by S.J. Finch
Chapter 18
He pulled out of traffic and onto the first side street that led to Mockingbird. He was driving ten over, as usual, but today it felt entirely too slow. He had felt the speed and strength of the wolf, and he had felt it without seatbelts or steering columns. Ryan loved the Cherokee like a dear friend, but nothing he had ever experienced could quite compare to the rush he had felt the night before.
He had been able to revert to his human form at will when he had arrived back at Eli’s house. With a little patience and a lot of focus, Ryan had then been able to transform again, this time right in front of them. Vanessa had seen it before and even though Eli knew it was coming, it didn’t stop his eyes from getting wide and a noticeable shiver running down his spine.
Ryan texted Evelyn and Dr. Webster the good news, and then spent most of the night practicing in his securely locked bedroom. It still required intense focus, but the hours upon hours Ryan had spent perfecting the meditation techniques had given him all the skills he needed. Ben, it turned out, had been more helpful than Ryan had given him credit for. Soon Ryan was able to trigger a smooth, painless, and nearly instantaneous transformation.
The next day was Friday and Ryan had never had a more difficult time concentrating on class. In fact, after the first few periods, he gave up entirely. Instead he devoted the rest of the day to staring out classroom windows and mentally re-living the previous night and, more than a few times, the night at the observatory.
Miles called him halfway through his lunch hour: they had caught wind of a party that night at a swanky downtown hotel. This particular hotel was owned by one Anthony Hess, who was also throwing the shindig. Parties like this for the city’s social elite were a weekly occurrence, but Hess parties were the stuff of society page legend. He hadn’t thrown one in almost two years, and it was expected that tonight’s event was being put on to announce a major new development by Hess’ company. The misfits of 4197 had decided that the timing of the shipments, the crate, the party, and the attack on Ryan were all too coincidental: the party was important, they just didn’t know why.
Now that Ryan was able to lend his full talents to the group, he was to be included in the operation that night. Miles didn’t go into details about what Ryan’s exact role would be, but Ryan didn’t give it a second thought. All he wanted was to be in, to do something to repay these people who had given him so much. He didn’t care if he was just driving the van.
Mrs. White didn’t look up as he entered the warehouse, but he took it as a great step forward in their relationship that she hadn’t bothered to pump the shotgun as he entered.
The warehouse was a buzz of activity when Ryan stepped inside, and its occupants were all too busy to acknowledge his presence with more than a wave or a cursory greeting.
Daniel was carrying armloads of electronics and other equipment into the garage. Dr. Webster was poring over a set of over-sized blueprints on the coffee table in the middle of the common area. Ruby and Miles were on the upper level: the sorceress was pulling bags and bundles off of shelves in her cabinets, and the mind-reader was rummaging through the warehouse’s cache of clothing. Evelyn was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey.” Miles called to Ryan from above. “Front an’ center. We gotta get you presentable an’ such, from rags to riches.”
He climbed the metal stairs two at a time and met Miles in front of the bureaus.
“What are you talking about? I thought we were doing recon…” Ryan asked.
“Best way to figure out what’s going on someplace is to be there.” Miles replied, and produced a pearly white square of cardstock with expensive-looking silver lettering. “Caught the fancy of one of the catering staff this afternoon. Had her nick it for me.” Miles winked. “Don’t worry, I didn’t use me powers.”
Ryan wasn’t sure he believed him.
“An invitation? Somebody’s actually going to this party? Isn’t that kind of like sticking your head in the lion’s mouth?” Ryan asked.
“Aye, but this time the thing with the big pointy teeth is on our side! An’ not just somebody is going to this soiree mate, you are.”
“Grayle knows what I look like. I’ll give the whole thing away-”
Miles laughed. “It’s gonna be a big party, and Aaron Grayle don’t exactly have the social graces to attend, even in human form. The Doc don’t think he’ll even be there.”
“And if he is?”
