can be more personal than hair, nails, skin and body fluids? Too many of our clients are powerful Ens, letting even the smallest bit of them fall into the wrong hands could be disastrous. Not just for business.
“Maybe it was moved out of sight. You said Jenny was in there when you came in, maybe she moved it, or it got tossed somewhere when you startled her. There is always the possibility that it was given to the client and you forgot to record it, it has happened to all of us at one time, or another.”
I nod, then the floor tilts beneath me.
“Dara, what if it was Karen’s?” The floor decides tilting isn’t enough, it drops.
Here I am, head between my knees, a vampire hovering over me telling me to relax. Not exactly a relaxing situation, even if the vamp is a friend.
“What if Jenny took the bag?”
“Keely, you have read enough of those detective novels to realize the most likely suspect is usually never the right one.”
“Yeah, but I live vicariously through those things, I don’t want them bleeding into real life. I think I need some air.”
Dara helps me to my feet.
“Yes, I believe you do. I did not think it possible for you to get any paler, but you look like the walking dead.”
Uns have mistaken me for a walking corpse because of my skin tone, but to have a walking corpse tell me, I must look ghastly.
“You should go upstairs and lie down. Better yet, have a long soak in the tub, relax. I will handle your appointments.”
I nod as she steers me toward the door. Luckily, tonight is a light appointment load and I have to admit I’m not up to dealing with the others, or clients. A long soak in the tub isn’t going to fix the problem, but it sure sounds like a good idea.
***
The scent of lavender lifts with the steam, a moist blanket of calm illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight. Rich plum and cherry with undertones of chocolate and black pepper tantalize the taste buds. The book resting on the edge of the tub all, but forgotten as I slide deeper into a cocoon of warmth, letting today’s—hel, this week’s—woes drown in water and wine.
Deep down I know there’s a connection between the missing bag and The Collector. Call me naïve and possibly stupid, but I refuse to believe Jenny is that connection. The hooker wear of the other night aside, she’s a good kid. She’s good at her job and from my understanding does well in school.
Considering her background—having two Ens as parents and coming out an Un—maybe there’s a little confusion about where she fits in, possibly a little resentment. But I still don’t believe she’s helping, or gods forbid, is The Collector.
That little voice of reason comes a tap, tap, tapping at the back of my brain. Two and two make four . Nope, not going to listen, not going to think about it.
Mel’s admission of rumors alluding to the possibility of harnessing an En’s Talent is more terrifying than the loss of a bag of hair. Unless that bag of hair is how they gained control of the En in question.
Oh, Hel’s Realm, I need to stop thinking about this crap.
I take another sip of wine, letting it roll across my tongue. Stretching my neck and shoulders, I lean back, pulling in the spicy sweet smell of lavender, hold the breath and count to ten before slowly exhaling. Trading the glass for the book, forced relaxation and distraction, just what the doctor ordered.
Who am I kidding about trying to relax? There’s no use forcing myself to concentrate. Right now my life is mirroring fiction, minus the hunky hero and the kick ass heroine. Instead, we have a couple of suspicious hunks and a timid receptionist—the stereotypical character everyone assumes just couldn’t do it—who might be the big bad and me. There is no way I can hold a candle to any of these ladies. Not that I want to take on this big bad. I just want to go back to reading about things like this rather than living them. We all like to think we will do
“Maybe it was moved out of sight. You said Jenny was in there when you came in, maybe she moved it, or it got tossed somewhere when you startled her. There is always the possibility that it was given to the client and you forgot to record it, it has happened to all of us at one time, or another.”
I nod, then the floor tilts beneath me.
“Dara, what if it was Karen’s?” The floor decides tilting isn’t enough, it drops.
Here I am, head between my knees, a vampire hovering over me telling me to relax. Not exactly a relaxing situation, even if the vamp is a friend.
“What if Jenny took the bag?”
“Keely, you have read enough of those detective novels to realize the most likely suspect is usually never the right one.”
“Yeah, but I live vicariously through those things, I don’t want them bleeding into real life. I think I need some air.”
Dara helps me to my feet.
“Yes, I believe you do. I did not think it possible for you to get any paler, but you look like the walking dead.”
Uns have mistaken me for a walking corpse because of my skin tone, but to have a walking corpse tell me, I must look ghastly.
“You should go upstairs and lie down. Better yet, have a long soak in the tub, relax. I will handle your appointments.”
I nod as she steers me toward the door. Luckily, tonight is a light appointment load and I have to admit I’m not up to dealing with the others, or clients. A long soak in the tub isn’t going to fix the problem, but it sure sounds like a good idea.
***
The scent of lavender lifts with the steam, a moist blanket of calm illuminated by the flickering glow of candlelight. Rich plum and cherry with undertones of chocolate and black pepper tantalize the taste buds. The book resting on the edge of the tub all, but forgotten as I slide deeper into a cocoon of warmth, letting today’s—hel, this week’s—woes drown in water and wine.
Deep down I know there’s a connection between the missing bag and The Collector. Call me naïve and possibly stupid, but I refuse to believe Jenny is that connection. The hooker wear of the other night aside, she’s a good kid. She’s good at her job and from my understanding does well in school.
Considering her background—having two Ens as parents and coming out an Un—maybe there’s a little confusion about where she fits in, possibly a little resentment. But I still don’t believe she’s helping, or gods forbid, is The Collector.
That little voice of reason comes a tap, tap, tapping at the back of my brain. Two and two make four . Nope, not going to listen, not going to think about it.
Mel’s admission of rumors alluding to the possibility of harnessing an En’s Talent is more terrifying than the loss of a bag of hair. Unless that bag of hair is how they gained control of the En in question.
Oh, Hel’s Realm, I need to stop thinking about this crap.
I take another sip of wine, letting it roll across my tongue. Stretching my neck and shoulders, I lean back, pulling in the spicy sweet smell of lavender, hold the breath and count to ten before slowly exhaling. Trading the glass for the book, forced relaxation and distraction, just what the doctor ordered.
Who am I kidding about trying to relax? There’s no use forcing myself to concentrate. Right now my life is mirroring fiction, minus the hunky hero and the kick ass heroine. Instead, we have a couple of suspicious hunks and a timid receptionist—the stereotypical character everyone assumes just couldn’t do it—who might be the big bad and me. There is no way I can hold a candle to any of these ladies. Not that I want to take on this big bad. I just want to go back to reading about things like this rather than living them. We all like to think we will do
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