CHAPTER 3
Given the situation, lessons were suspended, for the great relief of the students. Less of the teachers. Indeed, sharing her time between answering useless questions to the police and attending endless extraordinary meetings to discuss the recent events didn't match the concept Amanda had of a pleasant day.
When she was finally able to leave the university, evening had already fallen, and a feeble blue light escorted her all the way to the station, which was all but empty.
She went straight to the desk and told the teller her destination, reaching out with her left wrist. The man lightly touched her bracelet with a thin, long metal rod. A low light went from the former to the latter, and only then the teller allowed his mouth to form the shadow of a meaningless smile.
«Thank you, you can depart immediately», he announced.
Amanda went through the little and empty waiting room, relived only by the echoes of a voice calling her destination. She entered the main area of the station – a square room which floor was taken for more than one half by a complex disc of polished stone – and found two other men.
The first, with his back to her, must be another passenger for the same place. Although he looked vaguely familiar to her, she didn't think she really knew him. Maybe they had already met in a similar situation.
The second, bearing marked elven features, wore the suit of the sorters. A job Amanda always deemed extremely boring.
This one again announced the destination out loud. Probably he had to, but this didn't help making it seem less stupid. Of course, there could always be absent-minded people around, but with only two people there, only an idiot couldn't have yet understood.
Finally the sorter resolved to do what he was supposed to. The familiar milky halo appeared, perpendicular to the disc on the floor, and Amanda waited for the other traveler to move forward, but he stepped aside and gestured for her to go first, which she did with half a thankful smile.
Just an instant later she was leaving the nearest station to her home, determined to take the long route this time. After all she wasn't in a hurry: the Underdark was not a place you could easily be late to.
Placed at the borders of the suburbs – in that no-one-land where the high-rises of the town center gave space to shorter and more lived houses that someone called twilight zone, as it was in the middle between the places people used to stay during the day and the ones in which most of them retired at night – the Underdark was the meeting place of a wide and multicolored population of nocturnal people. The term was meant to have more connotations than it used to, and many more than Amanda appreciated.
The place was surrounded by a fence, interrupted here and there by small black marble columns, that had a cemetery feeling. A narrow path of irregular polished stones went through a small but well-cared garden, leading directly to the front of the building, this too covered by black tiles on the whole surface, with the exception of the entrance: an archway sided by spiraling, black columns with silver veining, closed only by thick curtains of matching color.
Just above it there was a large and anonymous sign. In the right light it was possible to see on it the name of the place, written in old and elaborate letters. Amanda always suspected that a large part of the local customers did not need any particular light to see it, but always refrained from trying to find a confirmation.
If Amanda had gone there with the same attire she had used for work, most likely she wouldn't even have been able to get near the gate, thus she had changed completely. The jeans and the pullover had been replaced by a black dress, not too close fitting; she had put on transparent black stockings and a pair of stiletto-heeled shoes, on which she was now walking as if that was putting to test her mental and physical abilities. Her mahogany red hair fell over her shoulders in a waterfall of curls. Each time some girl confessed her how much she envied those curls, Amanda always answered with a smile, behind which she hid the irresistible urge to reply "Try managing them for a couple of week and see if you still think so".
To each side of the gate, as an unlikely statue, stood a man who didn't merge chameleon-like to the black marble behind only thanks to the fair skin of his face and hands. Everything else was covered by entirely black suits, matching their hair and sunglasses, which they wore in spite of the fact that the sun had been all but visible for a long time by then. From a distance they could easily pass for identical twins.
If Amanda passing by made any kind of interest arise in them, they were able to hide it perfectly. The reaction of the girl at the entrance hall was quite different: she watched her coming with ill-conceived attention and flung the curtains open for her with professional courtesy.
Beyond the archway there was a corridor ending in a second passage looking just like the first one, curtains and all.
There was a wardrobe on the left, where Amanda had nothing to leave in that weather, opposite to a sort of small living room – with old-fashioned sofas, some round tea tables and a large mirrored chest of drawers – and another curtain which hid the entrance to the restrooms, for those few of the customers who might need them. The architect of the place had probably believed that it was more chic to sit and chat while waiting for one's turn, than standing in line in front of the door.
