Rolling for Love

by Kate Messick

  “You’re quitting?”

  “This is my two weeks’ notice,” I confirm. “I don’t want your project to suffer because of my choices and your lies.”

  “I didn’t lie to you.” Amorino crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Really?” I can’t wait to hear this.

  “If you’d asked, I would’ve told you I was married. But you never asked,” he points out.

  Before I can even think of a response, Devon comes rushing up to the pod. I move out of the doorway.

  “Two concrete trucks are here at the same time, but we only have one team ready to pour!” Devon’s words come fast and clipped.

  “Sandy, we need to finish this discussion – and don’t take the time to write up that paperwork until we look at your special contract,” Amorino barks.

  Devon gives me a sympathetic frown as the two men leave my pod. Fuck, I forgot about the blueprints.

  Chapter Thirty

  Reality, The Rio, Mexican Restaurant

  Despite being a chain restaurant in a city known to shun them, The Rio has had a long thriving history in Boulder. Well managed, always clean with lots of vegan and vegetarian options, the interior is classy, spacious, and has the best margaritas in town.

  Dillon Dempsy

  “I can’t quit my job,” Sandy blurts.

  I can’t help looking around to see if anyone else is here. Sandy just opened our conversation with a personal statement. “Of course you can, if you really want too,” I tell her, trying to be supportive. I have no idea what’s going on.

  “Are you ready to order?” The waitress stands in front of the table with a jug of water and begins to fill our glasses.

  “I need the strongest margarita you sell here,” Sandy says.

  “Is that a good idea?” I can’t stop myself from asking. The glare Sandy gives me makes me shove back my chair. “I’ll have the same,” I say quickly to the waitress instead. I see the amusement in the waitress’ eyes as she writes down our order and heads back to the kitchen.

  “So, good day at work?” I tentatively ask. Dealing with Sandy is often like walking on eggshells, unless we stick to D&D and books. I was quite pleased when I discovered we had similar taste in books.

  “I know you’re trying to make light of it. But no, no, not at all.”

  “Tell me about it,” I request.

  Sandy blinks a few times. “I talked to Joe about stuff the other night,” she shrugs. I school my face and force myself to let her finish. “I’m not sure what made me feel better: the talking or the punching of a bag over and over.” Her voice sounds lost.

  “Maybe if you try the talking part now, without hitting things, you will know which one made you feel better,” I advise logically. I can’t stop my hand from reaching out and holding one of hers.

  She winces a little and I look down. Even in the mood lighting of the room I can see her knuckles are black and blue.

  “You should ice these,” I say. “Did you get them punching the bag?”

  “I did.” She pulls her hand away self-consciously and I curse inwardly.

  Great, well done. Make her more uncomfortable than she already is. “I will start and let you collect your thoughts.” I try a different tactic. The exact one we’re using to get her to think outside of the numbers box for Nozomi. “My day was very boring and normal. My friend Blake made fun of me at lunch, I got an email about a new programming request that looks fun but I won’t get excited until it’s approved.”

  “Why are men obsessed with talking about their day?” Sandy asks, regarding me intently.

  “Sorry?” I am confused again. I was hoping sharing would get her to open up.

  “Never mind.”

  The waitress comes back with our drinks and Sandy happily guzzles half of it right off the bat. “I’m unhappy in my work environment,” she starts again.

  I see her hesitate, deciding how much she would like to share.

  “Long story short, the company that I work for has a government contract piece to it and until that contract is completed, I’m legally obligated to see it through. And honestly, I kind of want to. There’s this thing … and I want to see it. But I don’t want to deal with my boss anymore.”

  “That seems very odd,” I respond.

  Chips and salsa arrive, and Sandy helps herself. Her mood seems to brighten with the happy crunch of chips. “It is,” she says. “It does feel good to share. My mother used to tell me to hold my cards close to my heart, otherwise people will take them.”