“What, you think we’d send you in there all alone? We’ll be with ya every step of the way, don’t fret. Course I’m still tryin’ to wrap me mind around how you rate the tux and how I get stuck with the jumpsuit, but I s’pose that’s neither here nor there.”
Miles produced a black tuxedo from inside one of the armoires. Ryan looked it up and down, with little idea of what he was supposed to be looking at. Junior prom was still months away and even then, Ryan had never planned on going. He had never worn a tuxedo before, and he crossed his fingers that the buttons on rich people clothing worked the same way as on they did on his flannel shirts.
“Lucky for you I know a bloke who’s a wonder with a needle an’ thread. Got it fitted to you…more or less. It won’t be perfect o’ course since you weren’t at the fitting, but it should look better’n it would have otherwise.”
It was simple, elegant, and black. The jacket bore peak lapels with a single button at the sternum. Beneath it was a white shirt with French cuffs and white buttons that looked like just the sort of thing Ryan knew he would probably spill spaghetti sauce on. Draped over the jacket was a sleek black bowtie. In Miles’ other hand he held a pair of black dress shoes that bore such a mirror shine as to nearly blind Ryan where he stood. He took a deep, nervous breath. This was not the evening he had been anticipating.
“Don’t do much good in me hand.” Miles said, extending the hangar to Ryan.
“Not sure it’ll do much good on my back, either.” Ryan replied.
Ryan’s closet at home held exactly one suit, navy blue and off-the-rack, which he had only ever worn to half a dozen weddings and a handful of funerals. He had never been to any fancy parties or high society cotillions. Ryan’s Friday nights were usually filled with store-brand Dr. Pepper and cheap take-out in Eli’s basement. He didn’t know a salad fork from a soup spoon, he wasn’t up on world events, and he absolutely hated small talk. Ryan felt like what Miles was asking him was so far out of his wheelhouse, it was in another time zone. Ryan could barely tie a necktie without strangling himself, he knew he’d never survive a bowtie.
“I’m sorry, but this is not going to work. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb. I’ve never been to anything like this!”
Miles sighed, then looked him straight in the eye. “Ryan, do ya trus’ me?”
“No.”
“Well…ya should. You can pull this off, we will have your back, the plan will come off w’out a hitch, you will save the day, get the girl, score the touchdown, break the spell, defeat the villain, triumph for good, and ride off into the sunset. I’ve no doubt. But I do have a lot lef’ to do, so howabout you man up an’ dress yourself?”
Ryan sighed and snatched the hangar from Miles’ hands, who smiled. He passed Ryan to make his exit, and as he did he turned back.
“Believe you me: in ‘bout five minutes, that tux is going to be the last thing on your mind.” He winked again and descended the stairs.
Ryan retreated between two of the taller armoires to change clothes and soon he was decked out in the finest threads the supernatural world had to offer. He didn’t have much frame of reference on black tie apparel, but he knew at least one thing: it felt good.
He was still hopelessly lost when it came to some of the more delicate aspects of the outfit, so he emerged from the alcove trusting that somewhere in his hundreds of years on the planet, Daniel had learned how to tie a bowtie.
Ryan was about to leave the spare clothing area when he saw the door to Evelyn’s bedroom open, and the woman herself emerged. The tuxedo b
ecame the last thing on Ryan’s mind.
The crimson material clung to every gentle slope of her lithe figure. It was without frills or frippery, and the only interruption to the form of the dress was a single slit in one side that ran from high up on the thigh down to where the material ended at mid-calf. There were no bows or beads, no sequins or stitching; there was the dress and there was the magnificently beautiful girl who inhabited it. Her lips were the same alluring shade of ruby that they had always been, but tonight they matched so perfectly with the dress that they seemed to be made of the same silky material. Her bright green eyes dazzled even in the low light of second floor as she tucked a few stray strands of mahogany hair behind her ear. She gave a wry smile as she looked Ryan up and down before speaking.
