We'd barely arrived at her place before we were leaving again. Always unfailingly prompt, she swept out the door, cloaked in silence as shimmering as her silk shawl. Promise wasn't much on the spoken word. If she had something especially pertinent to say, she would. If not, she let her eyes speak for her. And they did, in volumes that had even the most jaded, sneering maître d' scrambling frantically to smooth her path with verbal rose petals.
Me? I was lucky to get a grunt from the local pizza delivery girl. And I had nice eyes too, not to mention a killer ass. There truly was no justice in the world.
How did I know that? Aside from the ass thing, one clue was how our easy night went downhill as fast as a runaway sled. The first hour went well enough. Tedious enough to have my jaw aching with restrained yawns, but it was better than a kick in the head. Just barely.
I started out circulating throughout the reception at the Waldorf. Art for art's sake, save the starving ring-tailed dingoes, eliminate tennis elbow—it was for some charity or another. And if in reality it was just a social opportunity for the bored rich, I guess the money was spent all the same. I'd long given up on pulling on my collar for oxygen and now my hands hung loose and easy at my sides as I moved through the crowd. Niko and I swapped every twenty minutes. He'd cover the client and I'd run the room looking for possible threats and then if all was quiet, we'd switch out. It was the same routine I'd worked with Niko several times before and I had it down pat enough that half my mind was on the job while the other played a little what-if.
Watching all these people socializing, living their lives for the better part oblivious to the dark undercurrent that ran beneath all our feet, made me think. What would it have been like for Niko and me if I'd been normal, your average Harry Human? Okay, probably not like this. And Niko, who was smart as hell, could've achieved anything he turned his mind to. In the end, though, I had a feeling Niko had certain priorities, not to mention a certain edge, that would've led him in a particular direction. Considering his martial knack combined with a driven intellect, I imagined my brother kicking criminal butt on a federal level.
Either that or teaching college medieval history, dressed in tweed and waving around a broadsword. Swallowing a grin, I didn't dwell as much on what my life would've been like. Where Niko's might-have-been was painted in bright and vivid if whimsical strokes, mine was a canvas of murky shadows. It could be it was just harder to take yourself out of context. Or it could be the realization that if I were human, I wouldn't be me. Not even a through-a-glass-lightly version. A whitewashed, demon-free Caliban was a concept I simply couldn't wrap my mind around, no matter the effort I put into it. College and frats, girlfriends and road trips, it was a make-believe landscape that flourished fine until I inserted myself into it. Then it just faded away. For better or worse I was Grendel, American, and that was one gene pool no lifeguard could pull you out of. My imagination knew that as well as I did.
So I tucked it and the fantasies back where they belonged and directed my attention, all of it, back to the job at hand. I did another circuit of the reception without incident. Since all seemed relatively quiet and assailant free, I decided on a quick pit stop. Unfortunately even bodyguards of steel had all-too-human bladders. After giving Niko the high sign from across the room, I drifted through the throng, snatching a crab-stuffed mushroom from a silver server as I went. By the time I walked into the bathroom the hors d'oeuvre was nothing but a mellow, smoky memory on the back of my tongue. The taste, rich and potent, matched my first glimpse of the bathroom.
Walls the color of ancient parchment met a marble floor shot through with gold and a rich toffee brown. A nearly full-sized chandelier hung from the ceiling, muted topaz gems glittering softly. The long countertop was one vast piece of lovingly polished wood embedded with several beaten-brass sinks. The mirror that hung above it all dominated the eye. Framed with a twisted line of copper and brass that blossomed into leaves at the four corners, it covered nearly the entire top half of the wall.
I doubted I'd ever pissed in a place so fancy.
Unimpressed, my bladder let me know there was no time like the present. Once I'd finished business and zipped up, I went over to a sink to wash my hands. Several folded towels, thick and fleecy, balancing on a stool showed someone else was on a break as well. Good for you, buddy, I thought. Helping myself to a chocolate-colored towel, I was drying off when I saw it.
Out of the corner of my eye, a dark slithering as subtle as a coyly beckoning finger. Like most things glimpsed in the periphery it had my heart slamming in a way something seen face-to-face wouldn't have. The towel dropped from my hand as my knife sprang into my grip practically of its own accord. I turned fast half crouched on the balls of my feet with my blade close to my body to face… nothing.
Nothing, that is, but my own reflection. It stared at me grimly as we both drew in lungfuls of air as suddenly thick and choking as river mud. "Damn," I muttered. I had not lost it over my own image in the mirror; that jumpy I wasn't. I refused to believe it.
As I quickly scanned the rest of the bathroom the lights overhead flickered once, the autumn gold disappearing into a velvety black. And in that moment, the barest slice of time, I thought I felt the air ripple against my skin, as if something had passed right before my face. Or maybe it was a breath, fetid and hot, as teeth aimed for my neck. I was already swinging blindly with a deadly slice when the light returned. And once again it was just me and my shadow. At least he looked as sheepish as I felt. I sighed, put away the knife, and knocked lightly on the bright surface of the mirror. "Alice, you in there?" There was no answer in Wonderland. If she was there, then she was perfectly happy behind the looking glass with no intentions of coming out.
Chapter Seven
By the time I'd navigated the crowd back to Niko's side my heart rate had dropped to normal and the cold sweat prickling the back of my neck had subsided. It was nice to know how quickly I could recover from the gibbering terror of a malfunctioning bathroom light. I gave Niko a nod and took my place discreetly behind Ms. Nottinger, who was a pale sun orbited by several planets long past their prime. She seemed more distantly amused than appreciative of the attention. Just went to show, there is a point where enough is enough… money, that is. Promise had retired from business, although her would-be sugar daddies didn't seem to want to believe it. I wanted to tell the group of horny Methuselahs to give it up, but instead swallowed the impulse and watched as Niko melted into the milling crowd to disappear from sight. Literally. One second there, one second gone. Get the man a white tiger and a silver jumpsuit and he could play Vegas. I might be more or less than human, depending on your viewpoint, but it was my brother who had the abilities that were all but supernatural. "Later, Houdini," I murmured to empty air, and then moved to subtly discourage a gentleman whose wrinkled, palsied hands were too ambitious for his own good.
Promise didn't stay more than an hour or so, just long enough to do a few circuits, bemuse a gaggle of old men, and make her donation. She might have come by her money in a less-than-orthodox manner, but she played by the same rules of her adopted social class. After she bade her farewells to several disappointed suitors, we left the hotel for the crisp night air. Underneath a midnight sky reflected orange by a million lights, Promise raised her face and said softly, "I miss the stars."
I slid a curious glance toward Niko. That was the first personal comment I had ever heard the woman make. And granted, I'd only met her twice before, compared with Niko's dozens of times, but from the eyebrow he raised he seemed as surprised as I was by the remark. Noncommittal, he responded, "Too much ambient light, a pollution all its own." He indicated her car and driver at the curb. "Shall we go, Ms. Nottinger?"