The room was small and the walls covered with a yellowish paint that was peeling itself off to reveal lime green underneath, and a further mottled brown under that. The floor was carpeted wall to wall, although the carpeting had long ago succumbed to too much traffic and too many unattended cigarettes. One spot looked like it had been torched and another torn up by cat’s claws. The space was unadorned except for the bed and filthy white lace curtains on the window. There was nothing else, not even a bedside table. The bed did have sheets, however, so he fashioned himself a makeshift outfit out of bedding and rope.
He tested the door. Locked, as expected.
Rubbing his wrists, he walked over to the window and looked outside. That didn’t help tell him where he was, other than that it was the ground floor. In the small garden outside, weeds were busy overtaking the design and paving stones stuck out haphazardly. Brick buildings hemmed the space in at around eight meters in diameter, and a tall wooden fence overgrown with ivy and oak hid whatever was on the outside. A dilapidated bench sat off to one side of the space, and the sun happened to be passing dappled light over it.
He tested the window. It slid open easily. Unless this was an oversight, which he doubted, he was allowed into the garden, but not the hall.
Okay.
It was only marginally more pleasant outside than inside, but he might as well make the most of the situation. He climbed through the window. An Amazon in light riot gear stood against the wall of the building he had just climbed out of. Her arms and legs were wrapped with heavily padded chaps, and her torso was protected by nicely molded form-fitting armor. Her head was bare, but a helmet lay in easy reach on a ledge. Her hair was tied up into a severe knot. Her nose and lips were thin, but the preternaturally thin skin of the Celtic redhead that stretched over finely formed cheekbones lent her the beauty of carved marble. She held a very large and fairly sophisticated weapon. When she saw him, she glanced over and smiled slightly.
He smiled back, “You’re here to make sure I behave myself?”
She studied him, amused.
“You do know how to use that thing, right?” he pointed at the weapon.
She pressed some buttons and pulled a lever. It buzzed at her and displayed some digits on an LCD monitor. She smiled again and set its muzzle at her feet.
He raised his hands loosely and said, “I’ll be good. Promise.”
The sun soothed his face, and he sank into the bench. Now was a good time to let the normally darting over-activity of his mind relax. It had been a long time since he had such a non-idea of where he was, both physically and mentally. This little space was a limbo in many ways. He kept expecting to hear his phone ring every thirty seconds, yet it had been about an hour since waking up and the only electronic sound he had heard so far was from his guard’s weapon.
It was a relief. He had become almost immune to that type of sound, yet its insistence had started to grate on him, along with so many other aspects of his life lately. What had made her choose now to pull her stunt? She’d had so long to plan—was it luck or timing?
Who cared? It was now.
Whatever.
His guard clicked and snapped to attention. The heavy metal fire door she stood beside screeched open and a tall, dark and curvaceous figure strode through. It was Lizereli, a broad smile in her eyes.
They stood off—or rather she stood and he sat—in silence, amusement playing on both of their lips. She looked very different than at le Terrasse Magnetique, or even at the gallery opening where they first met a few days earlier. Long dark dresses that suggested more than they hid were unimaginable on the woman standing before him. No, this valkyrie covered every inch of her body in protective armor and padded chaps. She also packed a number of weapons, including what looked like a copper-handled gurkha knife.
She broke the silence, “Very good. I assume you didn’t need any help with the restraints.”
“No, but thank you for asking. I assume it would not have been forthcoming.”
She laughed, “No, you looked too cute all tied up there like a gift. But I’m almost sorry you made it out. I was looking forward to taking advantage of you one more time before I have to hand you over.”
“I see. And when might that be?”
She sat beside him, “That’s a difficult question to answer, but I wouldn’t worry your handsome brow about it. Might cause some wrinkles.”
“Couldn’t have that now.”
“No, my boss gave me discretion on this file, but she wouldn’t approve if I delivered damaged goods.”
“No, I suppose not.” He paused a moment, studying her. She was quite a cheeky mortal. “Answer me some questions about where we are?”
“In time. I like this Greek god thing you’ve got going with the bed sheet. Most people look dumb in a toga, but you pull it off. If you get out of here in one piece, maybe you could start a toga-chic movement.”
“You mean you don’t know what your boss has planned for me?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t buy that. But I bought your stories last night. Tell me, how much was true?”
She gave him a long stare, “All of it, almost. I quit Chuoinard’s company a year ago. The woman was a domineering bitch who didn’t like competition.”
It was his turn to laugh, “How could a homely, uninteresting housewife like you be a threat to a big international dance star like her?”
