Nadina held tightly to the tiny fingers that wriggled around in her hand. She rarely liked to venture into downtown Macau, preferring to keep to the somewhat safer suburb where she and M’boku were living. But today she’d had some business to take care of, and she’d promised M’boku that once they were done, if he was good, they would go to a show. Macau was a big casino town– the gambling capital of the world– and while that did attract some of the most unsavory people, it also meant that there was always a lot of great entertainment available. M’boku had been asking to see a troupe of acrobats that had been advertised a lot lately.
Recently, she’d started calling him by his real name. She wasn’t sure if that was a risk or not, but calling him John just felt wrong to her somehow. And the first time she’d accidentally addressed him as M’boku, he’d answered to it as easily as if he’d never had any other name. She wasn’t certain whether or not that was a bad sign, either. But she didn’t sense any indication that he might be awakening early, and he hadn’t been showing any of the usual symptoms, either. So she tried not to think too much about it, and kept reassuring herself that soon enough he would be safely off to boarding school, and she wouldn’t have to worry anymore about causing him any permanent damage.
They had to walk through the main level of the casino to get to the theater entrance. The crowd inside was uncomfortably thick, so Nadina lifted M’boku up and carried him, smiling at the feeling of his little arms squeezing around her neck and shoulders as he excitedly watched the twinkling lights and bright colors that surrounded them.
For a moment, she thought she saw a familiar face on the other side of the room. Nadina peered through the throng and caught a glimpse of a young man with platinum-blonde hair being led into one of the private rooms in the back, but she couldn’t see his face. She shook her head. Even if she hadn’t just imagined the patch, it really could have been anyone. Was she becoming paranoid now?
There was a long line at the entrance to the show, and everyone was crowded so closely together that Nadina considered going home. But she had promised M’boku that they would see this show today, so she braved the heat and the stench of all those people and packed herself in with everyone else, clinging tightly to the precious child in her arms.
Almost immediately she felt a large, rough hand slide up the back of her skirt. Yet another reason why she hated crowds. “Remove your hand from my body,” she enunciated in her most polite Cantonese, “or I will remove it from your arm.” The man behind her laughed, the stink of alcohol on his breath nearly gagging her as the hand slipped even higher under her skirt. Shifting M’boku to one side, she reached back with her free hand and grabbed the man’s wrist. Squeezing it hard, she wrenched it to one side until she felt it snap. The man whimpered and collapsed onto the floor, cradling his broken wrist against his chest. The rest of the crowd stepped around him as the line moved forward, ignoring his pathetic crying just as they had ignored his perverted groping.
Nadina squeezed M’boku with both arms and planted a quick kiss on his soft cheek. He would never have tried something like that. No matter what others may think of him– no matter how far he may sometimes take his little games– no one could ever accuse him of being less than a gentleman to any woman.
After waiting in line for about an hour, they were finally able to find their seats before the show began. M’boku had no problem with the long wait. He was fascinated by all of the lights and the people everywhere, the music and noise of the casino, and the posters of acrobats in colorful costumes hanging on the wall near the entrance to the theater. By the time they were seated, he was so excited that he could hardly keep himself still, and was squirming and bouncing in his chair.
Nadina smiled. At times like this, she was glad to be able to spend time with him as a child. Usually she didn’t get to be with him until he awakened, which usually happened when he was a teenager. Last time he’d been about seventeen years old. Being together like this, when he was dormant and so small and sweet . . . She hadn’t thought it could be possible for the bond between them to grow stronger than it already was, but caring for him as an innocent, helpless child had somehow made her feel even closer to him than before. If she didn’t know that it was dangerous for him, she would want to keep him with her like this every time.
Nadina was not very impressed with the acrobats, but what they lacked in physical skill, they more than made up for with dramatic lighting and music, and with elaborate, glittering costumes. M’boku thought it was the most amazing thing he’d ever witnessed. He couldn’t stop talking about it as they left the theater, and as she carried him through the main floor of the casino, and as they walked outside.
He skipped along beside her, clinging to her fingers as she led him back toward the station. “. . . and that man jumped on top of that other man, and then that girl climbed up to the top of all the men, and she stood on her hands and made her body go all twisty and curly! And then that red princess lady did a jump and a flip and she landed on that twisty girl’s belly! And then– those guys are fighting. Are they bad guys?”
Nadina turned to look. There was a brawl going on in an alleyway behind the casino they had just left. She was about to turn away and move on when something made her stop and take another look.
One man was huddled against a wall, holding his face as if he had a broken nose. Two other men were still fighting their assailant, a slender teenager with pale blonde hair who had his back to her. It was this person that had made her give a double-take.
The two men still fighting the young man were both very large and capable-looking. The taller of the two appeared to be of northern-Chinese descent, with short-cropped black hair and a wide jaw. The other was a bit leaner, with more of a Korean look to his features, and had shaggy red-brown hair that stuck out fashionably in all directions. As Nadina watched, the red-haired man bent low, thrust his arms out in front of him, and rushed forward to tackle the blonde boy’s middle. But the boy shifted to one side at the last second and lifted one knee hard, right into the red-haired man’s diaphragm, knocking the breath out of him. Then the larger man ran at him, shouting wildly as he raised his fists high in the air and jumped to throw his whole weight into the massive blow he was aiming at the top of the boy’s head. But the slight young man dodged this attack as well, turning smoothly out of the way and tripping up the man’s landing so that he fell head-first onto the concrete.
Nadina watched him slam his small, pale fists into the bodies and faces of his attackers over and over, until she felt a small tug at her hand and looked down.
M’boku was staring up at her. “Is he the bad guy?” he asked.
Nadina squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “Not usually,” she replied. She took a few steps toward the alleyway.
The young man stopped for a moment and turned to look at her. He raised one bloody hand to brush his thick blonde hair out of his face. He had a smooth, round face and a small, pouty mouth. A pretty little nose. His right eye was very beautiful– large and round, the color of milk chocolate, with a thick fringe of dark brown lashes. The patch across his left eye had been shoved up onto his forehead, revealing the gruesome, knotted scar that disfigured his eyelid and spilled out over his eyebrow and the top of his cheek. He had no lashes on that eye, and he couldn’t open it as widely as he could open the other, but he could still see through it, and he peered at Nadina with both eyes.
“Nadina?”
Nadina lifted M’boku and rested him on one hip. “Alexei. What are you doing here?”
3/17/13
3/9/13
27- Xerondar
Dude. Seriously.
GET.
A.
LIFE.
And that’s ME talking.
Xerondar laughed. Over the past few weeks he’d gotten used to Fanzou’s dramatic way of starting conversations. He certainly knew how to get his point across. Xerondar took a sip of Dr. Pepper and bent over his laptop to respond. And what exactly do you suggest I do? He pressed enter and waited. Seconds later he heard another soft ping sound from his laptop speakers.
What did you do all that time she was gone? Mope around and dream up the creepiest ways to stalk her when she got back?
He choked a little on his drink and some of the fizzy liquid sprayed out of his nostrils. That hurt. Xerondar reached for a napkin to wipe off the computer screen, then wiped the sticky stuff off of his nose and chin. He thought for a moment before he replied. Mostly I just attended classes.
Yeah I noticed. Your transcripts are ridiculously impressive.
At this point Xerondar wasn’t even surprised that Fanzou had seen his transcripts. Was there anything this man didn’t have access to? Well I had a lot of time on my hands.
And you still do. Come on, man. You didn’t pick up a century’s worth of college credits just to walk around the neighborhood spying on a toddler all day.
Xerondar sighed. Well, he was right about that.
You can’t even talk to her for another 10 or 12 years. What’s the point?
He sat back and took another sip of his Dr. Pepper. It was true that she wouldn’t be awakening for another decade or so. But still. I’ve missed her. Surely you can understand that?
Of course. We all have those feelings. You think I don’t miss Xiaoli? I think about her all the time. I’m going to want to see her every day when she gets back. But I won’t.
Xerondar rolled his eyes. Sure, he wouldn’t. It was easy to talk like that, when Xiaoli wasn’t even in the world yet. Why not? he replied. If you have a chance to see her, why wouldn’t you?
One word: DIGNITY.
I still have mine.
Xerondar frowned. He wasn’t really that bad, was he? It wasn’t like he was camped out in front of her house or anything. And he’d been keeping his distance. Waving from the porch every morning instead of asking to hold her actually took a lot of restraint. Of course, he only did that because too much close contact so early would be dangerous for her.
You’re right, he typed. Maybe I do need to back off a little. Perhaps he could sign up for some classes somewhere. There were a couple of universities in town. And a new mixed martial arts place had just opened up down the street.
Ya think? Fanzou sent back. You could always come down here for a few months. Sao Paulo is really beautiful this time of year. We could hit the beaches. I could really use a tan.
Xerondar smiled. Fanzou probably spent every minute hunched over a computer in a windowless room every day while the rest of Brazil played in the sun right outside his door. He could just picture it. No, he replied. I can’t go that far away from her. What if something happens and she needs me?
The whole point is to get away from her. She’s an infant. She’ll be fine.
Sure she would be fine. Wasn’t that what people always said right before disaster struck? I don’t know, he sent. It would feel like I’m abandoning her. It wouldn’t be right.
Everybody does it sometimes. You know Mila was born in Japan a couple years ago, and that same day Alexei got on a plane for South Africa. He hasn’t even seen her once.
South Africa, huh? Xerondar could easily guess which city. So that kid was still up to his same old tricks.
Grushilde’s in Australia and she’s almost 15 now, and Karl’s still chilling in Switzerland like nothing’s up.
