by Ash Krafton
I could only imagine what someone like Shiloh would feel like: a bucket of confetti in a tornado, maybe, with Justin Timberlake blasting in the background as it cut a mean swath through the middle of my psyche. The thought of picking up a teenage DV vibe was a terrifying concept, especially from a bouncy ball of life like Shiloh.
I'd gotten used to her hanging around her father's office at Folletti's, where Marek spent a lot of time when we were together. When Rodrian and Marek had business to attend and I had work in the morning, I usually ended up driving her home. She lived with Brianda near Marek's townhouse in Chaucer's Square so it wasn't out of my way. Sometimes a meeting would pop up or Marek would take an out-of-towner and Shiloh and I'd go someplace to eat.
Come to think of it, wherever Shiloh was, so was food. That girl must have hollow legs.
Anyways, Shiloh was a fun, sweet kid who treated me like an aunt. Aunt Sophie, that's me. Too bad it made me sound like an old spinster.
"Of course, you can come with," I answered.
"Great!" She issued a squeal of delight. "Let's go get your food and I'll tell Dad I'm going with you."
Waving goodbye to her friends, she linked arms with me and skipped along, telling me about this boy and that teacher and every dramatic thing that happened since I last saw her. She had enough to dish on throughout my stop into Slices and the ride up to Rodrian's office, finishing in more subdued tones as we walked down the hallway to his door.
Without a knock, Shiloh flung open the door. "Dad, Sophie's here. She said she'd drop me off at home. That okay?"
The door banged open against the door-stop with a thud. I could see Rodrian behind his desk, looking taken aback. His eyes found me and my pizza boxes and I shrugged an apology.
I could also see the two men sitting in front of Rodrian's desk. Nice suits, I noticed. One turned toward the sound of her commotion, his expression neutral. Lawyer, I figured. Who else managed a dead face like that? Or new Botox. That too.
"That's fine." Rodrian lay down a pen he'd been holding and clasped his hands on the desktop. His curt nod dismissed me completely. "Thank you, Miss."
"Love you, bye." Shiloh laughed and yanked the door closed. "Let's go before he changes his mind."
"Why'd he call me 'Miss?'" I wrinkled my nose. He'd called me lots of things, some of which made Marek angry enough to almost knock him on his ass, but never Miss.
"You've never seen Dad in action." Shiloh blew her bangs out of her eyes. "He could be such a bossy jerk. He called you 'Miss' so those two stiffs would think you're part of his workforce. I'm never going to work in business or in politics. I'd suck at pretending to be some powerful hot-shot."
"Me, too." I balanced the boxes with one hand and summoned the elevator. Those lawyers probably thought I was a pizza delivery girl. How terrifically glamorous.
Shiloh turned mock serious eyes on the cardboard take-out trays. "So, uh, are you going to eat all that yourself?"
I rolled my eyes. Hollow legs, I swear.
Once outside, she took the trays from me so I could rummage through my purse for my car keys. Traffic had gotten heavier and an endless stream of cars slid past, their drivers looking for a spot to park.
"Excuse me," called a strong pleasant voice. A long black luxury sedan, glided to a halt near us and a tinted window slid down. It drew my attention and I looked up. "Are you leaving?"
"Yeah." My spot had been a tight squeeze to begin with and I drove a compact but it didn't mean I couldn't be polite. I pointed toward my car. "Red Cavalier, three from the corner."
"My thanks, Miss." The window slid back up and the car pulled away, disappearing around the corner.
"You're way too nice," Shiloh said. "I'd have let him drive around all night. There's perfectly good valet around the back. Get a move on or I'm going eat this here on the street. It's bad enough I have to smell it all the way home."
I didn't know what she was worried about. She ate two slices before we even got to the parkway. She knew I wouldn't let her starve.
The waiter cleared away the last of the plates and set a cup of coffee in front of me with a wink. I didn't need to order out loud anymore. I smiled back with appreciation and reached for the sugar bowl.