“I’m your ‘plus one’.”
“And then some.”
She smiled again and her eyes swept from his face to the rest of him.
“You know, the ‘drunk best man’ look went out years ago.” She replied, nodding to his undone top button and hanging, un-tied bowtie.
Ryan looked down at it. “Not really one of the skills they teach you in public school.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes. She reached with deft fingers to his throat and Ryan felt his face flush long before he felt the unnatural heat from her skin. She pulled and tugged and primped for a few moments before brushing her hands down the chest of the jacket and buttoning the single button.
“I suppose we’ll have to call that presentable.” She said.
Ryan pulled open an armoire door and took a look at himself in the small mirror. Green eyes set beneath tousled, dark blonde hair and above a perfectly-formed jet black bowtie. He felt hot hands slip onto his and then up to his wrist.
He looked down and watched as Evelyn fastened his cuffs with small cufflinks, glossy black square with a clean, silver border.
“Come on.” She said, leading him around the second level to the far side. “I still have to get my accessories.”
Evelyn pushed open the door to the armory and Ryan followed her inside. She pulled off the shelf a small, palm-sized silver and black pistol, which she tucked into an equally small holster fastened a few inches up her inner thigh She grabbed another gun, all black, that looked slightly different from all the rest, but she jammed it into her small clutch purse before Ryan could get a proper look at it.
They made their way to the ground floor and Ryan suddenly felt very self-conscious. Ruby was in her duster, Daniel his dark combat pants, and the doctor in his customary shirt with rolled up sleeves and loosened tie. Miles was the only other one in costume, but his was a simple dark-blue janitor’s jumpsuit with a baseball cap. All eyes were on Ryan and Evelyn.
“Think they’ll pass?” Dr. Webster asked no one in particular. “We just need a couple of flies on the wall, so hopefully they look rich enough to be somebody’s spoiled kids.”
“They’ll do great.” Ruby said with an assuring smile on her face.
“Alright.” Doc said as he walked over to the coffee table that held the blueprints. “The party is in the penthouse ballroom of the Port Hotel. Our scouting didn’t reveal anything out of the ordinary in terms of technological security, but it’s a good bet Hess has a few magical or psychic fail-safes in place. Of course the only people that will have to worry about those will be Ryan, Evelyn, and Miles. You three will be the only ones physically in the area.”
Ruby stepped forward and placed three small leather bags on the table. “These should mask y’all from most of the basic stuff. I’ll have more materials with me in the van, so if you run into anything particular, I can get to workin’ on dispellin’ it.”
Doc nodded. “That’s right. Ruby and I will be in the van here.” He pointed to the parking garage area on the blueprint. Anything goes wrong, that’s your exit. That’s everybody’s exit. Miles is working the halls around the ballroom, and he’s going to give everybody a heads up as soon as he detects any other non-human minds he can’t get a read on. Then he falls back to the van.” Webster said, looking to Ryan and Evelyn. “Daniel is on the roof, he’s your primary back-up if things get hairy.” He looked up at Daniel. “You don’t move until I give you the go-ahead, no matter how much trouble they’re in.”
“We are the trouble.” Evelyn said with a grin.
“The last thing we need is civilians getting in the middle of this, so Daniel doesn’t move unless the civvies are clear or he absolutely has to. I’m running this show from the van downstairs, so everybody make sure you get your earpieces in and tested. Questions?”
Ryan felt like an idiot. “I’m sorry but, what exactly are we supposed to do?”
“Party.” Dr. Webster said with a smile. “Mingle, just don’t draw attention to yourselves. Hess is probably throwing this thing to announce some big merger or something, but there’s got to be another side to it. That means there are going to be just as many paranormal heavy-hitters there as there will be drunk socialites. Evelyn, keep an eye out for faces you recognize. Ryan, pay attention to anybody that looks suspicious. Eavesdrop, pick pockets, do whatever you have to do, this is probably our only shot at gathering intel before Hess makes his move. We clear? Good. Let’s go.”