The locale proper was plunged in a crisscross of lights and shadows which made its atmosphere much more intimate than what Amanda wanted. On one side, the large counter, black and polished, behind which no less than three bartenders, two male and a female, where doing their best to satisfy the requests of the patrons sitting on the tall stools, much more comfortable than they appeared to be. On the other a small stage, on which a piano player cheered the audience with some moody song. In the middle a whole series of tables, chairs and couches, arranged so that each group of customers could have some degree of privacy. Who deemed it not to be enough could always chose to retire into one of the private rooms upstairs. Provided, obviously, that they could afford it.
Nothing had changed from the last time Amanda had been there, although it seemed like a lifetime before.
She sighed silently before entering the main room, looking around casually as if she wasn't searching for someone as much as absently watching her surroundings. She knew at least a couple of people she could try and get information from, none of which was anywhere to be seen. Although, given the scarce lighting and the fact that she hadn't her glasses on, that might mean much less than it seemed.
She didn't like being there. She had never liked it, even before, when it happened much more often. Then as now, it was only a matter of business, if business was the right word for it. And then as now this wasn't enough to put her at ease.
Of course she had a very good reason to investigate on her own. She was sure that the police, especially after the show of that morning, wasn't going to find a single answer. And Parker, after all, had been a... friend was saying too much, really too much, but colleague was almost as good. And also... also she knew all too well that this was most of all a very good excuse to start meddling again in other people businesses. Not that she enjoyed doing that, but she had to admit she was quite good at it.
She went to the counter and sit on a stool, careful in choosing one between two empty places. If any of her former contacts was there, or was going to be, they would see and approach her, but it might take a long time: the Underdark was open from sunset to sunrise, and the former was much closer than the latter.
She was sipping a cocktail when a leap of the shadows made her realize someone was behind her. Before she could turn, a polite fake cough reached her ears, the kind that would be used to draw the attention of someone to whom you have to say something, either you want it or not. Not exactly the attitude she could expect from any of her old acquaintances.
Turning slowly, she ended up looking into a strong chest enclosed into a stiff dark suit jacket, bearing more buttons than any of her dresses. She had to look up to see whom it belonged to.
The man, a complete stranger to her, wa
s tall and well built, two features that clashed whit his ebony skin and the short white hair, barely visible under a doorkeeper hat. No. Not a doorkeeper. Driver, was the correct definition. That men was in a perfect driver attire, and stood there stiff and motionless as if waiting for the chance to open the door of a coach and let her in.
«My mistress was wondering whether you would be so kind as to be her guest at her table. She would appreciate to have the chance for a word with you.» His voice, too, was stiff and affected as much as his posture, it was almost as if he was repeating words learned by heart. And... mistress?
With some effort, Amanda tried to look beyond the man to see who had sent that weird invitation. She met the gaze of an elegantly dressed lady who sent her an enigmatic smile. Was she trying to hit on her? In that case, she had to admit it was the most original attempt she had ever witnessed.
She made a mental shrug.
In its own way, the Underdark could be a dangerous place, but sitting at a table and talking didn't usually kill anyone. Or at least not anyone she had heard of.
The driver seemed to read her thoughts because, when she stood, he lead her to the table of that woman, with a bodyguard attitude that seemed quite out of place in that situation. Sure it wasn't like she could be assailed while going from the counter to the table... or was it?
If he could have, he would probably have pulled back the chair to help her sit down, but since there was only a semicircular sofa around the table, she would never know that for sure.
«Vivienne Blanchard», the lady introduced herself abruptly, while politely gesturing for her to sit down opposite her. She reached out with a hand, but not like she wanted to shake hers, rather it seemed like she wanted to show her the back of it, or maybe the elaborate ring on her finger. What was she supposed to do? She decided to do nothing at all, and at least the woman didn't seem to take it as an offence, and just showed a condescending smile.
«Amanda Sheldon», she replied.
«Oh, of course, I know. This is the very reason why I invited you here.» Her accent had an exotic, indefinable feeling to it. Her "r", especially, seemed to be aristocratically unfinished, insubstantial, as if she had her own personal method to pronounce them without a single vibration.
«I didn't think I was famous», Amanda replied, hiding her surprise. Who was that woman, exactly? Her face told nothing to her. She had ripe lips, their crimson color like a beacon on the snowy skin of her face, framed in long jet-black hair. Her eyes where dark, almost black, and her long and curved eyelashes cut them out of her visage, almost making them float on their own in the shadows of the room.