  “Your mother doesn’t sound very trusting,” I add. I’m officially terrified and looking for cameras in case this is a prank. Sandy and I have been emailing and meeting for meals for weeks, and I just learned more about her in ten minutes than every one of those combined.

  “I don’t think Nozomi is very trusting either,” she continues.

  And that fast, we’re away from anything personal and into the world of fantasy. We both finish our first margaritas with our appetizer, and order a second round for our meal. My fear that Sandy is going to overdo it melts as we talk about what Strider would do in certain situations and where that comes from. And Sandy responds in kind, nursing the second margarita. Her answers tonight are concise if defensive.

  “Your back story is written isn’t it?” I ask as the waitress drops off the check.

  Sandy snatches it up before I can even look at it. “You paid last time. My turn. I finished it earlier this week,” she says flippantly. “Including my greatest fear and my ideals and bonds. But you will have to wait until Joe is ready for the group to hear it.”

  “But I helped you write it,” I complain halfheartedly. Although I’m sure she has pieced together most of Strider’s history from our conversations, she will not open the email with his official back story until Joe tells her to. It’s adorable.

  “You helped me understand motivations and emotions,” she corrects.

  The waitress takes her card and comes back with a receipt.

  “You’re helping me understand myself,” she adds very quietly. One of her bruised hands covers my own and squeezes it before she picks up her jacket and purse to leave.

  My eyes linger on her backside as I watch her go. My bus isn’t for a few more minutes and I absently eat a chip. Once again I wonder if I should just ask Sandy out, officially. We’re not really dating, but it feels like dating. Dinners, emails, texts. I’ve ditched Blake a few times for her. I catch a reflection of myself on the outside of my margarita glass. I love reflections, mirrors, watching. Sandy would look incredible in my mirrors. I keep my sex life and kinks to myself, or at least until I’m comfortable sharing. Sandy makes me feel comfortable, but I don’t know if I do the same for her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Campaign, Poogses’ Country Estate, Room Two

  Magic is only as strong as the one who wields it. Anyone can use words to change one’s emotions. But only the truly talented can wield it to change one’s perception.

  Goliath (Zack’s character)

  I blink as the busy sounds of a big city fill my ears and assault my senses. Hundreds of people walk the streets. The sky is dense with clouds threatening a torrential rain at any moment. A few people stare at our sudden appearance. Others just go around us, as if seeing an odd group of dirty demi-humans is just another day in the city.

  “This is my room!” I exclaim excitedly.

  “Do you yell that to the busy streets?” Joe asks me.

  “No. I say it just loud enough that only the party can hear,” I switch back to my Scottish accent. “My castle was transported to a big city by some wealthy douchebag and now rests at the top of a skyscraper.”

  “And look at that. We’re standing in front of a skyscraper,” Trixy purrs behind me.

  We all look up. The glass windows, framed with the greys and blues of metal, are reaching up-up-up into the sky. The faint outline of a castle, back-lit by flood lamps with a blinking red light at the top, is barely visible
amongst the clouds.

  I take the lead and push our party through the rotating glass door at the front of the building. Nozomi holds the witch low in her arms and stands in the middle of our little band. The inside is a huge well-lit room. Clean marble covers the walls and floor. Rich, dark couches dot the windows and a big security desk sits in between two sets of elevators. I start to guide us toward a couch when a uniformed security guard approaches the party.

  “Who are you here to see?” he asks. He eyes our torn and bloody clothing with something between disbelief and humor.

  “Mr. Smith,” Strider confidently answers. “On the fifth floor.”

  “Those are quite the costumes you have there,” the officer comments.

  “We’re a post-apocalyptic barbershop quintet,” Strider responds smoothly. “Goliath is our beatboxer. The get-ups help us stand out.”

  He grunts and presses “talk” on the walkie-talkie on his shoulder to confirm the information. “I believe you’re mistaken,” he says. Two more guards suddenly flank him. “Do you need help leaving building?”

  “No, no.” Strider holds up his hands innocently. “We must have gone into the wrong skyscraper. They all look so similar.” Strider motions for all of us to make a quick exit.