Ryan, Evelyn, and Miles each grabbed a bag of protective mojo and stored it away. They all made their way into the garage to one of the white service vans Daniel had been loading. They began to climb in, one after the other, but Evelyn pulled Ryan aside.
“You want to show up to this thing in the van? This is all about appearances, appearances we’ve got to keep up from the jump. Come on.” She grabbed his arm and steered him towards the workbench where she grabbed a set of keys off the pegboard hook.
“Can you drive stick?” She asked as they came to a stop in front of the silvery foreign convertible.
“Are you serious?” Ryan asked, incredulous.
“What, you’d rather take your Jeep?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Get in.” Evelyn said as she climbed into the driver’s seat. Ryan took shotgun.
The engine rumbled to life and Evelyn slid out of the parking space, put the car into gear, and they shot out of the warehouse like a silver bullet from a red brick gun. She drove fast, but carefully. There was no squealing of these tires or swinging around corners like she had with the bike. Ryan felt as though there was a distinct reverence to the way she treated the car.
“You were never going to let me drive, were you?” He asked.
Evelyn smiled. “Nope.”
“Then why even offer?”
“I was afraid that if I just jumped behind the wheel, you’d feel emasculated. I wanted to give you at least the illusion of control.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Ryan watched as her hands and feet worked the vehicle with the dexterity and expertise of a race car driver. He watched as her hands brushed over the stitched leather of the steering wheel and lingered lovingly over the gearshift.
“What’s so special about this car?” He asked.
She ran a hand over the instrument panel and let it rest affectionately on the dash. She took a deep, satisfied breath.
“This is a 1967 Sunbeam Tiger. Do you know what that means?”
Ryan shook his head. “No.”
“I didn’t either, at least not at first. All I knew was that the earliest memory in my life is of my dad working on this car in our garage. I’m sitting on the steps, eating a popsicle, just watching him work. Bob Seger is on in the background. My dad tries to teach his four year old girl the difference between drum and disc brakes.” Another smaller, sadder smile played across her face.
“This car?” Ryan asked.
“This car.”
“But I thought you left home after-”
“I did. But as soon as I was old enough to use the Internet I started trying to track down this car. It went to bank auction after my parents died, then through a h
andful of other owners. I didn’t have consistent phone or computer access through all the foster homes I was shipped in and out of, so it took me a long time to track it down. I finally found it, in some podunk town in Wisconsin. That’s when I learned why it mattered that this is a 1967 Sunbeam Tiger.”
“Why?”
“Because there aren’t many of these things left. Not in the US, anyway. They’re not in particularly high demand, and they’re not as valuable as other classic cars, but they’re rare. This guy in Wisconsin, he didn’t want to part with it. At least not for any amount of money that a fourteen year old girl could scrape together.”
“So what did you do?”
“What any determined fourteen year old would do: I ran away from home, robbed a couple banks.”
“At fourteen?”
“They were small banks. Anyway, Doctor Webster noticed my…activities, somehow figured out what I was after, tracked me down at a little diner a few miles outside of Sioux City, handed me the title and the keys and told me if I wanted to live a better life, I could go with him. Of course I told him to go to hell and I spent the next year or so driving this thing anywhere there was two-lane blacktop. Then one day I got sick of running from nothing and showed up on Doc’s doorstep. And I never left.”
“Wow.” Ryan said quietly.
“I told you,” she said after a moment, “I owe him a lot.”
They drove the rest of the way into downtown in silence. Evelyn was clearly enjoying being behind this particular wheel, and Ryan didn’t want any of his inane small talk to ruin that. He was simply happy watching her be happy.
They arrived at the party as planned: after the initial crowd of guests had already gone through, but when enough stragglers and latecomers remained so that they could blend in.
