The reek was worse within the four walls, and the rooms more dilapidated than the outside. The bed itself looked older than Methuselah, and had obviously seen more than a few couplings on it. I screwed up my nose, and glanced at the floor. The carpet looked no better, but at least the floor didn't have a disastrous sag in it.
With a sigh, I hauled off the blankets—which at least looked and smelled clean—and made myself a bed on the floor. Then I stripped off, shifted shape to hurry along the already healing scratches on my arms, and settled down to sleep.
Surprisingly, and despite all the noise and odors, I did sleep, not waking until the hotel's manager banged on the door the following morning.
With a groan, I rolled onto my side and stared Wearily at the clock on the bedside table above me. Eight. Time to get some breakfast and head on over to see Dia.
After stretching out the kinks and giving my face and arms a quick wash down with cold water, I dressed and headed back out to the street. Unfortunately, trams didn't run as regularly on a Sunday, so I grabbed a couple of McMuffins from McDonald's to munch on while I waited at the stop.
It was well after nine when I hit Toorak. I climbed off the tram at Kooyong Road, and pressed the disk behind my ear.
"Heading for Dia's now."
"Keep the line open."
"Will do."
I strolled up Kooyong Road, admiring the million dollar houses and wondering what it'd be like to live a place that practically screamed money. Personally, I'd be afraid to move lest I break something.
Huntingfield Road came along, and I turned left onto it. Many of the houses here seemed more ornate, making me feel even more out of place. A feeling that grew when I stopped to press the intercom button to one side of the huge, wrought iron gates that guarded Dia's house.
To say the place was amazing would be an understatement—though the house itself wasn't as ornate as some of its neighbors. It was an old, early twentieth-century design that reminded me greatly of the grand old English mansions often shown on the TV. Though this was painted a warm, soft gold, ivy crept over the brickwork and sprawled across the roof, giving the impression the house had been here forever. The lawn that stretched from the side gate to the porch was a rich carpet of green—so lush my feet suddenly itched with the need to run through it—and the pines that lined the boundary gave the whole property a feeling of isolation. I'd never been envious of anyone else's living conditions in my life, but I couldn't help thinking how amazing it would be to live in a place like this. A little bit of luxurious heaven, and yet with everything you could ever want or need within walking distance to your doorstep.
The intercom crackled, then Dia said, "Yes?"
"Poppy Burns, accepting your invitation."
"Ah. Good." The gates buzzed, then clicked open. "Come in."
I walked through the gates, and somehow resisted the urge to take off my shoes and run through the grass, instead following the herringbone-patterned brick path. Dia Jones opened the door as I approached. That surprised me. Surely someone who lived in a pad as plush as this would have a servant or two running around?
Her hair was no longer brown mixed with silver, just a pure whitish-silver, and with the long, flowing white dress she had on, she looked almost ethereal. Except for her eyes. They positively glowed with the power that shimmered across my skin like little zaps of lightning. I stopped, staring into her blind eyes, again struck by the sensation that this woman knew far more than we wanted her to.
"Come in, come in," Her smile was as charming as her voice was warm. "The house won't bite, and neither will I."
Obviously, she was taking my reluctance to enter for awe at her surroundings rather than her, and that was just fine by me. I stepped past her. The hallway beyond was huge, as was the chandelier that sprayed rainbows across the soft gold walls and carpets. A redwood sideboard was the only piece of furnishing in the entrance hall, and on it sat a vase filled with blood-red gladiolas. Two rooms led off the hall, and a staircase clad in a deeper gold carpet sat at the end, undoubtedly spiraling upward into more richness.
"Just head into the living room on your left," she said, as she closed the door.
The living room turned out to be another filled with gold and creams. Though the room was huge, there wasn't a whole lot of furniture—just two large sofas, a marble coffee table and a matching, white marble fireplace. The chandelier that hung above all this elegance was smaller than the one in the entrance hall, but not by much. A bright, modernistic painting held pride of place above the fireplace, adding a much needed splash of color.
"Please, sit down." Dia waved a hand at one heavily brocaded sofa even as she felt for the sofa nearest her with the other. Odd, considering she'd seemed so sure of her movements last night.
I perched on the edge of the sofa, feeling more than a little out of place in all this richness. Which, given I'd had mates who were far wealthier than Dia, was weird. They'd never made me feel inadequate in any way when it came to money—or the lack of it—so why did this woman? Or did it have nothing to do wealth, and everything to do with the overwhelming sense of power I was getting from her?
But if she was so powerful, why was she doing Starr's bidding? It made no sense.
"I take it you are here about the job offer?"
I nodded. "The hotel I stayed in last night solidified the need for quick cash."
"And you wish to remain under the radar at the moment, thanks to the arrest warrant that's outstanding in Sydney?"
I gave her my best "outraged" look. Which, considering she was blind, was pretty dumb. But then, this woman was psychic, so who knew what other senses she relied on to help her "see"? "Is this what the invite was about? Hand me in and earn a quick couple of grand?"
Her smile was wry. "Look around you. I hardly think a mere couple of thousand is worth the effort of luring you here."
"Maybe that's how you got all this richness—trapping not only the suckers, but runaways."
"I always run background checks on people I'm about to employ. It's standard procedure."
"And having a warrant out on me make me undesirable?" I snorted and thrust to my feet. "Your loss, lady."
I swung my pack over my shoulder and headed for the door—hoping all the while I wasn't about to blow it. But Poppy was the indignant type who fired at the drop of a hat, so anything else might have been seen as odd behavior.
"It wasn't the warrant that caused the problem," she said.
I stopped and looked around. She wasn't even looking at me, but staring instead somewhere to my left. It was almost as if she wasn't sure of my exact whereabouts, and again, that ran against everything I'd seen last night.
"Then what is the problem?"
"The fact that Poppy Burns doesn't actually exist."
Fuck, So much for Jack's clever paperwork. "I don't? We'll, gee, thanks for the tip."
I forced my feet on. She hadn't locked the front door when I entered, so at least I could get out of the house. And it didn't matter if the gates were locked, because the fence was within a wolf's jumping range.
"I have a deal to offer you and the Directorate, Riley," she said softly.
"Stop," Jack said into my ear.
I mentally cursed him, but turned around and crossed my arms. Tension coiled through every muscle as I readied for action, readied to fight. Fight who, I had no idea, because Dia herself was offering no threat. No physical threat, anyway. "Why do you think I'm this Riley?"
"I touched your hand last night. It told me many secrets." She smiled. "You can drop the pretense. I know the truth."