Xerondar didn’t know much about Karl. He belonged to one of Shepetheleh’s followers. Don’t think I’ve met him.
The point is you need to get out more. DO something besides sit at home and pine over the little drool machine like a lost puppy.
Okay you’re right, Xerondar conceded. I’ve been acting pathetic.
So you’ll come?
Come where? Brazil? Had he actually been serious about that? Xerondar thought for a minute before he responded. I’ll think about it, he sent. He looked at his watch and glanced up the street. For now, I have to go.
Time to wave at the baby?
Xerondar laughed. Yeah, he admitted.
Lol okay. Later, man. Think about my offer.
I will.
GET.
A.
LIFE.
And that’s ME talking.
Xerondar laughed. Over the past few weeks he’d gotten used to Fanzou’s dramatic way of starting conversations. He certainly knew how to get his point across. Xerondar took a sip of Dr. Pepper and bent over his laptop to respond. And what exactly do you suggest I do? He pressed enter and waited. Seconds later he heard another soft ping sound from his laptop speakers.
What did you do all that time she was gone? Mope around and dream up the creepiest ways to stalk her when she got back?
He choked a little on his drink and some of the fizzy liquid sprayed out of his nostrils. That hurt. Xerondar reached for a napkin to wipe off the computer screen, then wiped the sticky stuff off of his nose and chin. He thought for a moment before he replied. Mostly I just attended classes.
Yeah I noticed. Your transcripts are ridiculously impressive.
At this point Xerondar wasn’t even surprised that Fanzou had seen his transcripts. Was there anything this man didn’t have access to? Well I had a lot of time on my hands.
And you still do. Come on, man. You didn’t pick up a century’s worth of college credits just to walk around the neighborhood spying on a toddler all day.
Xerondar sighed. Well, he was right about that.
You can’t even talk to her for another 10 or 12 years. What’s the point?
He sat back and took another sip of his Dr. Pepper. It was true that she wouldn’t be awakening for another decade or so. But still. I’ve missed her. Surely you can understand that?
Of course. We all have those feelings. You think I don’t miss Xiaoli? I think about her all the time. I’m going to want to see her every day when she gets back. But I won’t.
Xerondar rolled his eyes. Sure, he wouldn’t. It was easy to talk like that, when Xiaoli wasn’t even in the world yet. Why not? he replied. If you have a chance to see her, why wouldn’t you?
One word: DIGNITY.
I still have mine.
Xerondar frowned. He wasn’t really that bad, was he? It wasn’t like he was camped out in front of her house or anything. And he’d been keeping his distance. Waving from the porch every morning instead of asking to hold her actually took a lot of restraint. Of course, he only did that because too much close contact so early would be dangerous for her.
You’re right, he typed. Maybe I do need to back off a little. Perhaps he could sign up for some classes somewhere. There were a couple of universities in town. And a new mixed martial arts place had just opened up down the street.
Ya think? Fanzou sent back. You could always come down here for a few months. Sao Paulo is really beautiful this time of year. We could hit the beaches. I could really use a tan.
Xerondar smiled. Fanzou probably spent every minute hunched over a computer in a windowless room every day while the rest of Brazil played in the sun right outside his door. He could just picture it. No, he replied. I can’t go that far away from her. What if something happens and she needs me?
The whole point is to get away from her. She’s an infant. She’ll be fine.
Sure she would be fine. Wasn’t that what people always said right before disaster struck? I don’t know, he sent. It would feel like I’m abandoning her. It wouldn’t be right.
Everybody does it sometimes. You know Mila was born in Japan a couple years ago, and that same day Alexei got on a plane for South Africa. He hasn’t even seen her once.
South Africa, huh? Xerondar could easily guess which city. So that kid was still up to his same old tricks.
Grushilde’s in Australia and she’s almost 15 now, and Karl’s still chilling in Switzerland like nothing’s up.
Xerondar didn’t know much about Karl. He belonged to one of Shepetheleh’s followers. Don’t think I’ve met him.
The point is you need to get out more. DO something besides sit at home and pine over the little drool machine like a lost puppy.
Okay you’re right, Xerondar conceded. I’ve been acting pathetic.
So you’ll come?
Come where? Brazil? Had he actually been serious about that? Xerondar thought for a minute before he responded. I’ll think about it, he sent. He looked at his watch and glanced up the street. For now, I have to go.
Time to wave at the baby?
Xerondar laughed. Yeah, he admitted.
Lol okay. Later, man. Think about my offer.
I will.
3/2/13
26- Hespah
“Ms. Stille, I feel like I must express my concern here. When I said that he could resume normal activities, this was not what I had in mind!”
Hespah nodded to placate the man as she walked him to the door.
“Both of them are in very serious condition. If either of them would let me, I’d have them both checked into a proper hospital and placed under twenty-four-hour supervision for at least a week!” He began waving his hands in the air as he spoke.
Hespah rolled her eyes behind his back. He was really overreacting.
At the door he paused, and Hespah stifled the instinct to flinch when he took one of her hands and held it in both of his as if it were some small animal. He tilted his head and smiled at her. “Of course, I know you’re not to blame in any of this, Ms. Stille,” he said in that gentle, condescending tone that older gentlemen often used when speaking to small children, the mentally ill, and empty-headed pretty young women, “But as they won’t leave this house and they’ve both refused to hire a nurse, you’ll be the only one here to see that they’re properly cared for.”
Hespah nodded again. “Don’t worry, doctor,” she replied, “I’ll take good care of them.”
He nodded. “I’m sure that you will. I’ve given them both a list of prescriptions. Please see that they’re filled, and that they both stay in their beds. I’ll be here again in one week to check up on them, but if anything happens before then, please give me a call.”
“I will.”
He was halfway out the door when he stopped and turned to her again. “First the stab-wounds, now the impact injuries . . . Ms. Stille . . . I’ve been wondering for quite some time now . . . Exactly what line of work are they in?”
Hespah smiled sweetly. “They’re accountants,” she told him.
He frowned as if that were the most contradictory idea he’d ever heard, but after just a brief hesitation, he said his goodbyes and hurried out to his car.
Hespah closed the door behind him and laughed. Really, Karl and Jacob just needed to rest for a few days and they’d both be fine. If that doctor hadn’t come for one last check-up on Karl’s previous injuries, they never would have even seen a doctor. A few fractured bones and some light internal bleeding was nothing to get excited about in this house. They all knew how to take care of themselves around here.
And she’d gone easy on them– she always did. Hespah paused to look at the bruises on her knuckles. Okay, so maybe she’d been a little stressed out lately. Maybe she’d been itching for a good fight for a few weeks. Maybe she’d gotten a bit carried away, and maybe she’d unintentionally taken a little more of her frustrations out on Jacob and Karl than she had meant to. But really, if they couldn’t even handle that much of a fight, they seriously needed to work on their skills. She hated to think what would happen to Fortitude or Grushilde if someone like Tsu Lai or Nadina came after them when Jacob and Karl were unarmed. Sure, they were relatively young, but that was no excuse.
And if Shepetheleh were ever in a situation where he had to rely on those two . . .
No way in hell would she let Shepetheleh come to harm because those two idiots had let themselves get out of shape. She decided that as soon as they were both fully recovered, they would start training with her. Hespah headed up the stairs to inform them both of this decision.
She came upon Fortitude in the second-floor corridor. Something about the look on her face made Hespah stop. Fortitude was staring at her with so much anger in those dark green eyes that Hespah took a step back.
“You hurt Jacob, and you don’t even care,” she accused. “You hurt Karl, and you don’t even care.” She took a step toward Hespah. “You are supposed to be our friend. Our ally. We trusted you.” She came closer, and Hespah felt the wall against her back.
“Fortitude . . . I’m sorry . . .” Hespah scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean to hurt them that much.”
Fortitude’s eyes narrowed. “All you’ve done is blame them and call them weak. You haven’t even apologized.”
“I– I will . . .”
“No.” Fortitude shook her head, her dusty-blonde hair bouncing around her face. “It’s too late.”
“Fortitude, you don’t understand. We were just practicing. This kind of thing . . . it’ll make them stronger–”
Fortitude’s pallid cheeks flushed with color. “They certainly don’t look stronger to me!”
“Just ask Jacob. He’ll tell you . . .”
“No!” Fortitude was nearly shouting now. “I don’t want to hear them making excuses for you again!”
Hespah’s head was beginning to hurt. She’d never seen Fortitude this angry before. “Listen,” Hespah said, “They’ll both be fine. Just give them a couple of days and you’ll see.”
Fortitude took another step toward her. The pressure around Hespah’s temples intensified until it was getting difficult to bear. “You just stay away from them!” Fortitude shouted, and this time Hespah heard the power behind her words before she even finished the sentence. “Stay away from all of us!”
Hespah cursed as she stumbled to her own rooms and slammed the door behind her. Her head was in excruciating pain, and she could feel Fortitude’s command like steel bands wrapping around her.
That little bitch.
Hespah made her way to the toilet and forced herself to vomit, relieving some of the pressure in her head. Damn that bitch. She leaned over the sink to rinse her mouth out and rub cold water on her face. She stared into the mirror. Her face was so red. She lifted a shaky hand to wipe the hot tears from her eyes.
“Shepetheleh, where are you?” she whispered.
That was the real problem here. Fortitude would never have tried something like this if Shepetheleh were around. She wouldn’t have dared. Fear of Shepetheleh’s wrath usually kept all of them in line. And Hespah was supposed to be untouchable.