She sat back and slid a hand up to a holster near her hip, “Don’t tempt me to damage the goods now.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But what would your boss consider damage?”
“That’s it, enough. Get up.”
He stayed seated.
She unstrapped the armor covering her torso and threw it aside, “I said up, and put that mouth to good use.”
Cheeky mortal.
She shoved him through the window without ceremony. He landed headfirst on the bed, and something heavy landed on him.
Chapter 8, section 5: sweet torture
At first he was delighted at the nature of his incarceration. Then he grew suspicious that maybe he had made a terrible mistake and the situation wasn’t what he thought at all. Finally, he saw that he had underestimated his adversary. After that he stayed pleasantly impressed and relaxed into things as they presented themselves. Or, more accurately, into Amazons as they presented themselves.
His jailor relieved the schizophrenia of her hot-again cold-again upbringing on her prisoner for the better part of the first day. He had no complaints about this. No, none whatsoever. The décor may be seriously lacking in grace or character, but he couldn’t find fault with either of these qualities in its human occupant. When she had resolved her inner conflict with growls, screams and laughter for the umpteenth time, she decided she was finished. A small splash of blood-red sunlight crept up the wall towards the ceiling. He wondered what Lizereli’s boss had in mind for him. It wasn’t like her to toy with her prey. The Goddess of the Hunt liked a clean kill.
Lizereli opened the door to a closet he had paid no attention to up to that point and pulled out a clean set of sheets. Throwing them at him, she ordered, “Change the bed.” As he did what he was told, she started suiting up in the gear he had helped her tear off that morning. When he was finished, she pointed to a door that led to a miniscule bathroom and ordered, “Go wash yourself.”
The bathroom was even shabbier than the room, but still he had no complaints. So far this particular captivity had its merits. Who could tell what his sister had up her sleeve, so he would do as ordered. Besides, it had been long hectic years since he had not heard a cell phone go off for an entire day. That simple fact was a welcome note. The bathroom’s cracked and moldering walls were tiled with three-cent hexagons. The toilet was cracked, and the sink looked as if it were held up by spider webs. The shower stall was more suggested than separated by a torn dollar store curtain. The thick turquoise towel folded neatly on a corner of the sink was as incongruous as that diamond in a pile of shit An Huu Bao talked about the other day. Lizereli was serious about wanting him clean, and it had nothing to do with compassion.
So into the shower he went, and soaped down with a bar that smelled strongly of clove. When he finished toweling down, he returned to the outer room. There, Lizereli and the woman who had been standing guard outside in the morning stood chatting. Lizereli pulled at a strap on her vest, while the other woman fiddled idly with her weapon. When they saw him, the guard shot him a bemused glance. The two women saluted each other, and Lizereli left the room smartly, taking the high-tech weapon with her.
The amused glint stayed in his guard’s eye as she crossed her arms and examined him frankly. He leaned against the bathroom door frame and returned the favor. She had freed her hair, and now a wild orange mane haloed her face, highlighting a splash of freckles across both cheeks. Typical northwestern Celtic stock traits, with the thinner, longer frame that mortal men had whispered about for centuries, and the top-heavy type of physical attributes that modern mortal men glorified. Having spent his youth around the Mediterranean, he was fascinated by the soft, almost translucent white skin of the northern Europeans.
“Come here.” She gestured to a strap that kept her body armor on.
He walked over and undid all of the suit’s straps, setting the pieces on the floor as they separated from each other. When he stepped aside, the carapace lay in a neat pile. She shot her bemused stare at him and said, “You’re not going to stop there, are you?”
His towel slipped off somewhere in the rest of undressing her. She simply stood still, allowing herself to be undressed. He was delighted to find that her freckles extended over the entire surface area of her skin. When they were both naked, she stood a long minute more, appraising him with a very thorough and penetrating amusement. Then, with suddenness rare for mortals, she leapt and threw him on to the bed.
For the next indeterminate eternity, he found that he actually had to rise to keep up with her. She had a mastery of energy rare among mortals. In fact, she was the most voracious human lover he’d had in at least a century.
And when she was through with him sometime late that night, she ordered him to change the sheets and take a shower. And when he was clean she was in the room chatting with her replacement, a compact Japanese woman with hair that cascaded past the small of her back. This woman’s way with him was sinuous, and she showed a mastery of chi equal to the Celt. And when she was through with him, she was replaced by a long African woman with a well-developed polyrhythmic sense and an even greater mastery of chi.