“That was amazing, earlier,” Alejandro says. “With the bird thing. You know.” He wiggles his eyebrows, trying to communicate his thoughts without the nearest patrons overhearing.
“Yes, I do know to what you’re referring. And thank you. I honed that particular skill many years ago, but it’s a complex one that took me a great while to master. It’s too handy to not have in my arsenal.”
“It must be incredible to fly. Did you feel trapped in the airplane? Wait, why did you take the airplane?”
“It’s too far to Costa Rica. I don’t have the stamina for that. But yes, flying is like nothing else.”
Alejandro sighs wistfully.
“I wish I could try it. I know your life must be a burden sometimes, but there are serious perks.”
“I could take you up. It’s been a long while since I’ve changed another, but it can be done.”
Alejandro sits up very straight and clutches the table with both hands.
“What? You could do that? When? Are you free this afternoon?”
I laugh and take a sip of beer.
“Easy, there. We’ll go up before you leave, I promise. You’re a brave soul—I’ve had many who flinch at the thought.”
“I’d like nothing better. Can I choose the type of bird? What are you, some kind of hawk?”
“A merlin falcon, naturally.”
Alejandro’s face widens in a smile.
“Of course. I think I’d make a good eagle. Not one of the bald ones, a golden eagle. Big, graceful, sharp talons.”
“Really? I was notching you down as a pigeon, myself.” My teasing brings out a huff of disgust from Alejandro.
“Merlo. I hope I can prove to you one day that I am not a pigeon man.”
I’ve ordered nachos and beer to share and the platter arrives a few moments before Jen does. The server is between Jen and Alejandro when I greet Jen. The server moves and Alejandro sees Jen for the first time.
The reaction of their lauvan is electric. One moment, the two are surrounded by their own lazily swirling strands. The next, every lauvan points toward the other. It lasts only a moment, but it is intense. Strangely, neither Jen nor Alejandro appears to notice.
“Jen. There you are,” I say. “No Cecil today?”
“He’s working, so it’s just me. He’ll swing by later.”
“Jen, this is Alejandro Fernandez, my friend’s nephew from Costa Rica.” I introduce him as Braulio’s nephew, not grandson, to make my friendship with Braulio more plausible. “Alejandro, this is my friend, Jennifer Chan.”
Alejandro sticks out his hand eagerly with an infectious smile that Jen can’t help but return. Their lauvan immediately intertwine at their joined hands and a single strand from each remains connected after they release. That’s interesting. It’s very unusual to make a connection that quickly with a total stranger. I’m curious to see what happens between them in the coming weeks.
“Merry! Wake up. I was asking Alejandro if you’ve taken him to the aquarium yet and he said no. What kind of host misses that?”
“He’s only been here one night. You do expect a lot. And we were rather busy. Alejandro kindly accompanied me to the emergency room after I’d been shot.”
“What?” Jen clutches the table. “Merry! Are you okay?”
“Fine now. Powers, remember?” Jen glances at Alejandro with a stricken look on her face. I alleviate her fears. “Alejandro knows. His uncle told him, typical meddlesome man that he was. But the salient point is, I have an enemy with a serious mission. You remember Potestas, that organization behind the Mt. Linnigan shenanigans a few weeks ago? It looks like they’re after my head, and they don’t have it yet. And I have no clues to track them down, only a name that leads to dead ends.”
“Should you be outside? Are you safe here?” Jen glances around furtively as if to spot a sniper lurking in the bushes.
“It’s a crowded restaurant, not a back alley. No one will do anything.” I debate whether to tell Jen about the resistance in the lauvan I felt while I dodged the bullet, or the lauvan ball that came from nowhere. Jen’s anxious face convinces me not to. Until I understand how they are related, there is no need to worry her unnecessarily.
“Okay, what’s the name? Maybe I can help.” Jen looks determined. “You’re not safe until we figure this out.”
I gaze at her, and my throat tightens slightly with emotion. Braulio was right—I need people who know me. When you don’t have anyone, it’s easy to forget how good it feels to have someone on your side. I clear my throat. “His name is Drew Mordecai. Brown hair, short, thirty-something. But I couldn’t find much, so don’t waste too much time. Hopefully he’ll make a mistake soon and I’ll catch him at it.” I pick up a cheesy nacho and pop it in my mouth. “Eat, drink, you two. And relax. Jen, tell Alejandro everything he’s missing as a result of my poor hosting skills.”