I'd only met Marek about a couple of weeks earlier but it seemed as if I've known him much longer. The comfortable way we joked about things, as we had earlier about me actually cooking something or him actually eating it...it was like we'd known each other forever.
Now a sugar bowl sat on Marek's table. That little porcelain dish, with its cheerful blue flowers and delicate handles, got just as many smiles as I did when we dined together. Little DV pulses of warm approval often accompanied the smiles.
The DV thought I was good for him. Ironic, because I thought it was definitely the other way around.
"I have something for you," Marek said. The barest hint of a smile tugged the sides of his mouth.
"Really? What's the occasion?"
"Not that I need one, but... one month ago today we had our first date here."
"Marek!" I laughed. "I had no idea you were so sentimental."
"Good to know I can still surprise you after all this time." He pushed a small jeweler's box toward me.
I lifted the lid and made a tiny gasp. "Oh," I breathed. "It's beautiful."
I tugged out the tiny pin securing the trinket in place and removed the necklace from its cushion. A dark red pendant dangled from an intricately-wrought gold chain. The pendant seemed to be stone rather than jewel, and more careful inspection showed it was decorated with tiny Egyptian symbols. "Marek, this looks like the one at the Science Institute."
He nodded. "You remember."
"Sure I do. It's a Blood of Isis amulet."
"That's right. If you were able to read the hieroglyphs, you'd see they are words from the Book of the Dead. You need a magnifying glass to see them but I assure you it is accurately crafted."
"Would you read it to me?"
Marek took the pendant from my outstretched hand and peered at it a moment before glancing at me from under his lashes. "Do you read hieroglyphs?"
"No," I said.
"Neither do I." He smirked and handed the pendant back.
I fastened it around my neck and, lifting my hair up, I showed him how pretty my neck looked. Marek swept his eyes over me and I felt the weight of his glance as if he'd touched me with his fingers instead. He rumbled seductively, the purr of a lion, and my pulse quickened.
"I wish you could. I'd love to know the words," I said.
"Well, I can tell you how the spell is worded. Blood of Isis, words of power of Isis, glory of Isis. It is a protection for this great one, a protection against wickedness. I pray this amulet will protect you just as I swear I will protect you."
I gazed down at the pendant, feeling its smooth weight in my hand. Turning it over, I noticed another design. I tilted my hand to catch the light and saw a tiny cartouche. "Is this my name?"
"No," he said quietly. "It is mine. Remember it always and keep me alive in your heart. The Egyptians believed speaking the name of dead would bring them back to life. It's how I feel, in a way, since I met you..."
He gazed longingly at the pendant lying against my skin. "I entrust my soul to you, Sophie. Will you keep it for me?"
"You mean you admit you still have one?" I smiled in response. "Not so long ago you came to me, convinced you were damned."
"Being with you has changed my idea about many things, some of which are quite apparent." He ran his finger over the lid of the sugar bowl. "But many private things, many hidden things, have been rearranged within me as well."
His voice grew softer, more intense, and his eyes brightened with jade highlights. "No one has ever touched me the way you do. I don't understand it, but you get inside me somehow. You make me better. Never in my long life has anyone touched me like this."
I loved him even more for having said those words. My heart swelled with fulfillment and I swallowed agains
t an emotional lump in my throat. Marek was the love for whom I'd searched, the one who satisfied my need to be needed. "Well," I said, my voice swollen, "I won't take your soul. It's not yours to give away. I'll help you enjoy it, though. Somehow."
Marek reached across the table, taking my hand and drawing it toward him. He seemed on the verge of speaking again when Rodrian strode over.
"Hello, Rodrian." Marek greeted him, without taking his eyes from mine. His power felt tight and urgent and I had the sinking feeling the night would shortly be heading downhill.
"Marek, Sophie." Rodrian gave me a smile but it disappeared quickly. He leaned toward his brother and spoke in low, urgent tones. "His men are here, Marek."
Marek lowered his eyes and pressed his lips together. His sullen expression matched his deep exhale as he released my hand and sat back in his chair. "Most inconvenient, brother."
"I did not invite them."
