The three men had surrounded the doomed vigilante and were stabbing at his frantically ducking rain-blurred form. They would kill the man in no time unless Suzy did something. This was madness, complete and pure, but she had to intervene. She would die, and she would die holding a damned small yellow umbrella.
She took a deep breath and rushed towards the fight, just as the young man snapped a sideways kick into the stomach of one of the assaulters, who doubled over and fell to the ground with soft splash. Suzy almost stopped in her tracks; apparently, her would-be saviour could defend himself at least a little. But there were still two more men, both of them chopping and slicing manically, reminding Suzy of frantic priests over a sacrificial altar. Trying and failing again to scream for help, Suzy closed in while holding the umbrella out in front of her like a spear. When she reached them, she immediately leapt back as one of the tall men swept at her with his knife. The young man twirled out of the way of the other man’s knife, turned to the man who had attacked Suzy, and rammed his knee into the back of the man’s leg. As the attacker’s leg bucked, the younger man followed up with a elbow to his opponent’s neck and sent the man crashing to the ground, next to his fallen comrade.
Suzy gaped. Two big men knocked down by a guy she’d supposed was a innocent nutcase in need of directions, spare change and new clothes. Obviously, he could hold his own, meaning Suzy could run, but by then she was a two-legged cocktail of adrenaline and anger. She would stay to the end of this and make sure the man didn’t end up skewered on one of those knives. Of course, that meant putting herself in danger, but she felt as if she was locked on an unalterable course of action. If only the umbrella she was holding out in front of her would stop shaking.
The remaining attacker circled the young man, looking for an opening. Suzy snuck closer, waving and stabbing her umbrella. When the young man saw Suzy, his eyes grew wide.
“Run,” he shouted. “There can be others. They are dangerous,” he added, as if Suzy was too thick to understand that street fights and knives were a bad combination.
“I’ll help,” Suzy tried to shout back, but her throat was still choked up.
At that point, the dagger-wielding man spun like a whip, struck the umbrella, and sent it flying into an alley. His face was hidden in the shadow of his deep hood, but Suzy could swear she sensed him grin. The armed man approached, gliding in like a dancer, and Suzy scrambled back until her back was pressed against a wall. The man reached out with one hand, and Suzy shrank back at the sight of his fingernails, long and crooked like those of an old man. As he grasped for her face, Suzy, animated by sheer panic, ducked under his hand and stumbled to the side. The man closed again, and Suzy heard a low growl from inside the hood, a predatory rumble that couldn’t have originated from a man, seven feet tall or not. What she faced wasn’t normal. This was another strangeness, more impossibility sprung out of nowhere. With that knowledge, the terror that gripped her multiplied.
At that instant, the young man landed on the attacker’s back as if dropped from the sky. The attacked reeled back and slashed with his knife over his shoulders, trying to hit the young man’s head. Suzy gasped, thrown from near-death to possible survival. Then fury stepped in, took control, and sent her boot cannoning up into the tall man’s groin. To Suzy’s great relief it appeared the attackers, normal or not, were equipped with the parts needed for her kick to have effect. A deep, muffled cry came from inside the hood and the man fell to his knees, then slumped sideways.
For a few silent seconds, all stood still. The young man and Suzy looked at each other. Suzy was both hot and cold, covered in sweat and soaked with rain. She sucked air into her aching lungs. It was over. The man was safe. Proud of its work, anger stepped back and gave room to fear, who commanded Suzy to run. All in all, that sounded like a very reasonable idea.
She turned, and then froze. Halfway down the street, in the other direction, were three other men, all tall and wearing hoods. They were walking towards her, fast and purposefully. Apparently, she’d left the cafe and stumbled into a never-ending nightmare slasher movie.
Mister yellow umbrella appeared next to her. “They come in packs,” he said hoarsely. “Always do.”
“How’d you know?” Suzy coughed, then said, “I can speak again.”
