by S E Holmes
Mira let him go without another remark. As he trudged the descent, Nic brooded on how difficult it would be to forget her. His progress through the labyrinthine mansion was marked by mute awe from anyone he met. Cloying from the outset, it reached a stifling level. He decided to say goodbye, find Balt and ride home, regardless of what Sam or his father chose. No matter what happened, he vowed not to return. They could prod him all they liked, he’d refuse to budge. This joint was crazy town.
True to Mira’s claim, he finally discovered Jonathon in the billiards room with assistance from Elmas, who he’d collected like a duckling in his wake. “Some food, Mr Nicholas? Drink?”
“No thank you, Elmas. I’m not staying.”
She clasped her hands in desperation, dressed for the occasion in a black frock and matching apron. It was a marked improvement on brown knitwear.
“You must! You must stay, Mr Nicholas.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, could you ask Kolb to bring my horse out front? Please?”
“Ohh,” she grumbled. “The Mistress most unhappy. Punish Elmas.”
“Crap! I don’t want to get you in trouble. It’s okay, I’ll do it myself.”
“No, no. I tell.” The housekeeper scurried away, wringing her hands.
Sighing heavily, Nic entered the billiards hall and the predicted silence fell. Bearing a large brandy balloon and cigar, face flushed by out-of-the-ordinary-consumption, Jonathon negotiated the crowd, oblivious of their response to his son.
“Nic! Great you’re here. Come on in and shoot a game. Meet Steve. You’ll never believe it. He’s from Galveston.”
As far as Nic was concerned, that was the easiest bit to believe. The Arkady house was like another world. Six snooker tables occupied the middle space, club chairs arrayed in cosy nooks. A large bar with busy staff took the furthest wall, the entire hall plush with leather, crimson velour, stained glass and wood panelling.
Blue smoke shaded the air in an aroma Nic likened to a Swedish sauna. Jazz piped from hidden speakers, a pianist taking a rest at his grand piano in the corner. The combined effect was of a posh men’s society from an earlier era, immaculate women included.
“I’m not staying.”
Anatoly cruised over, suit impeccable, skin polished, nails manicured, making his father seem worn and shoddy by comparison. “Nicholas! Welcome to our home. It is outstanding you’ve joined us.”
“No,” Nic replied coldly. “I’ve not joined you. I’m here to say goodbye to my family. And Anatoly, you’ll need to hire someone else to do your pool.”
“Nicholas!” Jonathon said. “Anatoly has extended his hospitality. I won’t tolerate this rudeness.”
“Just as well I’m leaving then.” He turned in the direction he guessed was the exit. Jonathon laid a hand on his shoulder. Nic spun back. “Have you forgotten this morning, Dad? Nate’s bleeding from a gunshot wound in hospital. What are you doing about it?” He leaned to mutter in Jonathon’s ear, “Fraternising with the enemy?”
His father’s fingers slid off and Nic left them, Anatoly noticeably disappointed. Jonathon’s apology could be heard over the rising babble, citing the stress of recent events. Nic experienced immense satisfaction, jostling worshippers from his trajectory, as he stalked the halls. Eventually, he made it outside into fresh air, not at the front as he’d hoped, but via the back patio. It was far too easy to get turned around inside.
Below on the lawn, Kolb wrestled Balt. The horse tossed his head, flinging the reins and dancing in agitated circles. Something nearby had him addled and Nic suspected its cause. He vaulted the remaining stairs, panic seeping his innards. Sasha.
“Thanks, Kolb. I’ll take him.” The groundsman wrenched the halter, provoking Balt further. He whinnied and snorted, front hooves lifted from the ground. “Really! I’ve got it.”
Nic grappled the reins, gently tugging him onto all fours, reaching to stroke Balt’s neck and calm him. He’d almost succeeded, when Kolb hurriedly strode towards the cat-pens, waving his arms and calling sharply.
Balt screamed, eyes rolling to yank free. He reared, forelocks digging the sky and it was all his master could do to scramble away as more than half a tonne of frightened animal rammed back to earth. Nic lunged for the bridle too late, as his horse reeled about and galloped madly for the gates.
Kolb’s pleading apparently met deaf ears, because he broke into a sprint. Nic whirled for a better view. He swore enthusiastically. Sasha appeared from the tunnel of hedges, while restraining Katya on a flimsy lead. She writhed and snarled, claws unsheathed and fangs frothed with saliva, hatred zeroing Nic.
“Yeah,” he whispered, aware he’d expected this the whole time.
Kolb wouldn’t get there to prevent it. Sasha released the buckle and with vicious glee the leopard shot for its prey. Nic tensed, fingers coiled to fists; running was pointless. He’d have to fight. Although he wasn’t optimistic, the chance to take vengeance in some small way appealed. He bent his knees, estimating the collision. The cat moved with uncanny speed, a spotted blur.
