"It's against the rules."
"And rules are to be respected." Rising, Isis moved behind a display counter, took out a small, clear bowl with a wide lip. "Then perhaps you will buy this. I have, after all, lost potential business by closing to speak to you. Twenty dollars."
"Fair enough." Eve dug into her pocket for credits. "What is it?"
"We'll call it a worry bowl. In this you place all your pain, your sorrow, your worries. Set it aside and sleep without shadows."
"Such a deal." Eve set the credits on the counter and waited for Isis to wrap the bowl in protective paper.
– =O=-***-=O=-
Eve got home early, a rarity. She thought she could dive into work in the quiet of her home office. She could get past Summerset easily enough, she mused as she pulled up at the end of the drive. The butler would simply sniff and ignore her. She'd have a couple of hours clear to run data on Isis and to contact Dr. Mira's office and make an appointment with the psychiatrist. It would, Eve decided, be interesting to get Mira's take on personalities such as Selina Cross and Isis.
Eve got no farther than the front door when her plans disintegrated.
Music pounded, blasting out of the front parlor like compact nuclear explosions. Staggering against the waves, Eve slapped her hands over her ears and shouted.
She didn't have to be told it was Mavis. No one else in her sphere would play clashing, discordant notes at that decibel. When she reached the doorway, the volume was still revved high. Her shouted demands reached neither the remote nor the single occupant of the room.
Alone, decked out in a micro robe of searing magenta that echoed the spiral curls shooting out of her head, Mavis Freestone lounged on the couch, doing the impossible. She slept like a baby.
"Jesus Christ." Since vocal commands were useless, Eve risked her eardrums and dropped her hands to fumble with the recessed control unit. "Off, off, off!" She shouted stabbing buttons. The noise shut down in midblast and made her moan.
Mavis's eyes popped open. "Hey, how's it going?"
"What?'' Eve shook her head to try to dispel the high-pitched ringing. "What?"
"That was a new group I picked up this morning. Mayhem. Pretty decent."
"What?"
With a chuckle, Mavis unfolded her neat little body and bounced to a cabinet. "Looks like you could use a drink, Dallas. I must have zoned. Up pretty late the last few nights. Wanted to talk to you – about stuff."
"Your mouth is moving," Eve observed. "Are you talking to me?"
"It wasn't that loud. Have a drink. Summerset said it would be all right if I hung for awhile. Didn't know when you'd check in."
For reasons that eluded Eve, the stiff-necked butler appeared to have a major crush on Mavis. "He's probably in his cage, composing odes to your legs."
"Hey, it's nothing sexual. He just likes me. So." Mavis clunked her glass against Eve's. "Roarke's not around, right?"
"With that music blasting?" Eve snorted, sipped. "Figure it out."
"Well, that's good, because I wanted to roll it out with you." But she sat, twisted the glass in her hands, and said nothing.
"What's the problem? You and Leonardo have a fight or something?"
"No, no. You can't really fight with Leonardo. He's too sweet. He's in Milan for a few days. Some fashion deal.''
"Why didn't you go with him?" Eve sat, rested her booted feet on the priceless coffee table, crossed her ankles.
"I've got the gig at the Down and Dirty. I wouldn't let Crack down after he bailed me."
"Hmm." Eve rolled her shoulders and began to relax. Mavis's career as a performer – it was difficult to use the term singer when defining Mavis's talents – was moving along. There had been some serious roadblocks, but they'd been overcome. "I didn't figure you'd work there much longer. Not with a recording contract."
"Yeah, well, that's the thing. The contract. You know, after finding out Jess was using me – and you and Roarke – for his mind games, I didn't figure the demo I'd cut with him would go anywhere."
"It was good, Mavis; flashy, unique. That's why it got picked up."
"Is it?" She rose again, a tiny woman with wild hair. "I found out today that Roarke owns the recording company that offered the contract." Gulping her drink, she paced away. "I know we go back a ways, Dallas, a long ways, and I appreciate you putting Roarke up to it, but I don't feel right about it. I wanted to thank you." She turned then, her silver eyes tragic and bleak. "And tell you that I'm going to turn it down."
Eve pursed her lips. "Mavis, I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Are you telling me that Roarke, the guy who lives here, is producing your disc?"
"It's his company. Eclectic. It produces everything from classical to brain drain. It's the company. Totally mag, which was why I was so wired up about the deal."
Eclectic, Eve mused. The company. It sounded just like him. "I don't know anything about it. I didn't ask him to do anything, Mavis."
She blinked, lowered slowly to the arm of a chair. "You didn't? Solid?"
"I didn't ask," Eve repeated, "and he didn't tell me." Which was also just like him. "I'd have to say that if his company is offering you a contract, it's because Roarke, or whoever he's put in charge of that stuff, figures you're worth it."
Mavis took slow breaths. She'd worked herself up to the selfless sacrifice, unwilling to take advantage of friendship. Now she teetered. "Maybe he arranged it, like a favor."
Eve cocked a brow. "Roarke's business is business. I'd say he figures you're going to make him richer. And if he did do it as a favor, which I doubt, then you'll just have to prove to him that you're worth it. Won't you, Mavis?"
"Yeah." She let out a long breath. "I'm going to kick ass, you wait and see." Her smile beamed out. "Maybe you could come by the D and D tonight. I've got some new material, and Roarke could get another close-up of his latest investment."
"Have to pass tonight. I've got work. I've got to check out The Athame."
Mavis grimaced. "What the hell are you going there for? Nasty place."
"You know it?"
"Only by rep, and the rep's down below bad news."
"Someone I've got to talk to there, connected with a case I'm working on." She considered. There was no one she knew more likely to have a line on the unusual. "Know any witches, Mavis?"
"Yeah, sort of. A couple of servers down at the Blue Squirrel were into it. Brushed a few way back when I was on the grift."
"You believe in that stuff? Chanting and spells and palm reading?''
Mavis cocked her head and looked thoughtful. "It's major bullshit."
"You never fail to surprise me," Eve decided. "I figured you'd be into it."
"I ran a con once. Spirit guide. I was Ariel, reincarnation of a fairy queen. You'd be amazed how many straights paid up for me to contact their dead relatives or tell them their future."
To demonstrate, she let her head fall back. Her eyes fluttered, her mouth went slack. Slowly, her arms lifted, palms turned up. "I feel a presence, strong, seeking, sorrowful." Her voice had deepened, attained a faint accent. "There are dark forces working against you. They hide from you, wait to do harm. Beware."
She dropped her arms and grinned. "So, you tell the mark you need to have trust in order to offer protection from the dark forces. All they have to do is put say, a thousand cash – cash is all that works – in an envelope. Seal it. You make sure you tell them to seal it with this special wax you're going to sell them. Then you're going to do this cool chant over it, and bury the envelope in a secret place under the dark of the moon. After the moon's cycled, you'll dig up the envelope and give it back. The dark forces will have been vanquished."
"That's it? People just hand over the money?"
"Well, you string it out a little longer, do some research so you can hit them with names and events and shit. But basically, yeah. People want to believe."
"Why?"