Maybe she would tell him about this when he got back. She thought about that as she climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets up over her head. How much longer would she have to wait for him? She needed him there now. Everything was better when Shepetheleh was with her.
Hespah pictured him as she had seen him last. He’d been tall and strong and beautiful. Full of power and authority. So clever and wise. Fearless. She tried to imagine what he would do if he were there right now.
He’d make that little bitch grovel at her feet. Hespah belongs to me, he would say. A hand lifted against her is a hand lifted against me. And he would find some perfect and clever way to punish Fortitude for what she did. Hespah could just see it. And then he would ask Hespah if she was okay, and clap her on the shoulder, and leave the room to go about his business.
Hespah sighed. Even in her fantasy, he treated her like a man.
Hespah nodded to placate the man as she walked him to the door.
“Both of them are in very serious condition. If either of them would let me, I’d have them both checked into a proper hospital and placed under twenty-four-hour supervision for at least a week!” He began waving his hands in the air as he spoke.
Hespah rolled her eyes behind his back. He was really overreacting.
At the door he paused, and Hespah stifled the instinct to flinch when he took one of her hands and held it in both of his as if it were some small animal. He tilted his head and smiled at her. “Of course, I know you’re not to blame in any of this, Ms. Stille,” he said in that gentle, condescending tone that older gentlemen often used when speaking to small children, the mentally ill, and empty-headed pretty young women, “But as they won’t leave this house and they’ve both refused to hire a nurse, you’ll be the only one here to see that they’re properly cared for.”
Hespah nodded again. “Don’t worry, doctor,” she replied, “I’ll take good care of them.”
He nodded. “I’m sure that you will. I’ve given them both a list of prescriptions. Please see that they’re filled, and that they both stay in their beds. I’ll be here again in one week to check up on them, but if anything happens before then, please give me a call.”
“I will.”
He was halfway out the door when he stopped and turned to her again. “First the stab-wounds, now the impact injuries . . . Ms. Stille . . . I’ve been wondering for quite some time now . . . Exactly what line of work are they in?”
Hespah smiled sweetly. “They’re accountants,” she told him.
He frowned as if that were the most contradictory idea he’d ever heard, but after just a brief hesitation, he said his goodbyes and hurried out to his car.
Hespah closed the door behind him and laughed. Really, Karl and Jacob just needed to rest for a few days and they’d both be fine. If that doctor hadn’t come for one last check-up on Karl’s previous injuries, they never would have even seen a doctor. A few fractured bones and some light internal bleeding was nothing to get excited about in this house. They all knew how to take care of themselves around here.
And she’d gone easy on them– she always did. Hespah paused to look at the bruises on her knuckles. Okay, so maybe she’d been a little stressed out lately. Maybe she’d been itching for a good fight for a few weeks. Maybe she’d gotten a bit carried away, and maybe she’d unintentionally taken a little more of her frustrations out on Jacob and Karl than she had meant to. But really, if they couldn’t even handle that much of a fight, they seriously needed to work on their skills. She hated to think what would happen to Fortitude or Grushilde if someone like Tsu Lai or Nadina came after them when Jacob and Karl were unarmed. Sure, they were relatively young, but that was no excuse.
And if Shepetheleh were ever in a situation where he had to rely on those two . . .
No way in hell would she let Shepetheleh come to harm because those two idiots had let themselves get out of shape. She decided that as soon as they were both fully recovered, they would start training with her. Hespah headed up the stairs to inform them both of this decision.
She came upon Fortitude in the second-floor corridor. Something about the look on her face made Hespah stop. Fortitude was staring at her with so much anger in those dark green eyes that Hespah took a step back.
“You hurt Jacob, and you don’t even care,” she accused. “You hurt Karl, and you don’t even care.” She took a step toward Hespah. “You are supposed to be our friend. Our ally. We trusted you.” She came closer, and Hespah felt the wall against her back.
“Fortitude . . . I’m sorry . . .” Hespah scrambled for words. “I didn’t mean to hurt them that much.”
Fortitude’s eyes narrowed. “All you’ve done is blame them and call them weak. You haven’t even apologized.”
“I– I will . . .”
“No.” Fortitude shook her head, her dusty-blonde hair bouncing around her face. “It’s too late.”
“Fortitude, you don’t understand. We were just practicing. This kind of thing . . . it’ll make them stronger–”
Fortitude’s pallid cheeks flushed with color. “They certainly don’t look stronger to me!”
“Just ask Jacob. He’ll tell you . . .”
“No!” Fortitude was nearly shouting now. “I don’t want to hear them making excuses for you again!”
Hespah’s head was beginning to hurt. She’d never seen Fortitude this angry before. “Listen,” Hespah said, “They’ll both be fine. Just give them a couple of days and you’ll see.”
Fortitude took another step toward her. The pressure around Hespah’s temples intensified until it was getting difficult to bear. “You just stay away from them!” Fortitude shouted, and this time Hespah heard the power behind her words before she even finished the sentence. “Stay away from all of us!”
Hespah cursed as she stumbled to her own rooms and slammed the door behind her. Her head was in excruciating pain, and she could feel Fortitude’s command like steel bands wrapping around her.
That little bitch.
Hespah made her way to the toilet and forced herself to vomit, relieving some of the pressure in her head. Damn that bitch. She leaned over the sink to rinse her mouth out and rub cold water on her face. She stared into the mirror. Her face was so red. She lifted a shaky hand to wipe the hot tears from her eyes.
“Shepetheleh, where are you?” she whispered.
That was the real problem here. Fortitude would never have tried something like this if Shepetheleh were around. She wouldn’t have dared. Fear of Shepetheleh’s wrath usually kept all of them in line. And Hespah was supposed to be untouchable.
Maybe she would tell him about this when he got back. She thought about that as she climbed into her bed and pulled the blankets up over her head. How much longer would she have to wait for him? She needed him there now. Everything was better when Shepetheleh was with her.
Hespah pictured him as she had seen him last. He’d been tall and strong and beautiful. Full of power and authority. So clever and wise. Fearless. She tried to imagine what he would do if he were there right now.
He’d make that little bitch grovel at her feet. Hespah belongs to me, he would say. A hand lifted against her is a hand lifted against me. And he would find some perfect and clever way to punish Fortitude for what she did. Hespah could just see it. And then he would ask Hespah if she was okay, and clap her on the shoulder, and leave the room to go about his business.
Hespah sighed. Even in her fantasy, he treated her like a man.
2/23/13
25- Tsu Lai
Aterat began to move her foot and Tsu Lai jerked his hand away so as not to smudge the paint. She had been particularly fidgety all morning. A week before, there had been an e-mail from Precia stating that Desiderius had awakened and that they would be arriving on this day.
It had been six years since they’d had one of Aterat’s children living with them. She pretended her usual nonchalance, but Tsu Lai could tell she was nervous and excited. He knew she had been lonely without one of her own around. He just hoped that Desiderius wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him.
The domestics were all busy making everything perfect for Desiderius’s arrival, so Tsu Lai had been the only one to attend Aterat herself today. He enjoyed being able to serve her like this. He had prepared her breakfast, helped her bathe, helped her dress, arranged her hair . . . and now he was very carefully applying enamel to her toenails. They were red, with a gold latticework design on the tips. It was very delicate work, and if he messed one up and had to start it over, he knew she would be very irritated with him.
Her foot stopped moving, and he gently took it up again so that he could continue applying the gold paint, smiling to himself as he did so. Aterat wasn’t the only one who was excited about Desiderius’s return. Tsu Lai had been lonely as well, over the past few years. He hadn’t had an equal to talk to in so long. And he hadn’t seen Precia in decades. They had always gotten along well.
He finished the last thin line of gold and sat back to close up the bottle. Aterat lifted her foot to inspect his work. “Good,” she said, then added, “Shoes.”
Tsu Lai stood and nodded, then left the dressing room. He placed the two bottles of nail enamel in the box where they belonged, then entered her shoe closet to select the appropriate footwear. He stared at the shelves with their rows of shoes, trying to remember which ones belonged with that red silk dress she had on. He was fairly certain it was a pair of sandals with lots of straps on it. There were three shelves that held strappy sandals. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what her feet had looked like the last time he’d seen her in that particular dress.
He sighed. This was not his area of expertise.
He knew Aterat would be irritated with him if he chose the wrong ones. He was tempted to call the girl who usually dressed her, to ask which shoes he should pick. But she was helping to prepare Desiderius’s rooms, and besides, asking her would just be too humiliating for him. This was something he should be able to do himself.
He tried thinking logically. Red dress. Red and gold paint on her toes. Gold ribbons and red flowers in her hair. It would only make sense that the shoes would be either red or gold. He took down the seven pair of sandals that met that criteria and arranged them on the floor. Then he cast aside the two red pair that were darker than her dress. That narrowed it down to five pair. Tsu Lai leaned against the closet door and groaned. Did every woman have this many shoes?
Tsu Lai heard a loud sigh from the dressing room. Aterat was getting impatient with him. He needed to hurry. He grabbed a pair of nice-looking gold ones and left the closet.
He tried to be casual and not call any attention to the shoes in his hand as he reentered the dressing room, but Aterat’s eyes went straight to them. She frowned. “Those aren’t the ones I wear with this dress,” she said in a confused tone.
“I’m sorry,” Tsu Lai replied with an apologetic bow. He turned back toward the closet to make a second attempt.
“Oh, forget it,” she snapped. “Those will do. I don’t have time to waste.”
