knows Noddy won’t like to hold a half-fleshed hand and becomes solid before shaking. “I’m River.”
Noddy pulls notes and coins from the open till and hands them to River. He chin-nods at the window. “So you’re living with Rain at Angelina’s.”
“Temporarily. Who’s Angelina?”
“The owner, Rain’s landlord.” Noddy leans on the counter and speaks in a lower voice. “Watch yourself around that one, half-life.”
Half-life. It sounds like a casual greeting coming from Noddy’s lips, like calling someone pal or buddy. “Why?” he asks.
“Rain should have warned you. Ask her.” Noddy hops off the box and is visible behind the counter from nose up. “Got to check stock. Good day to you, young fellah.”
“Sure. You too.”
River exits the shop and stands on the sidewalk. Well, that was easy. Bought a few things, chatted with the storekeeper. Nothing weird about it.
A loud jangling makes him start and he hurries over the street to avoid a gangling figure on a bicycle which rings the bell again as it zips past. Skinny, pasty white legs protrude from yellow shorts and baleful gray eyes glare from beneath a black hoodie. An exceedingly tall female in a long white gown yells, “Pedestrians only, assjacket!” from the opposite side of the street.
As the cyclist zooms into the distance, the woman looks at River and smiles, her lower jaw dropping as though hinged to reveal long jagged teeth. River thinks she’s smiling. Apart from the jaw she looks close to human, until she giggles and a sinewy brown tail winds out of her dress and waves at him.
River gets into the apartment building fast.
The door at the bottom of the stairs stands open. Light from inside the room frames a tall, gloriously built woman whose copper hair tumbles over milk-white shoulders. Her strapless green dress cups magnificent breasts and sheathes a tiny waist.
River’s mouth is dry. His feet are stuck to the floor.
Her voice is a husky croon. “You must be River. I’m Angelina.” She waves one hand and his eyes follow the movement, mesmerized. “No, Rain didn’t talk to me, I haven’t seen her. The news is all over this part of Gettaholt.”
Her fingers, splayed, flutter to her bosom, in River’s opinion the perfect place for them.
She glides back into the room. “Come in. If you’re living here, we should become acquainted.”
He tries to say he’s not living with Rain, not really, only temporarily, but the words won’t come.
As she turns and her eyes release him, he feels callow and stupid. He clears his throat. “I’ll look for my own place tomorrow. I won’t be in Rain’s hair long.”
“In her hair?” She winks. “Are you sure that’s all you’re in?”
Before he can reply she lays a hand on his arm and guides him through the doorway, and he follows along meekly. Her innuendo should rouse at least a smidgen of indignation on Rain’s behalf, but coherent thought is increasingly difficult.
“You can leave those there.” Angelina taps the grocery sack and twirls gracefully before moving deeper into the apartment. He dumps the groceries near the door and hurries after her to a lounge. Facing him, she leans in so he smells her mint-laced breath. “Make yourself comfortable, darling.”
Her apartment is warm and her gaze makes heat sear through River’s body. He twitches and fattens inside his pants. Turning to remove his coat and drop it on the back of a couch is an excuse to make an adjustment and ensure the T-shirt covers his embarrassment. When he faces her again, she’s lounging on the couch, one arm along the back. She pats the cushion.
He sits on the far end but she sidles across until a few inches separate them.
“You’re a handsome boy,” she says as she plays with a strand of his long hair. Her tongue, pink and moist, skims her top lip. “Tell me about yourself.”
Transfixed, River develops tunnel vision. He sees only her lips, her tongue. Strained, raspy, a voice which doesn’t sound like his says, “All I have is my name.”
“River. River. I like it.” She inches nearer until her breast touches his arm. The hard nub of her nipple indents his soft flesh.
A bowl of grapes sits center on a small table in front of the sofa. She leans to pluck one, the low neck of her dress gaping to show the swell of her breasts and deep valley between. Holding the grape by the stem, she asks, “Would you like some?”
His mind is fuddled. Does she mean the fruit or something else? Unable to speak, he’s pleasantly woozy and grins like an imbecile.
There’s something incredibly suggestive in the manner she makes an O of her lips, puts the grape to them and sucks it into her mouth. “Mm,” she says, pausing in her chewing. “Delicious.”
She lies against his upper arm, a full breast either side as if large, firm hands hold him. Her fingers whisper down his neck, creating tingling trails over his skin. His flesh bulks, not because she makes it so, because he wants to be solid beneath her hand and experience her touch in all its astounding entirety.
“Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”
Yes, he wants a taste, but not of grapes. She has other fruit he’s sure is as plump and juicy. River becomes painfully rigid and wants to ta
ke her hand and hold it to the bulge in his pants.
Her thigh slides over his, her knee presses hard against the swelling at his groin. One eyebrow inches up sardonically. “Mm, what have we here?”
He wants to tear her clothes off, but can’t move, can barely think straight.
A familiar figure walks past the window and his vision suddenly clears.
River shifts, dislodging Angelina, and all but throws himself from the couch. “There’s Rain. I’d better get back.”
Snatching his coat from the sofa, he makes for the door.
“Come back and see me sometime,” Angelina husks, and follows with a low, sultry chuckle.
*
Chapter Fourteen
Head muzzy with too many thoughts, I walk along Kings Way. Disgust and anger, at myself. After resisting Alain for so long, a penetrating look from heavy-lidded eyes made me lose control. I won’t be an item on his to-do list: number twenty-five, fuck a wraith.
“Castle? You here?”
“Yup.”
Although I brace for his appearance, he makes my heart stutter. He’ll decide “let’s scare the living daylights out of Rain” is a fun new game if he knows how he made me start.
“Did you listen in?”
“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Castle has stopped walking, or whatever ghosts do. His hands create elaborate crisscross patterns over his chest.
“All right, I believe you.”
I continue on, as do my thoughts, from the mystery of Alain Sauvageau to River and what Alain said about him. A tiny needle of doubt pierces my chest. I trust River for no other reason than he’s a wraith. Maybe it’s not good enough.
Lips stiff, I shake my head. I don’t want to believe Alain but his words have taken root my mind.
“Castle, do you know anything about River that I don’t?”
“Huh? How could I?”