Jen begins to chatter and Alejandro hangs onto every word. Both their lauvan dance with excitement and joy. What a reaction—I haven’t seen its like in quite some time.
A pair of women saunter by. They’re embracing our unusual heat streak with open and welcoming arms. Both wear sandals and tank tops in the spirit of minimalism. Best of all, both are dressed in short, blousy skirts showing off generous lengths of well-shaped legs. I’ve seen shorts that are shorter, but there’s something delicious about a skirt.
I watch them approvingly as they swing past. The modern world is filled with miraculous inventions that I use daily but on occasions like this, one of my favorites is sunglasses. How much simpler it is to surreptitiously look at a woman without embarrassing her and acting like a fool yourself.
“Merry. You’re ogling those girls and ignoring us,” Jen says. Dammit. Sometimes women are unhelpfully intuitive.
“I am not ‘ogling.’ Honestly. What do you take me for, some lusty teenager?”
“Not far off sometimes.” Jen shakes her head and grins. An unexpected gust of wind sweeps along the street. It takes the walking girls by surprise and their chatting is instantly replaced by shrieks as the wind lifts their skirts and flutters them about, exposing a healthy view of be-thonged bottom.
I grin widely and Alejandro’s jaw drops as he looks at the girls. Jen punches my arm hard.
“You big jerk! You totally did that.”
“What?” I’m taken aback until I realize what she means. She thinks I used lauvan to push the wind about. I say loftily, “I can’t believe you would think that. I would never abuse my powers for so frivolous a purpose.” Alejandro snorts and Jen looks skeptical. I amend, “I would only rarely abuse my powers for so frivolous a purpose. And I’d do a much better job, too.”
Alejandro laughs and says, “That sounds more like the stories Braulio told me.”
“Oh yeah?” Jen says, propping her chin on her hand. “Like what? Tell me more.” She grins at me. “What sort of hijinks did Merry and your uncle get up to?”
“Apparently, Braulio and Merlo here went to a dance,” Alejandro says. I listen, amused, curious to hear what Braulio told Alejandro, eager to hear my memories come from somewhere beside my own head. Alejandro continues, “And Merlo decided to try a new dance move on his partner. He told her to prepare herself for the ‘Russian rise.’ She had no idea, of course, but when they did the move she ended up high in the air, legs apart and skirt flying.”
Jen laughs hard enough for neighboring tables to glance at us curiously. I roll my eyes.
“Your uncle, I’m afraid, was excessively prone to manipulating the story if it made the tale reflect better on him. What he neglected to pass on was that he taught me the move and dared me to use it.” I laugh. “Typical Braulio.”
I subside, with the remembrance that Braulio will never again tell a story, misremembered or not. My smile turns wry and sad and I look across the water to the distant mountains, clear in the bright heat.
Jen and Alejandro exchange glances at the edge of my vision, and Jen says, “Are you two free tonight? I’
m going clubbing downtown with Cecil and my roommate Amanda. It’d be great if you want to join us. It’d be fun for Alejandro to experience Vancouver nightlife, such as it is.”
Alejandro brightens, then looks at me for confirmation. I waffle for a minute for appearances’ sake.
“Clubbing? I’m sure Alejandro wants to go, but aren’t I getting a little long in the tooth for that?”
“You’re not even thirty yet,” Jen says. Alejandro coughs. I studiously ignore him. “Besides, don’t give me that line. I know you go out. And we’re heading to that club on the east end—it’s more of a professional crowd.” Suddenly her face falls. “Although maybe you shouldn’t be downtown at night.”
“Why not?” I’m truly mystified. Jen leans forward and whispers one word.
“Potestas.”
I sigh and rake my hand through my hair.
“I can’t hide in my apartment forever because some lunatic is after my head.” Jen looks at me in complete disagreement. I say, “Besides, there’ll be plenty of people in the club, and downtown is always packed. Alejandro and I were in a deserted alley when I was shot. I’ll be there.” Jen takes a breath as if to dissuade me, so I turn to Alejandro instead. “Are you interested?”