“It is in their nature.” He shook his head. “But they were quicker than usual. They must be able to sense the mark. I wonder if Lacram knows?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Suzy said. The men had been after a mark? Wasn’t that a currency? Swizz, or German? Or Belgian, like the chocolate. She tried to concentrate, but her thoughts were loose strands of nonsense swimming in her head.
“We should run,” her unlikely saviour said. “And hide.”
Suzy nodded. That sounded like a very good idea.
*
A few minutes later, Suzy stood inside the hallway of the block of flats where she lived, a run-down, three-storey affair squeezed in between a parking house and a boarded-up warehouse. The man stood beside her, still breathing hard but, annoyingly, not as hard as she was. A mad dash through the rain had taken them here in hope of outrunning their attackers, and it looked as if they’d succeeded. Suzy leaned out to check but saw only wet concrete and swaying street lamps. No people, no cars. No sign of tall men with nasty knives. No ghosts, no goblins.
From the outside, the block looked like a haunted version of a drug-dealer’s den, but the inside was, if not the opposite, at least not as bad. The landlord was one of the rarest of breeds: One who cared. That meant few and not overly aggressive rats, a whiff of mould rather than a dense stench, and only the occasional broken pipe. The neighbours were all right, saying hello most of the time and rarely complaining when Suzy happened to turn the volume up, which was pretty much the constant setting. Besides, the ex-warehouse below was used as a rehearsal studio, and Suzy’s modest speakers didn’t compare to what those bands could muster. And, musicians being how they are, there were people in the warehouse around the clock, which was good for keeping out rodents of varying sizes.
Now Suzy had to decide what to do with the man she’d brought here. Still radiating that eerie focus, he was watching the street over Suzy’s shoulder as if expecting more super-tall muggers to materialize out of the shadows. Which, all things considered, made sense. But they couldn’t stay in the hallway; if the nice but nosy lady on the first floor spotted them, she’d come knocking out of the unrestrained curiosity available only to old ladies who ran knitting circles.
Suzy tugged at his sleeve. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll get you coffee.”
“I’m glad you’re safe.” He flashed a wide smile at her.
“Yeah, me too. Let’s go.”
“But they could be back. They could have seen us.”
“If you hang around here,” Suzy said and pulled harder, “they’ll see your long nose peek out the door. Or Agatha might see us.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. Old lady on first.”
“Is she a taker?” he asked, looking concerned.
“A whuh?”
“Like those men.”
“No.” Suzy sighed and shook her head. The man could be summed up in three words: Cavalier, Cute, and Corny. “She’s not a thief, just a mad gossiper. Okay?”
“If you are sure.”
“I am,” Suzy said and managed to tear him away from the doorway. “Now come.”
They walked quickly up the stairs and met no one. Suzy ushered the man inside flat, locked the door, put the back of a chair under door handle, and breathed out. Safe at last.
Her two rooms overlooked the warehouse, but the roof was too far down for any burglar to make their way up to her window. Unless they were acrobats. Or had wings. After the past weeks, she wouldn’t rule anything out. It felt miraculously good to be home, surrounded by her purple walls and her second-hand but comfy furniture, which included a low table occupied by her laptop, a bookshelf bursting with novels, and a
dead TV now serving as stand for a big plant of unknown type. The final major piece of furniture took up most of the space in the other room: A large double bed, complete with a frame of cast iron, a thick mattress, and layers of blankets and sheets to keep the cold out. A bed fit for a queen, especially one of the Night. The ceiling was high enough to hold an electric candelabra she’d found in a pawn shop, and she flicked the switch as soon as the door was locked. A weak light filled the flat; the bulbs were the kind that flickered to emulate real flame. They were feeble and a bit cheesy, but she loved the soft glow.
Now she’d brought a stranger here, which wasn’t the first time, but no one had been as strange as this one. That should worry her, but she felt strangely safe around him. After all, he had helped her against those...people...and the least she could do was feed him some coffee. And he was disgracefully cute underneath his outfit, which now dripped water all over Suzy’s carpet.