Waving a hand, Marek pushed his chair back and faced him. "I didn't mean to imply you did. So. They are here. Why?"
"They wish to speak with you."
"I figured as much." Marek rubbed his brow and frowned apologetically. "They won't take no for an answer, I suppose?"
Rodrian swiped his hair back and shifted his weight. "Short of staking them, I don't know how else to persuade them to leave."
"Well, then, I suppose we talk." Marek stood and tugged his cuffs down. "I'm sorry, Sophie. It won't take long. Why don't you wait upstairs in the club?"
The second we walked into Dark Gardens, that invisible spotlight blared down on me again. All of a sudden I felt exposed, as if everyone was watching me, waiting for me to be left unguarded.
Marek deposited me in a booth, an unhappy look on his face. "On second thought, I don't like leaving you alone here."
I didn't like it either. I felt like an item on the menu. However, I didn't want to look like a puny human in front of Rodrian and the Beefcake Brute Squad.
"It's okay, Marek," I lied. "I'm a big girl. I survived this long without you, haven't I?"
His scowl indicated he emphatically disagreed.
Rodrian cleared his throat, urging him along. "Mark her, Marek, and come on."
I didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean, 'mark me'? You're not going to, ew! Like, pee on me, or something?"
The scowl became disgust. "Certainly not. We are not dogs. That type of behavior is for animals."
"Now you did it," said Rodrian. "If we weren't in such a hurry, this could've gotten interesting. I love it when Marek goes anti-Were."
"You have to explain that, too, Marek. But not right now." I added the last part in a hurry, catching the impatient glance Rodrian passed at me. "Mark me or whatever, as long as it doesn't hurt, and go."
Marek regarded me pensively and rubbed his jaw. I watched his hand, imagining the mist of stubble against my own skin. He stretched down, caressing my neck and shoulders, stroking my hair aside to reveal the bare skin.
The touch sent shivers cascading downward like a shower of sparks and I almost forgot we were surrounded by so many people. The sense of being watched diminished. The room and crowd fell away, leaving us alone in the sensation. I wondered what passed through his mind, knowing my own thoughts would be plain upon my face.
I gazed up at him expectantly, waiting for him to mark me, completely trusting him not to hurt me. When Rodrian spoke, I jumped.
"About time." Rodrian sounded impatient.
"It's not a thing to be rushed," Marek protested, his grin a hungry innocence.
"Wait," I said. "You mean, that's it?"
Rodrian's voice took on a more teasing tone and he leaned closer, flirty-close. "What did you expect, paint?"
"Well... something."
"Do you feel everyone's eyes upon you?"
"No." Come to think of it, the oppression had disappeared.
"Do you feel like you're in danger?"
"No."
Marek shrugged. "Then it worked. Let's go."
"Enjoy the club," added Rodrian. "Feel free to explore; no place is off limits to you, and no one will prey on you."
"Because of that gesture." I couldn't keep the skepticism out of my voice.
"Yes, precisely so."
"But if I leave the room, won't I be around other DV who didn't see him make with the Harry Potter?"
"Trust me." Rodrian smiled, mischief lighting his eyes, and his men exchanged amused glances. "We're clever enough to accommodate for not being around when something happens."
"Sounds mysterious, and not the least bit reliable." I frowned up at them. "How about a wristband? Or a shirt with big block letters reading I'm with Marek? Or..."
Cutting me off with a swift kiss that made me forget where I was, let alone why I babbled, Marek shushed me.
"Now, that's a marking anyone would understand," I said when he let me come up for air.
Marek treated me to another of his rare grins but, as he stood to leave, it melted from his face. Standing next to Rodrian and his men, he'd become dangerous again. The men flanked him as if he were a weapon.
"Soon, Sophie." Marek winked at me before they strode away.
I watched them until they disappeared from view, then turned to watch the crowd instead. They looked normal. As normal as expected, anyways, I amended. I spotted one guy dancing like he had Jell-O in his shirt and wanted to shake it down and out through the bottom of his pants.
Apparently, it was a cool dance, because admiring girls surrounded him.