She was irritated with him. He could tell. But she wasn’t as upset as he’d thought she would be. He knelt down and strapped the little gold sandals onto her feet. Then he slipped a small gold ring onto the middle toe of each foot and fastened a gold chain around her left ankle. He placed rings on her fingers and bracelets on her arms, a pair of gold earrings in her ears, and a gold chain set with rubies around her neck.
He showed her a mirror. She smiled. Tsu Lai’s breath caught in his chest. Aterat looked like a divine goddess when she smiled. “Now do my face.”
Tsu Lai balked. Her face? As in . . . cosmetics?
Aterat’s eyes left the mirror and looked up at him, reading his expression. She tsked and stood up. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself,” she declared with a wave of her hand. “You’d just make me look like a clown anyway.” She seated herself in front of the vanity table in the corner and began opening a jar of some sort of green oily substance. “Just go . . . prepare something. Desiderius will be here in less than three hours.”
Tsu Lai left the room. He went to the kitchen to check on the preparations for the evening’s meal, then he went to Desiderius’s suite to see how it was coming along. His rooms were beautiful. Every amenity had been prepared for him. There were new logs in the fireplace in his sitting room– the good madrone wood that had been seasoning in the woodshed for almost two years. The bath had been supplied with various fine salts and oils, as well as a few strategically-placed scented candles. The dressing room had new furniture, and the closets had new cedar clothes-hangers and sachets of dried flowers and cedar chips. There were fresh flowers in the bedroom and new coverings on the bed. And on one bedside table was a small stack of books– a gift for Desiderius from Aterat herself. Tsu Lai inspected everything and ordered the windows opened to air out the residual smells of furniture polish and bleach water.
He then headed up toward his own room, stopping along the way to check Precia’s room. It was clean. The floor had been swept, the furniture had been dusted, and the window had been washed. The sheets on the bed had been changed and the curtains on the window were fresh. He peeked into her bathroom. It was clean as well– there was toilet paper and fresh soap, and some clean towels in the cabinet by the bathtub. Good.
Upon entering his own room, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and decided a quick shower would not be remiss. He washed, and then he dried and combed out his silky, knee-length black hair. He brushed his teeth and shaved off the light sprinkling of stubble that had appeared on his chin and upper lip. Since Aterat had been so particular about her own appearance today, Tsu Lai decided that he would also be expected to dress for the occasion. He donned his best black tunic and the matching black pants and, thinking to please Aterat, he wrapped a bright red sash around his waist. He laughed to himself as he slipped on his “special occasion” shoes, thinking of Aterat’s shoe closet. He glanced at the clock. It had been about an hour since he’d left her. He wanted to be by her side when Desiderius arrived.
Tsu Lai opened the large wooden armoir in the corner of the room and perused its contents, trying to select a weapon. He fingered his favorite katana. No. A long sword like that might call too much attention to itself. He wanted to be subtle about it, so he wouldn’t risk offending anyone. He looked over a few of his shorter blades, hesitating for a moment over a three-hundred-year-old sgian dubh that he had kept as a relic from their time spent in Scotland. Then he saw it. A beautiful Mughal dagger with an ornate gilded hilt and matching sheath. It had been a gift from Desiderius himself, so long ago that Tsu Lai had almost forgotten about it. He lifted it out and unsheathed it. The blade was good. And it was so ostentatious-looking that it could easily be seen as merely decorative.
Tsu Lai smiled. It was only appropriate that he be wearing the dagger that Desiderius had given him when he went to greet the man. He selected his finest sharpening stone and began to run it down the edge of the blade.
It wasn’t that he particularly mistrusted Desiderius or Precia. He happened to really like them both. He just knew better than to blindly trust anyone, especially where Aterat’s own safety was concerned. He knew Precia would understand this, and in fact he was certain that she would be armed today, as well. It had nothing to do with their personal feelings.
But he also knew that it was best to be always prepared for a change of fealty. If Desiderius ever did decide to revolt against Aterat, he wouldn’t be the first to do so. Or even the second.
Just because Aterat was the one who first brought Desiderius into this world– just because she loved him and treated him as her own son– that did not mean that he would remain eternally loyal to her. After all, Aterat had left Shepetheleh. And that had marked the beginning of a violent struggle that had been going on for over a millenium now.
Of course, not every falling-out had started a war. Tsu Lai remembered when M’boku and Nadina had left. Aterat had been so glad to finally be rid of that lunatic that she had calmly allowed them to go, asking only that they never return. And when Lyudmila and Alexei had decided to follow after them, Aterat had put up very little resistance, claiming that Mila simply wasn’t worth fighting for.
But then, a few centuries later, when Dellanira and Xerondar had chosen to break their ties with her, Aterat had been furious. She’d tried everything in her power to prevent Nira from leaving, until the day Shepetheleh came to take advantage of their in-fighting and attacked while Aterat’s attention was divided. She had been forced to shift her focus to him, and she’d had to let Dellanira go as a result. To this day, Aterat was still dreaming up ways to convince Nira to return to her.
Tsu Lai looked down the edge of the blade, then tested it by shaving the fine little hairs off of one of his knuckles. It was perfect. He wiped it down with an oilcloth and slipped it back into its sheath, then tucked it neatly into his sash.
He glanced at the clock. Desiderius and Precia would be arriving in about an hour and a half. He decided it was time to get back to Aterat. On his way, he caught the attention of a boy with a dustcloth and instructed him to have someone send a large vase of fresh flowers to Precia’s room.
He found Aterat in her study, pacing back and forth in front of her desk with an unopened book in her hand, thin layers of red silk swirling around her ankles as she moved. Even in this nervous state, she made an impressive sight. “Where do you plan to greet them?” he asked her.
She stopped and turned to look at him. “Would it be too old-fashioned to have him come to me in the main hall, like we used to?”
Tsu Lai smiled. Before, whenever one of Aterat’s children had awakened and come to her, they had been presented to her in a large hall and had knelt at her feet while she sat imperiously on a dias in the center of the room. But these days it was a little ridiculous to greet someone that way, and even modern royalty almost never behaved like that. “I think you’re right,” he replied. “It might seem . . . impersonal.”
“I see.”
“Especially considering that Desiderius is newly awakened,” he reminded her.
“Of course. His head is still full of his modern lifestyle.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll meet him in the sun-room,” she decided. “We can . . . have tea together.” She left to give the orders about the sun-room and the tea service.
Tsu Lai followed her out, smiling at her awkward, anxious manner. Most people never really tried to understand Aterat, and as a result she was often perceived as a cold, shrewd woman who only cared about her own self-importance. But that simply wasn’t the truth. He supposed he might be a little biased toward her, but Tsu Lai knew that Aterat had never bothered to hide any part of herself from him. He knew her better than anyone, and in his view, she was a soft and vulnerable person with plenty of insecurities and a deep loneliness inside her.
He also knew that if he ever described her that way to anyone, she would flog him mercilessly for it, just to prove him wrong.
It had been six years since they’d had one of Aterat’s children living with them. She pretended her usual nonchalance, but Tsu Lai could tell she was nervous and excited. He knew she had been lonely without one of her own around. He just hoped that Desiderius wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him.
The domestics were all busy making everything perfect for Desiderius’s arrival, so Tsu Lai had been the only one to attend Aterat herself today. He enjoyed being able to serve her like this. He had prepared her breakfast, helped her bathe, helped her dress, arranged her hair . . . and now he was very carefully applying enamel to her toenails. They were red, with a gold latticework design on the tips. It was very delicate work, and if he messed one up and had to start it over, he knew she would be very irritated with him.
Her foot stopped moving, and he gently took it up again so that he could continue applying the gold paint, smiling to himself as he did so. Aterat wasn’t the only one who was excited about Desiderius’s return. Tsu Lai had been lonely as well, over the past few years. He hadn’t had an equal to talk to in so long. And he hadn’t seen Precia in decades. They had always gotten along well.
He finished the last thin line of gold and sat back to close up the bottle. Aterat lifted her foot to inspect his work. “Good,” she said, then added, “Shoes.”
Tsu Lai stood and nodded, then left the dressing room. He placed the two bottles of nail enamel in the box where they belonged, then entered her shoe closet to select the appropriate footwear. He stared at the shelves with their rows of shoes, trying to remember which ones belonged with that red silk dress she had on. He was fairly certain it was a pair of sandals with lots of straps on it. There were three shelves that held strappy sandals. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what her feet had looked like the last time he’d seen her in that particular dress.
He sighed. This was not his area of expertise.
He knew Aterat would be irritated with him if he chose the wrong ones. He was tempted to call the girl who usually dressed her, to ask which shoes he should pick. But she was helping to prepare Desiderius’s rooms, and besides, asking her would just be too humiliating for him. This was something he should be able to do himself.
He tried thinking logically. Red dress. Red and gold paint on her toes. Gold ribbons and red flowers in her hair. It would only make sense that the shoes would be either red or gold. He took down the seven pair of sandals that met that criteria and arranged them on the floor. Then he cast aside the two red pair that were darker than her dress. That narrowed it down to five pair. Tsu Lai leaned against the closet door and groaned. Did every woman have this many shoes?
Tsu Lai heard a loud sigh from the dressing room. Aterat was getting impatient with him. He needed to hurry. He grabbed a pair of nice-looking gold ones and left the closet.
He tried to be casual and not call any attention to the shoes in his hand as he reentered the dressing room, but Aterat’s eyes went straight to them. She frowned. “Those aren’t the ones I wear with this dress,” she said in a confused tone.
“I’m sorry,” Tsu Lai replied with an apologetic bow. He turned back toward the closet to make a second attempt.
“Oh, forget it,” she snapped. “Those will do. I don’t have time to waste.”