  Back outside, the noise of the streets is overwhelming after our quiet jail cell.

  “Shawarma?” I say the word as a question. “Can I declare that there is a shawarma place around the corner?”

  “Sure,” Joe agrees. “As you know this place, within reason, you are welcome to add to the story.”

  We find ourselves sitting around a small circular table in a tiny but excellent little take-out shop. The shawarma tastes incredible.

  “Is it actually filling?” Sandy asks Joe.

  “Sure,” Joe says easily. “As far as you can tell, It’s filling.”

  “Trixy needs to feed as well,” Steven advises. “I’m sure those security guards could smell us – we haven’t bathed in like three days and are covered in blood. Although Trixy is still hot, even covered in dirt and blood.”

  “Oh-h, is there an apothecary near here?” Lynda asks Joe.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Reality/Campaign, Joe’s house

  You can’t always get what you want.

  Joe Smartin

  I cry inside and curse my lack of foresight at not giving the rooms time limits. My carefully constructed skyscraper gauntlet devolves into a shopping trip. Starting with finding a gym, they can break into to shower … nope, even better. Strider rolls an eighteen and they get a free week trial pass to a nearby gym. Great.

  Goliath’s greatest fear is zombies. Specifically, everyone around him becoming zombies. Gargoyles can be bitten by zombies, but as they turn to stone in the sunlight, healing them completely, none have ever completed the transformation. I don’t point out that it’s day in this large city and yet Goliath is not stone. Nozomi also has a physical flaw that’s visible by day and it’s not showing in the daylight of the city. I wonder if she has forgotten it or is just keeping the information to herself to use later. Either way, it was something I was planning on them investigating and they are completely ignoring it.

  “We need business suits,” Dillon declares. “And I need a library to research the skyscraper. Fortunately for us, I have a few very high-limit credit cards.”

  “You do,” I very begrudgingly say.

  Part of his well-connected human in a supernatural world package. I didn’t actually write down who works in this place … the skyscraper was flavor text really. I give Sandy my best help-me look and she grins at me, knowing exactly what’s going on, I’m guessing. It instantly puts me in a better mood.

  “I’m going to get beers for Joe and me; does anyone else want anything?” Sandy asks.

  “I would love one, too,” Dillon replies. He shoots me a jealous look that makes me grin.

  Sandy’s hands are wrapped in my bandages. We had chatted a few times during the week and she’d come over early so I could look at them.

  I spend the next hour pulling shit out of my ass and googling. Strider is very excited to attempt to trick the guards again and has been dressing up the party. After the blood room, everyone wants a change of clothing anyway. Nozomi is interested in fashion to the point of impracticality, something I was very excited to see on her now half-finished character sheet. Lynda procures potions and Trixy disappears to feed, also known as Steven takes out his phone to play games. I can tell that everyone is ready to get on with the story.

  “Ok,” I finally get to say. “Everyone has two extra meals, water, and adventure packs full of all the useful gear you have listed on your sheets. Are you wearing your packs on your new suits? What did you do with the witch while you were doing all of this?” I ask, suddenly remembering she was with them.

  “We left her next to the skyscraper,” Zack easily responds.

  “Just unconscious on the ground?” I clarify.

  “She’s evil and trying to scare us to death by pulling us into made-up realities,” Sandy adds. “I think we can risk that nothing in this world will hurt her.”

  “Fair,” I acknowledge.

  “Back to the skyscraper!” Zack declares excitedly, and then confirms the plan. “Ruby and I will be waiting at the fire exit on the fifth floor, sorry I’m so recognizable. If you do not open the door for us in thirty minutes, we gather here.” Zack points to a spot on the battle mat.

  I quickly move all my papers of hopefully useless notes, assuming no more shopping trips, into a pile and get out my leather notebook. “Are you all available to run late tonight?” I ask.

  “I need to relieve the babysitter, but Steven can stay,” Lynda answers.