“Oh, yes,” he says at once. His eyes flicker to Jen when he replies and most of his lauvan are still oriented in her direction. Jen’s lauvan are reciprocating, twisting toward Alejandro. Jen shows nothing in her bearing or demeanor that indicates an attraction to Alejandro beyond her usual cheerful welcome of a new acquaintance. The fragile russet and gold lauvan that connect her to Cecil are still present, alongside the lauvan now connected to Alejandro.
“Well then, it’s decided,” I say with finality. “Thanks for the invite.”
“Hi, Cecil!” Jen waves behind me. I turn to where Cecil climbs the steps of the balcony. His blond hair gleams in the sun, and Jen’s lauvan squirm a little. I take a bite of the last of the nachos to hide my smile.
“Is it time already?” Jen says, busying herself with her purse. “Cecil, this is Merry’s friend Alejandro. He’s visiting from Costa Rica.”
“Welcome to Vancouver,” Cecil says, extending his hand to Alejandro. Alejandro shakes it heartily. Their lauvan, however, tell a different story. Their strands refuse to touch, and twist around each other warily, defensively, on edge. What an odd reaction between strangers. It can happen when people take an instant dislike to each other, but it’s rare. And if I hadn’t seen the lauvan I’d never have guessed. Alejandro and Cecil look perfectly amicable on the surface.
“I invited these two out dancing tonight,” Jen says to Cecil.
“I meant to tell you—I can’t make it.” Cecil looks slightly annoyed, but the expression quickly morphs into disappointment. “Sorry, babe.”
Jen looks taken aback at the familiar moniker, but otherwise ignores it. Alejandro’s lauvan dance with agitation. The silent story is so fascinating, I could watch it all day.
Not long after, we pay up and leave. Jen’s comment about Potestas, as much as I brushed off her concerns, is certainly valid. I’m still no closer to knowing who Drew Mordecai is and when he’ll strike again. It’s unlikely that he’ll start a shooting spree in a club with so many innocents in the way. But then, what do I know? Potestas was willing to erupt a volcano over an entire town before. Still, I’m not one to cower in the shadows. I’d rather face my foes head-on, or at least live my life unhampered by fear.
***
We stroll through throngs of people streaming along the sidewalk in the warm, dusky air. Alejandro saunters casually, but I can tell he’s bursting with excitement and pride as an international traveler, living the big-city life. The problem with living so long is that I’ve done everything before, but I can live vicariously through my friends.
“What are you smiling at, Merlo?”
“It’s a pleasant night. Ah, there’s the club.”
“Oh,” Alejandro says with a hint of despondency. “There’s a very long line.”
There’s no way I’m waiting. The line stretches the block and disappears around the corner. Halfway down the line, a hand waves frantically at us, and Jen emerges from behind a leggy blonde. I direct my steps in her direction. Jen’s dressed in a tight-fitting blue dress with large, sparkling earrings and Alejandro’s eyes widen slightly.
“Hi, guys. We’ve been waiting for ages, and we’re still not in. Amanda,” she points at her roommate, whose brown hair is pulled back in a high ponytail above a shiny purple top and tight black pants. “This is Alejandro, and you’ve met Merry. Alejandro, meet Amanda.”
I cut across their greetings.
“Come on, I’m not in the mood to wait. Follow me.”
“But if we lose our spot, it will take forever to get back!”
“A little trust, please.” I stride off without looking behind me and after a moment the clicking of the girls’ heels follow. At the door I beckon to the bouncer, an oversized man with a good-natured face despite an attempt at solemnity.
“A word, please,” I say to him. The man leans forward.
“You’ll need to line up with everyone else.”
“About that.” I reach toward his nearest lauvan and twist it around my index finger. My own lauvan twirl around it and I concentrate on my intent. “I believe we were invited by the owner.”
The bouncer’s face grows curiously blank. He nods slowly.
“If you’d kindly unlatch the barrier,” I say pleasantly. “We’ll be on our way.”
He nods again and fumbles with a hook fastening a velvet cord to the silver pole keeping the crowds at bay.