As soon as he had come inside her flat, he had moved to the window and scouted the street as if expecting some new threat to appear. In the light of the streetlamps below, his face looked like marble, and again she wondered how old he was; he looked not a day past twenty, but he had the presence of someone older. A mystery, and an attractive one. Pity she didn’t know his story, and why those men had attacked. She didn’t even know for sure what had made her bring him here, but it felt right. Tomorrow, she’d think this through. After she’d called Liz, Beth, Anne, Jude – she’d call everyone – and shared her adventurous night. Right now, she was too flustered, spooked and adrenaline-pumped to use her brain. She been so scared she couldn’t even use her voice. That was a first.
“I couldn’t scream,” Suzy said. “It was as if someone was trying to choke me.”
“A talisman,” the man said over his shoulder. He was still staring at the street below the window. “One of them would have carried it. I have seen their like before. Subdues loud noises. Very useful for being discreet.”
“Some kind of secret agent gadget?” She bit her lip and hoped they hadn’t beamed her with anything cancerous. “By the way, a name would be nice.”
“Apologies,” he said. “I’m Cai.”
“Suzy,” Suzy said. “Cai,” she repeated. “What’s that, German?”
“English. It is short for Caiside.”
“What kind of name is that?” Suzy scoffed, although she was impressed. Few had names fit for a band, but his would work.
“An old name,” he said. “Do you happen to have any tea?”
Suzy rolled her eyes once she managed to tear them off his back. “Should’ve guessed,” she said. “You English people.”
“Do you know many Anglecynn?” he asked, sounding intrigued.
“Don’t think I’ve heard of those.”
“You haven’t?” He looked confused. “I mean to say, do you know many Englishmen?”
“Not really,” Suzy said and shrugged. “I’ve met a few.” Including a certain man in a dark forest not long ago – Cai’s friend, if he told the truth – but she wasn’t about to let that slip. She rolled off the couch and walked to her kitchenette. There had to be a teabag somewhere; she loathed tea, but some of her friends drank the stuff. “Haven’t made the trip there yet,” she added. “Might one day. See Big Ben and all that. By the way, are tiny yellow umbrellas all the rage in London?”
“I – think not,” he said. “Why?”
Suzy wondered how to tell him it made him look like a colour-blind mime artist. “They’re a bit unusual over here.”
“I see.” He shrugged, then smiled. “I came to New York very recently. Less than an hour ago, in fact. There weren’t many shops around. I was in a hurry, so I visited a small night-open discount warehouse.” He pronounced the words slowly, as if they were new no him.
“Did you lose your glasses on your way to the US?” Suzy asked.
“Pardon?”
“The airport’s full of shops,” Suzy said, not intending to let him off the hook. “Most of them open all the time. Anything you need at crazy prices. No way you could’ve missed them.”
His frowned in thought. “The airport?”
“Don’t tell me you came by boat.”
“Ah – no.”
“So what’s with the Crusty the Clown theme?” Suzy popped open her water boiler, checked for roaches, and switched it on. “You’re a worse dresser than my granddad, and that’s saying some.”
His mouth worked soundlessly. After a moment he looked down, as if seeing himself for the first time. “These garments aren’t fashionable?”
“Maybe in a small-town carnival. A scary one. I suppose they all are, come to think of it.”
He looked part amused, part embarrassed. “You’re confusing me.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Suzy said. “And you’re dripping all over my carpet. Not that I’m afraid of stains, but there’s a pool around your feet.”
“Oh,” he said, but he didn’t move.
Suzy sighed. Cute but daft. She wondered how someone willing to go toe-to-toe with three thugs could be so hesitant. On the other hand, in a weird way, it made him ever cuter. Danger danger danger rang the warning bells in her head, but she muffled them before they grew too noisy. She’d had enough of unease tonight; she had already decided she trusted this man, and she would stick to her decision. “I’ll get you a towel,” she said.
“You don’t have to.” He turned back to watching the street. “Tea is more than enough.”
“A towel,” Suzy clarified. The word must mean something else in British English. “For, you know, towelling yourself.”
“Oh,” he said and looked back at her. “Then I thank you.”