She was irritated with him. He could tell. But she wasn’t as upset as he’d thought she would be. He knelt down and strapped the little gold sandals onto her feet. Then he slipped a small gold ring onto the middle toe of each foot and fastened a gold chain around her left ankle. He placed rings on her fingers and bracelets on her arms, a pair of gold earrings in her ears, and a gold chain set with rubies around her neck.
He showed her a mirror. She smiled. Tsu Lai’s breath caught in his chest. Aterat looked like a divine goddess when she smiled. “Now do my face.”
Tsu Lai balked. Her face? As in . . . cosmetics?
Aterat’s eyes left the mirror and looked up at him, reading his expression. She tsked and stood up. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself,” she declared with a wave of her hand. “You’d just make me look like a clown anyway.” She seated herself in front of the vanity table in the corner and began opening a jar of some sort of green oily substance. “Just go . . . prepare something. Desiderius will be here in less than three hours.”
Tsu Lai left the room. He went to the kitchen to check on the preparations for the evening’s meal, then he went to Desiderius’s suite to see how it was coming along. His rooms were beautiful. Every amenity had been prepared for him. There were new logs in the fireplace in his sitting room– the good madrone wood that had been seasoning in the woodshed for almost two years. The bath had been supplied with various fine salts and oils, as well as a few strategically-placed scented candles. The dressing room had new furniture, and the closets had new cedar clothes-hangers and sachets of dried flowers and cedar chips. There were fresh flowers in the bedroom and new coverings on the bed. And on one bedside table was a small stack of books– a gift for Desiderius from Aterat herself. Tsu Lai inspected everything and ordered the windows opened to air out the residual smells of furniture polish and bleach water.
He then headed up toward his own room, stopping along the way to check Precia’s room. It was clean. The floor had been swept, the furniture had been dusted, and the window had been washed. The sheets on the bed had been changed and the curtains on the window were fresh. He peeked into her bathroom. It was clean as well– there was toilet paper and fresh soap, and some clean towels in the cabinet by the bathtub. Good.
Upon entering his own room, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and decided a quick shower would not be remiss. He washed, and then he dried and combed out his silky, knee-length black hair. He brushed his teeth and shaved off the light sprinkling of stubble that had appeared on his chin and upper lip. Since Aterat had been so particular about her own appearance today, Tsu Lai decided that he would also be expected to dress for the occasion. He donned his best black tunic and the matching black pants and, thinking to please Aterat, he wrapped a bright red sash around his waist. He laughed to himself as he slipped on his “special occasion” shoes, thinking of Aterat’s shoe closet. He glanced at the clock. It had been about an hour since he’d left her. He wanted to be by her side when Desiderius arrived.
Tsu Lai opened the large wooden armoir in the corner of the room and perused its contents, trying to select a weapon. He fingered his favorite katana. No. A long sword like that might call too much attention to itself. He wanted to be subtle about it, so he wouldn’t risk offending anyone. He looked over a few of his shorter blades, hesitating for a moment over a three-hundred-year-old sgian dubh that he had kept as a relic from their time spent in Scotland. Then he saw it. A beautiful Mughal dagger with an ornate gilded hilt and matching sheath. It had been a gift from Desiderius himself, so long ago that Tsu Lai had almost forgotten about it. He lifted it out and unsheathed it. The blade was good. And it was so ostentatious-looking that it could easily be seen as merely decorative.
Tsu Lai smiled. It was only appropriate that he be wearing the dagger that Desiderius had given him when he went to greet the man. He selected his finest sharpening stone and began to run it down the edge of the blade.
It wasn’t that he particularly mistrusted Desiderius or Precia. He happened to really like them both. He just knew better than to blindly trust anyone, especially where Aterat’s own safety was concerned. He knew Precia would understand this, and in fact he was certain that she would be armed today, as well. It had nothing to do with their personal feelings.
But he also knew that it was best to be always prepared for a change of fealty. If Desiderius ever did decide to revolt against Aterat, he wouldn’t be the first to do so. Or even the second.
Just because Aterat was the one who first brought Desiderius into this world– just because she loved him and treated him as her own son– that did not mean that he would remain eternally loyal to her. After all, Aterat had left Shepetheleh. And that had marked the beginning of a violent struggle that had been going on for over a millenium now.
Of course, not every falling-out had started a war. Tsu Lai remembered when M’boku and Nadina had left. Aterat had been so glad to finally be rid of that lunatic that she had calmly allowed them to go, asking only that they never return. And when Lyudmila and Alexei had decided to follow after them, Aterat had put up very little resistance, claiming that Mila simply wasn’t worth fighting for.
But then, a few centuries later, when Dellanira and Xerondar had chosen to break their ties with her, Aterat had been furious. She’d tried everything in her power to prevent Nira from leaving, until the day Shepetheleh came to take advantage of their in-fighting and attacked while Aterat’s attention was divided. She had been forced to shift her focus to him, and she’d had to let Dellanira go as a result. To this day, Aterat was still dreaming up ways to convince Nira to return to her.
Tsu Lai looked down the edge of the blade, then tested it by shaving the fine little hairs off of one of his knuckles. It was perfect. He wiped it down with an oilcloth and slipped it back into its sheath, then tucked it neatly into his sash.
He glanced at the clock. Desiderius and Precia would be arriving in about an hour and a half. He decided it was time to get back to Aterat. On his way, he caught the attention of a boy with a dustcloth and instructed him to have someone send a large vase of fresh flowers to Precia’s room.
He found Aterat in her study, pacing back and forth in front of her desk with an unopened book in her hand, thin layers of red silk swirling around her ankles as she moved. Even in this nervous state, she made an impressive sight. “Where do you plan to greet them?” he asked her.
She stopped and turned to look at him. “Would it be too old-fashioned to have him come to me in the main hall, like we used to?”
Tsu Lai smiled. Before, whenever one of Aterat’s children had awakened and come to her, they had been presented to her in a large hall and had knelt at her feet while she sat imperiously on a dias in the center of the room. But these days it was a little ridiculous to greet someone that way, and even modern royalty almost never behaved like that. “I think you’re right,” he replied. “It might seem . . . impersonal.”
“I see.”
“Especially considering that Desiderius is newly awakened,” he reminded her.
“Of course. His head is still full of his modern lifestyle.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll meet him in the sun-room,” she decided. “We can . . . have tea together.” She left to give the orders about the sun-room and the tea service.
Tsu Lai followed her out, smiling at her awkward, anxious manner. Most people never really tried to understand Aterat, and as a result she was often perceived as a cold, shrewd woman who only cared about her own self-importance. But that simply wasn’t the truth. He supposed he might be a little biased toward her, but Tsu Lai knew that Aterat had never bothered to hide any part of herself from him. He knew her better than anyone, and in his view, she was a soft and vulnerable person with plenty of insecurities and a deep loneliness inside her.
He also knew that if he ever described her that way to anyone, she would flog him mercilessly for it, just to prove him wrong.
2/13/13
24- Jacob
Sneaking one more glance into the library to make certain that Fortitude was still sleeping soundly in her favorite chair, Jacob ran a hand through his smooth brown hair and opened the door to the basement staircase. He'd been so busy lately that he hadn’t had a chance to get a decent workout in days, and today his body was begging him to go downstairs and give it a proper beating.
He didn’t have anyone to spar with. Karl was still on doctor’s orders to take it easy, and even if he weren’t, Jacob hadn’t even seen Karl since before his doctor’s visit that morning. And Hespah had been sulking around and avoiding him for the past two weeks. Karl said it was probably just jealousy. Seeing him with Fortitude made her want Shepetheleh even more. Jacob could understand that.
Especially since Shepetheleh hadn’t even entered a carrier yet. His return was still a long way off.
So Jacob was working out alone today. Perhaps he’d start with a little yoga to stretch out his stiff muscles, then some calisthenics, and maybe an hour or two in the weight room, and then he planned to strap on some gloves and spend a good three or four hours breaking in his new punching bag. He grinned at the prospect– it had been a while since he’d last thrown a punch.
Midway down the stairs he heard the muffled sound of gunshot coming from the general direction of the shooting range. Curious, he ran down the rest of the staircase and trotted toward the far corner where the shooting range had been installed.
He opened the door and was instantly overwhelmed by a blaring cacophony of screaming voices and electric guitars, punctuated by the methodical rhythm of a gun being shot to the beat of the so-called "music". Grinning, Jacob took a pair of ear-plugs from the shelf by the door and shoved them into his ears before heading toward the last stall.
Karl was making a perfect pentagram of evenly-spaced bullet-holes in the center of the man-shaped target in front of him. He was wearing the black fitted Nike t-shirt Jacob had given him, and the gray rip-stop Dakine shorts with the little pockets on the back. Jacob loved those shorts. But alas, he was ruining the effect with a thick pair of brown wool socks. Brown. Jacob rolled his eyes. That man would never learn.
The pentagram complete, Karl finished the target off with a shot to the center of its head, a shot in the center of each hand, and one in the crotch, before he set his gun down and pressed the button for a new target. Jacob took the opportunity to tap him on the shoulder while he was unarmed.
Karl turned around and flashed a dazzling smile, then fumbled for the little remote in his pocket to stop the music.
"Karl!" Jacob shouted with a grin as he removed the plugs from his throbbing ears, "What the hell are you doing?"
Karl shrugged. "The doctor said I can train again, as long as I don’t push myself too hard."
"And you don’t think firing a gun is going to jar your injuries at all?"
"No, it’s fine. Really." Karl rolled his eyes. "I’ve been trying to tell you for more than a week now, I’m all healed up."