  Everyone else confirms and I start rolling dice.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Campaign, Poogses’ Country Estate, Room Two

  Xanatos Tower is a monster of a skyscraper filled with offices catering to the mundane. The inside is painfully beige with the occasional plant and generic wall art. Elevators run up and down at break-neck speeds. But only one goes all the way to the top, where the eccentric, and ultimately evil, billionaire put together his Scottish castle.

  Strider (Dillon’s character)

  My research and disguises from our shopping trip pay off as we put on a brilliant show for building security. Dressed in a charcoal-grey business suit, I’m flanked by Nozomi and Trixy. Their coordinating pencil skirts and suit tops are accented with yellow. Between my new knowledge of who works in the building and my two very lovely “junior attorneys” we easily bluff our way past the security guards. I’m pleasantly surprised at how well everything is going. That’s never a good sign and worry gnaws at my gut. As the elevator music stops and the doors slide open, my worry is realized.

  The scene in front of us is completely unexpected. The door opens to a hallway, the dim lighting flickers in and out, the buzz and crackle of the fluorescents our only noise. Paintings are askew and streaks of something dark that looks like blood covers the ceilings and walls. What little furniture is in the hallway is derelict and broken. It looks almost post-apocalyptic.

  I turn to Nozomi and nod as she gently places the overly large briefcase, full of our weapons, on the floor. The three of us arm ourselves, though Trixy’s dire flail is with Ruby and Goliath. I let my eyes continue to take in this new setting as Nozomi uses one of her daggers to cut a slit into one side of her pencil skirt. She nods at Trixy before flipping the handle and offering the dagger to the succubus.

  “Hot,” Steven says to Sandy.

  “Practical,” she says back to Steven. “Have you ever worn a pencil skirt and pumps to understand the limitations?”

  “Nope, but I’ve watched lots of action movies,” he laughed.

  I cock my head; it almost sounds like Sandy and Steven are engaging in friendly banter. They’ve been easing off on the arguing tonight.

  “Moving on,” Joe brings us back to the game.

  We easily find the
emergency exit. Unfortunately, it does not seem to be as open as my intel found; the alarm will sound when we open the door. Tension dances along my spine, something feels very wrong.

  “Nothing we can do for it,” Nozomi laments. She quickly pulls it open.

  A small, light alarm begins flashing in the stairwell and a beeping pattern begins. I ignore it as Goliath’s bulk fills the door followed by Ruby.

  “We need to climb the stairs now,” Goliath urges. “My greatest fear is zombies. I could see them through the windows as we climbed … this building is full of them.”

  “Zombies? You fear zombies as a gargoyle who can’t turn into a zombie?” Trixy exclaims.

  “It’s complicated,” Goliath explains before a low moan interrupts him.

  The limping gate of what was an office worker can be heard approaching from the hall-way. She’s moving slowly, her face drooping, her clothing torn and bloody. One ankle is bent at an impossible angle. Her eyes shine with an unnatural waxy hunger and there is more movement behind her.

  “Fifty-six floors, approximately 30 offices per floor, assuming every floor is occupied in the middle of the day on a weekday. That’s about 1680 zombies, not considering the first five floors we skipped.” Nozomi’s eyes are big.

  “Run you fools,” Goliath shouts as he charges up the stairs.

  Nozomi (Sandy’s character)

  I don’t remember a time when life was anything other than cutting through zombies. With a few detours to throw the masses off our trail, we have hacked and slashed our way to the top.

  Goliath is a mess, his body covered in bites and scratches. Like a gargoyle possessed, he’s charged every pack we found, taking the infectious wounds to save us. My collection of daggers is running low; my long dagger is shoved between two doors on floor 30 that zombies were about to stagger out of. Our single attempt to reach the elevators had been a disaster and ended up with us blowing them up, rendering them useless. However, it gave us the idea to start barricading doors and destroy landings as we ascend, preventing flaking. Hopefully, we don’t need to come down.