“Good man.” I pat his shoulder to release his lauvan from my own, and walk past him. “Come on, the rest of you. The music awaits.”
The girls’ heels click-clack behind me as I stride down the open hallway toward thumping music ahead. Once we’re out of earshot of the bouncer, Jen grabs my elbow.
“How did you do that? And why did you let me stand in line for so long?”
I laugh at her expression, equal parts indignation and admiration.
“I have a few tricks up my sleeve, you should know that. Although I do apologize for not giving you advance warning.”
“I don’t know what you said, but I’m glad you’re convincing. Thanks, Merry.” Amanda pats her hair and adjusts her top. “You should have been with us last week. Remember Underground Nightclub, Jen? We must’ve waited an hour and a half.”
“I admire your dedication,” I say. “I don’t have nearly that amount of patience.”
“How can you live for so long, yet not have patience, anciano?” Alejandro mutters to me in Spanish.
“What do you mean?” Jen answers in Spanish. In English, she says, “I do speak Spanish, you know. Why did you call him ‘anciano?’ He’s not that old.”
Alejandro’s lauvan flare and flutter with exhilaration at the revelation of Jen’s language abilities. My nails dig into my palms, but my voice is calm.
“Just a nickname his uncle had for me. A little joke. Now, what can I get everyone to drink?”
I escape to the bar while the others find a table. Alejandro’s apologetic face bobs in the wake of the two girls. I want to smack Alejandro upside the head. This is what happens when you put your trust in someone without knowing them well. I’ve been preparing Jen for ages and she still only knows about the lauvan, but here is Alejandro with the whole story and only a few days of visiting. I hope he can be trusted.
The club is loud and dark. Music pumps from the disc jockey on a dais above the dance floor, where sweaty bodies gyrate and twist to the pulse of bass. This club actively discourages the younger set, those who are drunk on life and their first legal alcohol binge, so the clientele is a little classier. But when people get together to drink and dance, decorum tends to fly out the window no matter the era. We’re only human, after all.
There’s a lull at the bar when I arrive and I place my order easily. A woman with sleek blond locks and chee
ks warm from dancing slides up. She smiles at me, then turns to the bartender.
“Red wine, please.”
“Put that one on my bill,” I say to the server. To the woman, I say, “You look thirsty.”
“You don’t need to buy me a drink.” She looks flustered and glances around as if searching for an escape.
“No strings. I’m feeling generous tonight—just enjoy.” I put a few dollars in the tip jar and collect my drinks, then grin at the woman and make my exit. She wears a half-smile as she watches me go.
When I arrive at our table and pass around drinks, Alejandro looks settled in his chair. Amanda is already on the dance floor, and Jen is on the edge of her seat, talking to Alejandro.
“Are you sure you don’t want to dance?”
“Oh, you have to dance,” I reply immediately.
“Why?” Alejandro asks, a touch defensively.
“Dancing’s important. You can tell a lot about a man by how he dances. Let me rephrase that—women evaluate men on how they dance.”
Jen tsks at me and rolls her eyes.
“Don’t listen to him, Alejandro. We do no such thing.”
“Oh, perhaps not consciously. But most dancing is a prelude to the main act.” Alejandro stares at me blankly. I raise an eyebrow and clarify. “The horizontal tango? The dance between the sheets?”
Alejandro sputters and Jen laughs incredulously.
“Come on, Merry. Where do you come up with this stuff?” She turns and scans the writhing dance floor. “Okay, tell me who’s the best in bed. Go on. I want to hear this.”
I cross my arms and lean back, surveying the crowd. I spot a couple of likely candidates but decide to analyze a few of the men for Alejandro’s education and Jen’s amusement. My first target is a wildly dancing man with a laughing partner and a pocket of space around him as people avoid his flying elbows.
“The guy in the red shirt. He has no idea what he’s doing, but dammit if he isn’t having a great time doing it. Clumsy but enthusiastic. And with a partner willing to go along with it, they’ll likely have a fun time. Now, cowboy hat over there,” I point to a very inebriated young man clamped onto the back of a pretty girl. “He’s practically grinding her right on the dance floor. He’s interested in getting what he wants, and that’s it. Three minutes, roll over and done, I’d guess. See her face? She’s only barely tolerating him.”
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