Jacob crossed his arms. "And your doctor agrees with you about that?"
"Absolutely." Karl took a step forward and cocked a mischievous half-smile. "I’m fit to resume all of my normal activities."
Jacob raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, really?" His eyes wandered over the fitted black shirt, the perfectly-tailored gray shorts . . . and those offensive brown socks poking up from the tops of Karl’s black and white cross-trainers. He sighed. "Okay then. Why don’t you meet me on the mat for a little light sparring?"
Karl grinned. "You're on. Just give me a minute to put things away in here."
"Of course. I have to stretch out first anyway."
Less than five minutes later, the two of them were circling each other in the center of a large blue mat.
Jacob began with a standard boxing stance. He kept his head down, his fists up to guard his face. He kept his knees slightly bent for freedom of movement and continuously shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, ready to dodge or strike whenever he had to. "Don’t worry," he said, "I’ll go easy on you."
"Don’t bother." Karl, as he usually did when the two of them had a bare-knuckle sparring match, adopted a basic jiu-jitsu stance– hands out in front of him, pawing lightly at the air like a cat swatting at a toy, feet apart and knees bent low, with most of his weight settled over his front leg, but ready to shift to the other leg at any moment.
Jacob made an opening jab with his left fist, but Karl dodged low and swatted it away with one hand. Jacob pulled back and bounced a little, then came back in with a quick one-two aimed low, which actually landed on Karl’s sides, and ending with a right uppercut aimed at his jaw, which Karl caught in an iron grip with his right hand. Knowing better than to try to pull his arm free, Jacob took advantage of Karl’s one-handed defense– and his lower stance– to send a candy cane punch right at Karl’s ear.
But as his left fist came down, his right arm twisted, and in one fluid motion, Jacob found himself on the floor, his face smashed into the mat, with Karl sitting on his back. Jacob wriggled backward until Karl was positioned over his shoulders, then thrust his body upward so that Karl was knocked head-first into the mat, then he bounced back up onto his feet, trying to regain his boxer’s advantage. But as soon as he was standing again, Karl’s right leg hooked around Jacob’s left knee, and his other leg swept across the fronts of Jacob's ankles so that he collapsed back down onto the floor again.
"Damn you, Karl," Jacob grunted as he tried to fend off the arms and legs that were wrapping themselves around his shoulders and knees. "You have the body of a snake!"
"Yeah, well . . ." Karl gasped as he hooked his elbows around Jacob’s shoulders and clasped his hands behind his head, pushing Jacob’s chin into the mat, "You said you were going to go easy on me . . ."
Jacob wriggled under Karl’s weight but found he couldn’t effectively move anything. "I was going easy on you . . . I thought you were still weak from your injuries . . . my mistake."
Karl climbed up off of him and sat down on the mat, breathing hard. "Well, it sure didn’t feel like you were pulling your punches . . ." he muttered as he pulled off his shirt to inspect his ribs. In addition to the fresh red scars that still decorated much of his torso, two large, ugly welts had already formed on the sides of his body where Jacob had hit him.
Jacob sat up, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his right shoulder where it had been twisted. "I always pull my punches when we fight," he muttered. "I don’t actually want to hurt you."
"No shit. Both of you were holding back."
Jacob and Karl both turned to see Hespah’s new face watching them from the foot of the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of gray yoga pants and a red tank top that showed off all of the tight, hard muscles in her arms. "If you two really fought with each other like you do with me, you’d both be completely ass-fucked for a week." She smirked at them, then added, "In a bad way."
Jacob grinned. He supposed that was true. What he and Karl did in here was really just play-fighting, after all.
Hespah kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the mat in her bare feet. "Now who wants to go against me?"
Jacob and Karl exchanged a wary glance.
"Well, Karl’s still supposed to be taking things slow right now . . ." Jacob told her.
She rolled her eyes. "That's an old lady's excuse," she replied with a dismissive flip of her cherry-red hair. Then she looked at Jacob. "So what about you?"
"Well . . ."
Hespah growled, then pulled off her tank top and tossed it aside, revealing a black sports bra and a set of eight impossibly chiseled abs. "Fine then," she said as she crouched down onto her hands and feet like some wild cat coiled for a pounce. "I’ll take both you assholes."
Jacob knew that look in her eyes, even with the new face. Taking a deep breath, he adopted a wide, low stance and raised his fists up to guard his head.
Hespah smirked at Jacob, then turned to Karl. "Come on, blondie," she called, "I promise I’ll be gentle."
Reluctantly, Karl stepped forward, then decided to forego the usual opening stance and dropped right into a strange seated position, his arms and legs out at odd angles, his hands open like he was ready to catch something. It was an odd sight for Jacob, but Hespah apparently recognized this pose, because she smiled, reared back, and launched herself.
He didn’t have anyone to spar with. Karl was still on doctor’s orders to take it easy, and even if he weren’t, Jacob hadn’t even seen Karl since before his doctor’s visit that morning. And Hespah had been sulking around and avoiding him for the past two weeks. Karl said it was probably just jealousy. Seeing him with Fortitude made her want Shepetheleh even more. Jacob could understand that.
Especially since Shepetheleh hadn’t even entered a carrier yet. His return was still a long way off.
So Jacob was working out alone today. Perhaps he’d start with a little yoga to stretch out his stiff muscles, then some calisthenics, and maybe an hour or two in the weight room, and then he planned to strap on some gloves and spend a good three or four hours breaking in his new punching bag. He grinned at the prospect– it had been a while since he’d last thrown a punch.
Midway down the stairs he heard the muffled sound of gunshot coming from the general direction of the shooting range. Curious, he ran down the rest of the staircase and trotted toward the far corner where the shooting range had been installed.
He opened the door and was instantly overwhelmed by a blaring cacophony of screaming voices and electric guitars, punctuated by the methodical rhythm of a gun being shot to the beat of the so-called "music". Grinning, Jacob took a pair of ear-plugs from the shelf by the door and shoved them into his ears before heading toward the last stall.
Karl was making a perfect pentagram of evenly-spaced bullet-holes in the center of the man-shaped target in front of him. He was wearing the black fitted Nike t-shirt Jacob had given him, and the gray rip-stop Dakine shorts with the little pockets on the back. Jacob loved those shorts. But alas, he was ruining the effect with a thick pair of brown wool socks. Brown. Jacob rolled his eyes. That man would never learn.
The pentagram complete, Karl finished the target off with a shot to the center of its head, a shot in the center of each hand, and one in the crotch, before he set his gun down and pressed the button for a new target. Jacob took the opportunity to tap him on the shoulder while he was unarmed.
Karl turned around and flashed a dazzling smile, then fumbled for the little remote in his pocket to stop the music.
"Karl!" Jacob shouted with a grin as he removed the plugs from his throbbing ears, "What the hell are you doing?"
Karl shrugged. "The doctor said I can train again, as long as I don’t push myself too hard."
"And you don’t think firing a gun is going to jar your injuries at all?"
"No, it’s fine. Really." Karl rolled his eyes. "I’ve been trying to tell you for more than a week now, I’m all healed up."
Jacob crossed his arms. "And your doctor agrees with you about that?"
"Absolutely." Karl took a step forward and cocked a mischievous half-smile. "I’m fit to resume all of my normal activities."
Jacob raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, really?" His eyes wandered over the fitted black shirt, the perfectly-tailored gray shorts . . . and those offensive brown socks poking up from the tops of Karl’s black and white cross-trainers. He sighed. "Okay then. Why don’t you meet me on the mat for a little light sparring?"
Karl grinned. "You're on. Just give me a minute to put things away in here."
"Of course. I have to stretch out first anyway."
Less than five minutes later, the two of them were circling each other in the center of a large blue mat.
Jacob began with a standard boxing stance. He kept his head down, his fists up to guard his face. He kept his knees slightly bent for freedom of movement and continuously shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, ready to dodge or strike whenever he had to. "Don’t worry," he said, "I’ll go easy on you."
"Don’t bother." Karl, as he usually did when the two of them had a bare-knuckle sparring match, adopted a basic jiu-jitsu stance– hands out in front of him, pawing lightly at the air like a cat swatting at a toy, feet apart and knees bent low, with most of his weight settled over his front leg, but ready to shift to the other leg at any moment.
Jacob made an opening jab with his left fist, but Karl dodged low and swatted it away with one hand. Jacob pulled back and bounced a little, then came back in with a quick one-two aimed low, which actually landed on Karl’s sides, and ending with a right uppercut aimed at his jaw, which Karl caught in an iron grip with his right hand. Knowing better than to try to pull his arm free, Jacob took advantage of Karl’s one-handed defense– and his lower stance– to send a candy cane punch right at Karl’s ear.
But as his left fist came down, his right arm twisted, and in one fluid motion, Jacob found himself on the floor, his face smashed into the mat, with Karl sitting on his back. Jacob wriggled backward until Karl was positioned over his shoulders, then thrust his body upward so that Karl was knocked head-first into the mat, then he bounced back up onto his feet, trying to regain his boxer’s advantage. But as soon as he was standing again, Karl’s right leg hooked around Jacob’s left knee, and his other leg swept across the fronts of Jacob's ankles so that he collapsed back down onto the floor again.
"Damn you, Karl," Jacob grunted as he tried to fend off the arms and legs that were wrapping themselves around his shoulders and knees. "You have the body of a snake!"
"Yeah, well . . ." Karl gasped as he hooked his elbows around Jacob’s shoulders and clasped his hands behind his head, pushing Jacob’s chin into the mat, "You said you were going to go easy on me . . ."