Suzy cleared her throat and tried not to stare at how his eyes reflected the neon from below. The man’s eyes were at odds with everything else about him, except perhaps his fighting skills. A woman could perhaps not drown in them, but she could definitely make use of a life vest. Or a stiff drink.
She walked over to her only cupboard, currently doubling as emergency food stash and laundry basket, and took her largest towel, black as all the others. “Use this,” she said and tossed the towel to the man.
He snatched it from the air and stood still, gazing the towel curiously as if Suzy had tossed him a part of a rocket engine. “Thank you,” he said. “Don’t too you want to get dry?”
“I’m having a shower once you’re gone.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
Suzy turned to her kitchenette to avoid those eyes and that smile. She suppressed the urge to say no; even though he was a bit weird, he was by far the most interesting person she’d met in a long time. There was also the fact that he’d mentioned Greene, so this might be a chance to figure out exactly who that man in the forest was. And he’s gorgeous, whispered the ever-present devil on Suzy’s shoulder. Apparently, some people had an angel on their other shoulder, but Suzy had always seemed stuck without a voice of reason to counter her devil’s comments.
She took a deep breath. This was no time for silly speculations. “Get as dry as you can.” Suzy pointed at her bedroom. “I’ll fix tea.”
The man disappeared into Suzy’s bedroom, and Suzy busied herself with preparing tea and instant coffee. Those tasks were about as complicated as any she could deal with right then. Measure coffee, pour into cup, add some more coffee, top up with lots of sugar, end of process. Teabag into cup, followed by water. Nice and simple. Nothing like being assaulted on the street, or tricked into beds or forest clearings by strangers. Not that she regretted those moments, but a piece of normality was welcome.
Behind her, she heard the man exit her small bedroom. Tea and coffee done, she took the cups, turned around, and stopped. The teacup slipped from her hand and fell to the carpet with a dull clunk.
“I should mention,” the man said, “that those men we met might come again. They were – are you unwell?”
“Jesus Christ,” Suzy croaked.
“That religion is famil
iar to me.” He looked delighted and pursed his lips in thought. “Three denominations, if I remember correctly. Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and – ”
“Put some damn clothes on,” Suzy wheezed and turned around.
She had expected Cai to still be in his clothes or have wrapped the towel around him, but he had emerged from her bedroom stark naked, like some clueless Greek demigod. If there had been an angel on Suzy’s shoulder, it would have said you should have averted your eyes sooner, but because her shoulders were devil-only, her first thought was what a body. She could still see it reflected in a framed poster on her wall, and she could not take her eyes off him. He had a physique of a man who spent his days hauling rocks and climbing trees. He was, she supposed, just above very fit – but his body had not a hint of fat, instead showing off every sinew and muscle, rippling under skin bordering on the white. In the faint orange glow of the candelabra, he looked as if he was made out of copper. Even stranger, naked he looked even more like Greene. Suzy wondered if they were related, cousins or even brothers. That thought quickly led her imagination down a track that had her shoulder-devil sniggering madly, so Suzy clamped her teeth together and tried to make her mind blank.
“My clothes are wet,” he said. “I thought you meant –”
“The towel,” Suzy said though clenched teeth. She pointed over her shoulder at the bedroom door. “Around you.”
“You find the sight of me unpleasant?”
Suzy ogled the reflection in the framed poster. He couldn’t be serious, but he looked honestly embarrassed. She wondered if all English were like this. If so, she was definitely going there one day.
“Just – get the towel.” She would stop staring now. Right now. Any second. “I’ll make more tea.”
“I can wipe up the tea,” he said. “It was my fault that you spilled it.” Still naked, he knelt down and began to prod at the floor with the towel.
“Get dressed,” Suzy ordered and walked stiffly towards her kitchenette. Any more of this and her already troubled brain would have a meltdown. Worse, the cold was getting to her; she had goose bumps all over her body. She didn’t feel unpleasantly cold, but that was the only explanation. The cold. Nothing else.
Moonlight Meetings - Three Erotic Supernatural Stories (The three first stories from Suzy's Adventures) Page 8