«Fame is an abstract concept. And not always a positive thing. What does really matter is to be known to the right people.»
«Which include you, I take.»
«At times.» She smiled, showing for a second a series of marble-white and just too perfect teeth, then she raised a chalice from the table and took it to her mouth, holding it by the stem with the tips of her fingers. Her nails were the same color of her lips.
«I know that you are looking for someone», she continued after barely dipping her lips in the contents of the glass, something Amanda wasn't able to identify.
«You know a lot of things.»
«Many more than you might think, my dear.»
«This one is wrong, though. I'm not looking for anyone.»
«You should.»
What was that supposed to mean? Amanda didn't want to give her a satisfaction asking, and just stood silent. Vivienne answered the unspoken question anyway.
«Sometimes it is better to find than it is to be found.»
«Do you always speak in riddles?»
«There are some things that cannot be spoken plainly.»
«I'll take it for a yes.»
«Sharp. I do like that. But do not exaggerate, someone might not like your attitude. After all, I am sure you do not really think that just having a weapon on yourself is enough to fend off every danger, do you?»
Amanda strongly hoped that her face wasn't showing what she was feeling. How could that woman know she was armed? The wand was carefully strapped to her leg, she had made sure it was all but invisible under the dress. She had to resist the temptation of looking down to make sure it still was, and forced a neutral smile.
«Is this a threat?»
«My dear, if it had been in my intentions to threaten you, I would have done so. Or, most likely, I would have had you killed, then threatened you afterwards, in order to spare time. But, believe it or not as you will, I am trying to keep you alive.»
«What did I do to deserve such an honor?»
«Nothing as yet. Another reason why to try to make you live long enough to change this situation.»
This time Amanda did nothing to hide the confusion rising within her.
«You are a most uncommon person, Amanda.»
That couldn't be denied. As far as she knew, she was actually unique. But it wasn't like she had ever gained any advantage from that.
«You switched from threats to compliments, I see.»
«You do know what I mean», the woman accompanied her reply with an annoyed gesture of her hand. «For some, you are like a beacon in the heat of the night. Even unknowingly or unwillingly, they will come to you sooner or later, if they still have not.»
«I still don't get what you are talking about.»
«So much the better.»
«So you made me come here just to give me unintelligible information that it's better for me not to understand?»
«No. I made you come here to tell you that you might as well not be the only uncommon creature in this town, and that you should better look for the other one, before the other one finds you.»
«And who... what is this creature supposed to be?»
«I warned you, the rest is up to you.»
«I hope you don't think I owe you anything for your riddles...»
«Things are much simpler than that, my dear. Either you do what I expect you to do, after which you will owe me no more, or soon you will be dead, in which case it would not matter any longer.»
«Threats again.»
«I think I told you, I am not prone to threatening people. I was only explaining the situation to you, I did never state I would partake in your death. Ash, prepare the coach, I am leaving.»
The last sentence was evidently for the black-skinned man, who immediately left the room.
That woman really had a coach. Incredible.
«Aren't coaches a little too old-fashioned lately?»
«It only takes persisting and every thing comes back in fashion sooner or later.»
«And I take you have been persisting for a while.»
«Longer than you can imagine, my dear, longer than you can imagine.»
The woman stood, sliding between the table and the sofa with a fluid and graceful movement that Amanda would never have been able to reproduce.
«What is your part in all this?» she managed to ask her before she was out of reach.
«I do not like competition» she answered, almost in whisper, before she went through the door and disappeared behind the heavy curtains.
Standing up and following her would have been useless. And considering the quality of the conversation, she probably had no reason to anyway. Aside, maybe, trying to see if the coach really existed, but she could live without that as well.
The rest of the night was spent in a long and useless wait. None of the people she wanted to meet showed up.
There were still a couple of hours before dawn – and the closure of the locale – when weariness started to have the upper hand on her, and Amanda decided it was time to go back home, even though this meant she had to visit again the following night.
She had taken just a few steps outside when something cold and wet brushed her face, almost a light sting. Automatically she lifted her fingers to her cheek, surprised.
Water.
Instinctively she looked up, as if
she could see anything but the night and the stars. She didn't, but another drop hit her on her left eyebrow, followed by another on the root of her nose.
One after another, uncountable drops of water started drumming on the macadam. As absurd and impossible as it might seem, it was raining.
Nocturnal (episode n. 1) Page 3