Somehow, I refrained from banging my head on the table for feeling so old and out of it. Thankfully, I'd worn a corset under my sheer blouse. It gave me a false sense of security, as did my backless heels.
Especially the heels. God bless Steve Madden for his age-negating miracles.
It seemed like a nice enough crowd. I'd been in clubs before. My college friends talked me into going and for lack of anything better to do, I'd go. Two things always convinced me to swear it off again.
Number one, I couldn't dance. The biggest lie ever told was that to dance, all you did was "just go out there and have fun." Forcing a rhythm-and-tone-deaf body to move in a way that looked natural was not fun. I looked ridiculous when I danced and I was stupid enough to forget this important fact from time to time. It was a wretched cycle.
Number two, girls were vicious cats. They traveled in packs and picked fights everywhere they went. Most tried to conceal the ugly side of their natures but eventually the level of competition and jealousy overwhelmed the entire purpose of "going out and having fun." Even when I minded my own business, my big mouth got me into trouble.
Glancing around the room, I added a third reason: my being an old broad. Thirty-four was old compared to a crowd like this. I felt like a classroom mother on chaperone duty. Number three was enough of an argument to talk me out of doing just about anything.
It was different at Dark Gardens. I could make eye contact with other girls despite catching approving looks from the hot-looking men with them. Apparently, Dark Gardens was the exception to the usual nightclub rules.
I recognized the next song as a favorite of mine; a metal song had been mixed with an infectious thump-thump-thump that made it impossible for me to sit in the booth. I got up to explore the place just for an excuse to move. If I didn't move, I was going to sing and then all bets would be off.
Circling wide around the seating level, I surveyed the scene. The ring of booths and tables sat four wide steps higher than the round dance floor. Smart, I thought, since part of going dancing was sitting and watching, scoping out likely prey.
Eh, wrong choice of words. I swallowed against a dry spot in my throat.
A group of young women got up from a nearby booth and started down the steps. Flashes of colors glinted in more than one set of eyes as they glanced around. Spotting me, they waved at me to join them.
I didn't really want to, but as far as I understood Marek's intentions, I had to mingle with the DV. One of these girls might be
his niece or cousin. I couldn't risk insulting anyone by being standoffish. If my lack of grace embarrassed them, so be it.
Turned out, it wasn't so bad. The sociable girls didn't act like silly kids, which in turn didn't make me feel like nursing home fodder. I discovered I could actually move despite the fantastic shoes I wore, and, even more surprisingly, I enjoyed myself.
Our little group expanded a little at a time and new people mingled through. As the songs changed, so did the crowd. By the third song, I realized one of the newcomers seemed intent on dancing with me. Alone.
He was roughly my height and had short dark blond hair ruffled up in tousled waves and soft spikes. A mischievous grin was framed by a devilish goatee, and he danced like a show-off. I brushed him off with a small shake of my head. I didn't want a partner.
Instead of moving on, he changed tactics to keep my attention. He'd dance mockingly behind someone else's back, smoothly switching moves if they'd turn around and spot him. The other girls caught on, giggling and pointing out suggestions for his next target. He'd stop just as they turned around to see the commotion behind them.
Eventually, his luck ran out and, needless to say, the victim wasn't as amused as we were. Grabbing the imp by his collar and his belt, the offended man hoisted him easily over his head and threatened to toss him up over the booths. The girls rushed to the rogue's aid, pleading for his release even as he laughed and dangled upside down over us.
"For a price," he said. "Since you deprive me of sport."
"Name it," I said boldly.
"You'll dance with me." He stared right into my eyes.
His own eyes remained dark. Since they didn't flash or glow, I agreed. I was "marked" and he kept his fangs hidden. What's the harm? "I'll dance. Just—set him down already. He's looking down my friend's shirt."
"Damn!" The troublemaker's voice was drowned out by the girl's indignant shriek as she tried to jump up and club him. He didn't look like he suffered too much, considering the jumping animated her cleavage.
"On second thought, maybe he's safer up there..." I grinned up at him as he tried to fend off several well-aimed swats.