She leaped, paws outstretched and Nic jumped, both boots extended to meet with her jaw. Steel caps connected in a snap of bone and flailing claws. He couldn’t believe it worked. Katya howled, back-flipping into a crouch. He crashed horizontal, launching upright before she could rally.
Nic assumed a wrestling stance. “Come on then, little bitch.”
The cat hissed, yellow eyes crazed, hackles bristling. She lashed out and he dodged too slow, cloth tearing, four jagged ribbons across his chest. He staggered, knowing she’d sliced him deeply. The cat seemed to grow to preposterous size. Or maybe perception inflated the danger. Adrenaline blocked the pain -- as long as his intestines remained in tact. Battling while they spilled all over the lawn might prove a trial.
Aghast cries rose from behind, but he could not waste attention on the crowd pouring onto the veranda to witness his ruin. She tried again with needle talons, but he was ready, grabbing the leg to jerk her snout onto his fist. He pounded hard twice, and then threw her before she could retaliate with her unshackled paw. Landing in a poised squat with an enraged shriek, her lips curled to better display teeth, stalking a half ring at his front. He edged the arc, keeping a steady distance between them.
Nic wished the wretched cat would give up already. She merely looked cranky. He tired rapidly, the element of surprise waning. Evidently, there weren’t that many ways to skin a cat, or at least catch one off guard.
A bullet abruptly sprayed dirt at his foot. In the background, Sasha roared for Katya to run and she streaked into the shadows in a hail of missed shots. Nic gasped relief, bent against the sharp throb spreading his torso. Thirty seconds later, he heard her voice.
“Nic. Come with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with an Arkady. I want the lot of you to leave me the fuck alone!”
“It’s far to run. You’ll need transport,” Mira said. “Your truck’s parked in.”
She took him by the arm, leading him to converted stables adjacent the residence, beyond which the glassed roof of the pool-house was visible. He was simply too fatigued to object and didn’t relish a long jog.
“Sport over for the afternoon?” There was not a soul to be seen, the people amassing the patio having disappeared.
“He goes too far. Sasha will suffer for this infamy,” she seethed.
“So you keep promising.”
He didn’t care how bad-mannered he sounded. Mira didn’t seem to care either. “You have no reason to trust anything I say. And any apology I make will be hollow after all we’ve subjected you to.”
He noticed she’d changed, wearing cut-off denim shorts and a singlet. Her sopping hair dripped a transparent patch down her back. The outfit was the first he’d seen that a normal teen would wear. Her feet were still bare and she hoisted a large bore rifle over one shoulder. He recognised it as a Bushmaster semiautomatic. The contradiction somehow lessened her superior demeanour, exposing the vulnerable girl beneath
.
“You missed deliberately.”
“Yes. I cannot kill that which we hold sacrosanct.”
“And yet, they were quite prepared to stand by while Katya took another human pelt. I guess I know where I sit on the sacred scale.” The venom drained with his flagging energy.
“I would have arrived sooner, had I not been in the tub. None of them dare challenge a Felid idol. You, however, held your own. I have never seen such an impressive display.” She gazed at him with open respect. “True bravery is very rare in this modern age. And you seemed to anticipate Katya’s every stroke.”
“It wasn’t hard. Decapitate, gore, disembowel, sever.”
Nic felt numb, not courageous. The knowledge he’d tangled with a big cat was slippery and frankly impossible. He just wanted to turn heel and go home, briefly entertaining thanking Mira for saving him. But none of this would have occurred were it not for the Arkady snare. It was petty, but he couldn’t help it. She shuddered in the cold, as they cut through a copse of trees, smothering them in dusk.
“Even after that ordeal, you find humour.”
“I’ve been training on the odd chance I’ll be forced into a bare-knuckled wrestle with a wild beast. It paid off. It’s a shame I couldn’t rescue my shirt, though.”
“Sarcasm. You are a very unusual person, Nicholas.”
He snorted. “And you guys are not weird at all.”
“I need to tend that wound.” She eyed the increasing blood, stark against the white of his torn shirt.
“No, thanks.” Her rubbing his bare chest would surely push him too far, even with stinging antiseptic. “I’ll suss it when I get home. I have some recent experience with bites. Scratches aren’t that different.”
“Touché,” Mira smiled. Staying angry when she did that was trying. “Sam has the keys to your bike. You will need one of ours.”
The last of his adrenaline spent, the pain amplified. And Nic began to worry properly about Balt, especially if that devil cat was still on the loose. At the long, low building, with its characteristic gabled vents and slatted shutters, Mira punched numbers on a control panel at the side. Two broad doors swung wide to reveal a modern garage, an astonishing assortment of vehicles rowed either side.
“I suppose the congregation’s thrilled the lovebirds are taking a romantic stroll?” Nic asked wryly.
“I doubt it. They are well aware of my thoughts on the matter.”
His curiosity peaked. “And what might they be?”
“We are at the end of our time. Take the ‘Busa. It is the fastest.”
***
Chapter Twenty