Jacob wriggled under Karl’s weight but found he couldn’t effectively move anything. "I was going easy on you . . . I thought you were still weak from your injuries . . . my mistake."
Karl climbed up off of him and sat down on the mat, breathing hard. "Well, it sure didn’t feel like you were pulling your punches . . ." he muttered as he pulled off his shirt to inspect his ribs. In addition to the fresh red scars that still decorated much of his torso, two large, ugly welts had already formed on the sides of his body where Jacob had hit him.
Jacob sat up, rubbing the back of his neck and rolling his right shoulder where it had been twisted. "I always pull my punches when we fight," he muttered. "I don’t actually want to hurt you."
"No shit. Both of you were holding back."
Jacob and Karl both turned to see Hespah’s new face watching them from the foot of the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of gray yoga pants and a red tank top that showed off all of the tight, hard muscles in her arms. "If you two really fought with each other like you do with me, you’d both be completely ass-fucked for a week." She smirked at them, then added, "In a bad way."
Jacob grinned. He supposed that was true. What he and Karl did in here was really just play-fighting, after all.
Hespah kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the mat in her bare feet. "Now who wants to go against me?"
Jacob and Karl exchanged a wary glance.
"Well, Karl’s still supposed to be taking things slow right now . . ." Jacob told her.
She rolled her eyes. "That's an old lady's excuse," she replied with a dismissive flip of her cherry-red hair. Then she looked at Jacob. "So what about you?"
"Well . . ."
Hespah growled, then pulled off her tank top and tossed it aside, revealing a black sports bra and a set of eight impossibly chiseled abs. "Fine then," she said as she crouched down onto her hands and feet like some wild cat coiled for a pounce. "I’ll take both you assholes."
Jacob knew that look in her eyes, even with the new face. Taking a deep breath, he adopted a wide, low stance and raised his fists up to guard his head.
Hespah smirked at Jacob, then turned to Karl. "Come on, blondie," she called, "I promise I’ll be gentle."
Reluctantly, Karl stepped forward, then decided to forego the usual opening stance and dropped right into a strange seated position, his arms and legs out at odd angles, his hands open like he was ready to catch something. It was an odd sight for Jacob, but Hespah apparently recognized this pose, because she smiled, reared back, and launched herself.
2/8/13
23- Alexei
Alexei tugged absently at his shirt and glanced around at the other passengers on the plane. He didn’t recognize any of the faces, and no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. He closed his eyes and tried to relax back into his seat. In just a few more minutes, he would be out of South Africa. And by this time tomorrow, he would be starting fresh in a new city.
He tried to look out at the clouds, but it was still mostly dark outside, and all he could see was his own vague, distorted reflection staring back at him from the smudged window. He could make out the mop of thick, pale blonde hair that covered his forehead and tickled the back of his neck. The round, boyish face. The small mouth with its full, pouty pink lips. The reflection showed only watery shadows where his large, round brown eyes were. In fact, it was so blurry that he could almost see the perfect, doll-like face that he had once had. He stared at that reflection for a moment, remembering what his life had been like back then.
"Oi– Are you alright?"
Alexei started and turned away from the window. The young woman in the next seat was staring at him. "I– I’m fine, thanks."
He watched her go through the usual reaction to his face. Her eyes widened, then she looked away, then she focused her gaze on his right ear, then his mouth. "Oh . . . well, that’s good, then. You just looked so sad . . . I was worried you might be crying. . . ."
He smiled for her, faintly amused to see the flustered confusion pass over her features. How many women had told him? That gorgeous, youthful grin, contrasted with that gruesome scar and those sad, beautiful eyes . . . It all combined to make him appear dangerous, yet sensitive, and playful at the same time. A combination that could easily get him into a lot of trouble, if he were even remotely interested in any of those women. Alexei laughed. "No, really, I’m alright."
The woman blushed and smiled, and Alexei turned back to the window.
There was only one woman whose opinion mattered, and she would never find him attractive again. She couldn’t even look at him without showing her disgust.
Alexei looked down at his hands. Young, smooth, pale-pink skin spread over long, pretty fingers. Just two days ago his knuckles had been a raw, bruised, bleeding mess. And now there was no sign of it. Every injury that he’d ever received had healed up without even a trace. Every injury except one, that is. He couldn’t even get a real suntan because his skin healed too quickly. After all this time, he still looked like a healthy fifteen-year-old boy.
He chuckled softly. Looking this young could be very inconvenient at times. People were always more likely to suspect that his identification might be fake, he was often watched with suspicion when he went into a shop by himself, and he was rarely treated with any respect by anyone. But it definitely had its advantages, as well. Sometimes, in certain situations, being underestimated and disregarded could be an enormous advantage.
Especially in a new city, where no one knew who he was or what he was capable of.
Alexei bit his lip and glanced around at the other passengers again. He’d had to leave Sun City in a hurry. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back– not for another twenty years, at least.
But he was sure he would have better luck in Macau. Alexei always had a change of luck when he moved to a different city. He sighed. That was what he hoped. He only had maybe ten years to turn things around before Mila would be needing him.
He reached into his pocket and grasped the old, threadbare scrap of satin ribbon between his fingers, lovingly running his thumb over the precious fibers which had once been snowy white, but had since faded to a dingy brown. He never took it out in public anymore, but he kept it in his pocket and carried it with him at all times. Whenever he touched it, he remembered how it had looked in her hair all those years ago– a dainty white bow, the ends of it falling down to bounce alongside her red-brown curls.
That memory drove him to persevere when his luck was down. It gave him the courage to do what he had to do to survive . . . whatever he had to do, to be ready for her when the time came.
Yes, Macau would be good for him. In ten years– maybe even five, if he played things right– he would be in a position to properly care for her. To make sure she had everything she needed. Everything she wanted.
He tried to look out at the clouds, but it was still mostly dark outside, and all he could see was his own vague, distorted reflection staring back at him from the smudged window. He could make out the mop of thick, pale blonde hair that covered his forehead and tickled the back of his neck. The round, boyish face. The small mouth with its full, pouty pink lips. The reflection showed only watery shadows where his large, round brown eyes were. In fact, it was so blurry that he could almost see the perfect, doll-like face that he had once had. He stared at that reflection for a moment, remembering what his life had been like back then.
"Oi– Are you alright?"
Alexei started and turned away from the window. The young woman in the next seat was staring at him. "I– I’m fine, thanks."
He watched her go through the usual reaction to his face. Her eyes widened, then she looked away, then she focused her gaze on his right ear, then his mouth. "Oh . . . well, that’s good, then. You just looked so sad . . . I was worried you might be crying. . . ."
He smiled for her, faintly amused to see the flustered confusion pass over her features. How many women had told him? That gorgeous, youthful grin, contrasted with that gruesome scar and those sad, beautiful eyes . . . It all combined to make him appear dangerous, yet sensitive, and playful at the same time. A combination that could easily get him into a lot of trouble, if he were even remotely interested in any of those women. Alexei laughed. "No, really, I’m alright."
The woman blushed and smiled, and Alexei turned back to the window.
There was only one woman whose opinion mattered, and she would never find him attractive again. She couldn’t even look at him without showing her disgust.
Alexei looked down at his hands. Young, smooth, pale-pink skin spread over long, pretty fingers. Just two days ago his knuckles had been a raw, bruised, bleeding mess. And now there was no sign of it. Every injury that he’d ever received had healed up without even a trace. Every injury except one, that is. He couldn’t even get a real suntan because his skin healed too quickly. After all this time, he still looked like a healthy fifteen-year-old boy.
He chuckled softly. Looking this young could be very inconvenient at times. People were always more likely to suspect that his identification might be fake, he was often watched with suspicion when he went into a shop by himself, and he was rarely treated with any respect by anyone. But it definitely had its advantages, as well. Sometimes, in certain situations, being underestimated and disregarded could be an enormous advantage.
Especially in a new city, where no one knew who he was or what he was capable of.
Alexei bit his lip and glanced around at the other passengers again. He’d had to leave Sun City in a hurry. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back– not for another twenty years, at least.
But he was sure he would have better luck in Macau. Alexei always had a change of luck when he moved to a different city. He sighed. That was what he hoped. He only had maybe ten years to turn things around before Mila would be needing him.
He reached into his pocket and grasped the old, threadbare scrap of satin ribbon between his fingers, lovingly running his thumb over the precious fibers which had once been snowy white, but had since faded to a dingy brown. He never took it out in public anymore, but he kept it in his pocket and carried it with him at all times. Whenever he touched it, he remembered how it had looked in her hair all those years ago– a dainty white bow, the ends of it falling down to bounce alongside her red-brown curls.
That memory drove him to persevere when his luck was down. It gave him the courage to do what he had to do to survive . . . whatever he had to do, to be ready for her when the time came.
Yes, Macau would be good for him. In ten years– maybe even five, if he played things right– he would be in a position to properly care for her. To make sure she had everything she needed. Everything she wanted.
1/26/13
22- Jack
Jack leaned back in his chair and stretched. All of this work on the computer was killing his back. He’d been staring into the screen on his laptop for three hours now, just sifting through all of the sightings for the day.
The problem wasn’t that they weren’t finding Nadina Jones and John Andrews. The problem was that the two of them were being spotted everywhere, every day. For the last few months, they’d had an increasing number of sightings. The first two times Nadina had been caught on camera, the whole team had rushed to follow her, only to find a dead end. Now it was at the point where they no longer even chased after her– or rather, they couldn’t. She was sighted so often, and in so many different locations, that it was impossible to follow her. She had not resumed contact with her acquaintances in Switzerland, nor had she contacted any of the boy’s relatives back in London. But she was seen everywhere, and her credit cards were still active and being used all over the world every day.