The original Port Hotel had been one of the city’s first skyscrapers and a testament to all things opulent. Over the years however, it had lost both money and structural integrity, until finally it was forced to close its doors. A few years later, the remaining shell had been bulldozed by Hess’ company to make way for a newer, fancier, much taller hotel. Almost ten years ago, the rebuilt Port Hotel had opened its doors to the world and become an instant success: far outstripping the other hotels in the city in terms of style, luxury, and price. It had played host to celebrities and dignitaries and a handful of former presidents, and tonight, all the nasty things the supernatural underworld had to offer.
The Tiger came to an abrupt halt in front of the ornate gold doors of the hotel. Valets in matching silver vests came to either side of car and opened the doors. Ryan stepped out into the chilled evening air and turned to find his date with her finger an inch from the valet’s nose.
“A nick, a ding, a scratch, a scrape, even a smudge, and I will come to your house while you sleep, take out your eyeballs with an ice cream scoop, and then let you perform your own colonoscopy. Do I make myself clear?”
The valet did nothing but nod, his eyes wide and his hand shaking as he took the keys from Evelyn’s begrudging fingers.
The man drove carefully away and Ryan and Evelyn ascended the white marble steps to the front door.
“I’m not sure you have a very firm grasp on the term ‘low profile’.” He whispered.
“I’ve just got my priorities straight.” She replied under her breath. “The car always comes before the mission. Always.”
“And where does your partner fall on that list?”
“You don’t want to know.”
Ryan produced the ivory invitation from his jacket pocket and doormen in black suits and white gloves pulled open the large glass doors.
The lobby of the Port Hotel managed to strike just the right balance between tasteful and lavish. The floor was made up of seamless squares of white marble, with wide strips of contrasting black marble running around the perimeter as well as around the large, ornate fountain in the center of the room. Placed around the fountain were a smattering of gold-colored couches, low-slung chairs and coffee tables, and off to one side a glossy black grand piano with a fleet-fingered gentleman in his late forties occupying the bench. Two rows of tall white columns ran along either side of the room and led the eye to a ceiling forty feet above the floor. The ceiling itself was made almost entirely of frosted glass and was held together by a grid of intricately carved white wooden beams. The walls were a rich cream color and held golden sconces that cast diffused light on the many tapestries and oil paintings that adorned the walls.
The focal point of the room was the huge fireplace set into the far wall, which housed a large, crackling fire. Hanging above the mantle was an oil painting in an extravagant golden frame the same color as the sconces and furniture. The painting itself was a seascape, with most of the canvas dedicated to the shapes and colors of a choppy, overcast harbor. To one side was a depiction of the city’s skyline as it had been in the days of the original Port Hotel. And then, tucked in the opposite corner just above the artist’s scrawled signature, Ryan saw a single man in a tiny sailboat. He was trying to steer the craft through the gale of waves and water, but the winds looked so strong and the craft was so small, that he seemed to be completely at the mercy of the vast, primal forces around him. Ryan felt like he could relate.
Evelyn took his arm and they walked through the elegant lobby, doing their best to look like they’d been coming to places like this all their lives. The other arriving partygoers milled around them and gave little notice. They were mostly older people, well-dressed and distinguished men in their sixties with wives wearing shimmering evening gowns in every muted color of the stylish rainbow. There were a few younger people here and there, but almost no one as young as Ryan. These were men in their twenties and thirties with sharp tuxedos and perfectly-styled hair, their arms linked to women in tight dresses and heavy eye shadow. They moved in ambling groups toward the golden elevator doors.
The elevator ride seemed to take a very long time, which made Ryan nervous. He was all too aware that any of the half dozen other people in the steel box with them might be some otherworldly monster. Of course, the thought of being stuck on the highest level of a skyscraper, in an entire room full of such creatures, wasn’t much better. The elevator finally dinged and the prosperous patrons filed into the hall, then the ballroom.