Her face had tripped facial recognition software in six different countries today alone. This afternoon, she was clearly seen on camera shopping, walking down a street, visiting a bank, playing in a park– all with John Andrews right there with her. Someone somewhere had real pictures of the two of them.
And the images were current. Of that, Jack was absolutely certain. In the pictures and videos over the last few months, the marks on John’s face and arms had healed, his hair had grown into his eyes and then been cut short again, he had grown taller, he had gotten new clothes and shoes. He no longer appeared to be wearing diapers, which suggested he had been toilet-trained. He also seemed to be getting progressively healthier and happier, and it even looked as though Nadina were educating him, but for what purpose, he couldn’t guess.
From watching their interactions, he had to wonder if perhaps Karl Waiblingen had been right about these two. Perhaps Nadina Jones really did genuinely love John Andrews. It would certainly seem so, from the footage they had. Alternatively, though, Jack had to keep in mind that what images they did have were given to them by some unknown party, and he couldn’t be sure whether what he saw was genuinely candid, or if that person was selecting only certain images, or even if it was all a show that had been put on just for his benefit. Take the boy out, act nice for the cameras, then back to whatever the reality was. It was a possibility that Jack didn’t like to think about, but one which inspired him to continue his search, no matter how bleak it seemed.
In all of the pictures, they didn’t seem to be on the run, didn’t appear to be in hiding at all. The two of them looked as if they were settled somewhere, and going about their daily lives. But in the course of a day, they were seen all over the world. Her credit card was used to buy chewing gum in Mumbai, and then used to buy lipstick in Venezuela three minutes later. They were seen buying bread at a bakery in Poland, then they were spotted walking away from a bakery in the United States, then they stopped to have lunch on a park bench in South Korea, then she was pushing him on a swing-set in Canada. Obviously they were watching the pair go through their day, but somehow someone had changed the settings, and this person had also managed to transfer these images onto security footage around the world.
So where was the real bakery? Where was the real park bench? They were no closer to figuring that out than they had been three months ago.
Once they had figured out what was happening, Jack and his colleagues had begun studying the pair in more detail, trying to pick up any clues as to where they really were. At one point the two of them had been sitting out-doors somewhere doing a bit of studying. Nadina was showing John a series of educational flash-cards. One image clearly showed the front of the card. The letter P. A drawing of a butterfly. And, under the picture, the word papillon. Immediately the team began to focus their search on places where French is a commonly-spoken language. But two weeks later the pair were clearly seen reading Petrosinella, in Italian, while little John wore a shirt with a picture of a Japanese cartoon character on it.
At this point they had no leads.
Jack swirled the last few sips of cold, bitter coffee in his cup. He really ought to stop drinking so much of the vile stuff. After sipping poor-quality hotel coffee nearly non-stop for a few months, the drink had lost all of its appeal and lately it was beginning to make his stomach hurt just to smell it. But he still drank it almost constantly to stay alert and keep his concentration on the case. He would set aside some time once this was all over and take better care of his health. But as long as that little boy was still out there somewhere with that psychotic murderer reading him bedtime stories and doing who-knew-what-else, Jack simply couldn’t justify wasting eight hours of every day sleeping.
When he wasn’t staring at fake images on a computer screen, he’d been keeping track of those people in Switzerland. Swiss police had continued to watch them from a comfortable distance, and they had been sending weekly updates. Hespah Stille had fully recovered from her various procedures and was now living in an absurdly large house with her lawyer, a handful of what appeared to be domestic employees, and two new faces. A young man and a teenage girl had recently arrived from Malta and were now living with Ms. Stille and Mr. Waiblingen in their ostentatious-looking mansion. The girl appeared to have some sort of mental problem, judging from how carefully the others treated her, and she seemed to be of delicate health, overall.
If they ever did finally find Nadina Jones and get John Andrews back home to his relatives safely, Jack hoped to be able to spend some more time investigating these unusual people. Their odd, secretive actions went beyond the eccentricities of people who had too much wealth for their own good. He knew they were hiding something, and he felt certain they were engaged in some sort of criminal activity. He just didn’t know what it was.
Jack glanced around the room. He knew his colleagues were getting restless. They were no closer to saving that boy than they had been when the case had first gone international. The terms "wild goose chase" and "dead end" and "cold case" had been tossed around a lot lately, and it was obvious that everyone was ready to go home to their families. They needed a solid lead, and soon. Otherwise Jack was afraid everyone might be pulled off of the case and little John Andrews might never be found.
The problem wasn’t that they weren’t finding Nadina Jones and John Andrews. The problem was that the two of them were being spotted everywhere, every day. For the last few months, they’d had an increasing number of sightings. The first two times Nadina had been caught on camera, the whole team had rushed to follow her, only to find a dead end. Now it was at the point where they no longer even chased after her– or rather, they couldn’t. She was sighted so often, and in so many different locations, that it was impossible to follow her. She had not resumed contact with her acquaintances in Switzerland, nor had she contacted any of the boy’s relatives back in London. But she was seen everywhere, and her credit cards were still active and being used all over the world every day.
Her face had tripped facial recognition software in six different countries today alone. This afternoon, she was clearly seen on camera shopping, walking down a street, visiting a bank, playing in a park– all with John Andrews right there with her. Someone somewhere had real pictures of the two of them.
And the images were current. Of that, Jack was absolutely certain. In the pictures and videos over the last few months, the marks on John’s face and arms had healed, his hair had grown into his eyes and then been cut short again, he had grown taller, he had gotten new clothes and shoes. He no longer appeared to be wearing diapers, which suggested he had been toilet-trained. He also seemed to be getting progressively healthier and happier, and it even looked as though Nadina were educating him, but for what purpose, he couldn’t guess.
From watching their interactions, he had to wonder if perhaps Karl Waiblingen had been right about these two. Perhaps Nadina Jones really did genuinely love John Andrews. It would certainly seem so, from the footage they had. Alternatively, though, Jack had to keep in mind that what images they did have were given to them by some unknown party, and he couldn’t be sure whether what he saw was genuinely candid, or if that person was selecting only certain images, or even if it was all a show that had been put on just for his benefit. Take the boy out, act nice for the cameras, then back to whatever the reality was. It was a possibility that Jack didn’t like to think about, but one which inspired him to continue his search, no matter how bleak it seemed.
In all of the pictures, they didn’t seem to be on the run, didn’t appear to be in hiding at all. The two of them looked as if they were settled somewhere, and going about their daily lives. But in the course of a day, they were seen all over the world. Her credit card was used to buy chewing gum in Mumbai, and then used to buy lipstick in Venezuela three minutes later. They were seen buying bread at a bakery in Poland, then they were spotted walking away from a bakery in the United States, then they stopped to have lunch on a park bench in South Korea, then she was pushing him on a swing-set in Canada. Obviously they were watching the pair go through their day, but somehow someone had changed the settings, and this person had also managed to transfer these images onto security footage around the world.
So where was the real bakery? Where was the real park bench? They were no closer to figuring that out than they had been three months ago.
Once they had figured out what was happening, Jack and his colleagues had begun studying the pair in more detail, trying to pick up any clues as to where they really were. At one point the two of them had been sitting out-doors somewhere doing a bit of studying. Nadina was showing John a series of educational flash-cards. One image clearly showed the front of the card. The letter P. A drawing of a butterfly. And, under the picture, the word papillon. Immediately the team began to focus their search on places where French is a commonly-spoken language. But two weeks later the pair were clearly seen reading Petrosinella, in Italian, while little John wore a shirt with a picture of a Japanese cartoon character on it.
At this point they had no leads.
Jack swirled the last few sips of cold, bitter coffee in his cup. He really ought to stop drinking so much of the vile stuff. After sipping poor-quality hotel coffee nearly non-stop for a few months, the drink had lost all of its appeal and lately it was beginning to make his stomach hurt just to smell it. But he still drank it almost constantly to stay alert and keep his concentration on the case. He would set aside some time once this was all over and take better care of his health. But as long as that little boy was still out there somewhere with that psychotic murderer reading him bedtime stories and doing who-knew-what-else, Jack simply couldn’t justify wasting eight hours of every day sleeping.
When he wasn’t staring at fake images on a computer screen, he’d been keeping track of those people in Switzerland. Swiss police had continued to watch them from a comfortable distance, and they had been sending weekly updates. Hespah Stille had fully recovered from her various procedures and was now living in an absurdly large house with her lawyer, a handful of what appeared to be domestic employees, and two new faces. A young man and a teenage girl had recently arrived from Malta and were now living with Ms. Stille and Mr. Waiblingen in their ostentatious-looking mansion. The girl appeared to have some sort of mental problem, judging from how carefully the others treated her, and she seemed to be of delicate health, overall.
If they ever did finally find Nadina Jones and get John Andrews back home to his relatives safely, Jack hoped to be able to spend some more time investigating these unusual people. Their odd, secretive actions went beyond the eccentricities of people who had too much wealth for their own good. He knew they were hiding something, and he felt certain they were engaged in some sort of criminal activity. He just didn’t know what it was.
Jack glanced around the room. He knew his colleagues were getting restless. They were no closer to saving that boy than they had been when the case had first gone international. The terms "wild goose chase" and "dead end" and "cold case" had been tossed around a lot lately, and it was obvious that everyone was ready to go home to their families. They needed a solid lead, and soon. Otherwise Jack was afraid everyone might be pulled off of the case and little John Andrews might never be found.
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