The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance) (20 page)

“
Different
variations of a phrase used for love invocation,” Jones
answers.

Linnie
and I sit stunned for a few long seconds. We look at each other, and
then look back to Jones.

“
You
answer her?” I ask, right as Linnie says, “You’re
allowed to talk to me? I thought it was against the soldier-boy rules
or something?”

“
Oh
no,” Jones says, looking over at Linnie, “We’re
allowed to talk to you; you just never let a guy get a word in
edgewise.” Jones lips turn up in a little smile pointed at my
sister, then he turns back to his book.

That’s
it. There are blizzard warnings in my own personal Hell. If I needed
any more proof that God or the universe or whatever is not on my
side, it’s that Richard Jones is flirting with my sister. I
don’t need the gift of prophecy to know that Linnie falling
hard for Jones would be a really bad twist in my plan to escape him.

But
from the smile I see exploding across my sister’s face I know
it’s too late. The girl can fall in love at the drop of a hat,
or in this case the drop of a full-lipped, half-cocked smile.

Smile.
Boom. Insta-love.

I
want to scream.

“
What
do you want to eat?” Jones asks her.

Linnie
smiles, saying, “Anything, we’re both starving. And
coffee too? I’d really, really appreciate it.”

Jones
sighs, “The best I can do would be room service; thankfully,
this hotel has it.”

“
Thai
food? Can’t you just run down to one of the American chain fast
food places I saw near here?” Linnie asks sweetly. “I
would be so, so grateful,” Linnie adds batting her eyelashes
(which was not part of the plan).

Jones
stares down at his book, and says, “No that won’t…”

“
Or
I could just go!” Linnie says, “I’m not being
guarded, right? And I could get Raven and me a couple changes of
clothes, which we need, along with some essentials too.”

Jones
doesn’t answer.

“
Including
feminine products…” Linnie adds, quietly.

Jones
doesn’t look up but I can almost feel how uncomfortable the
words make him.

“
She
means tampons,” I say even though I can feel the heat licking
up my cheeks. “I need them, you know, for my…”

“
Yeah,
you can go,” Jones says quickly, “But Linnet only.
And
I want you to take no more than twenty five minutes. Food,
necessities, that’s it. If you take any more time I’ll
call the witch to return and track down your whereabouts.” He
doesn’t take his gaze from the book.

Who
knew ‘tampons’ was such a powerful word? I’m not
sure who’s more embarrassed, Jones or me.

Linnie
hops up and rushes to the door, as if she’s afraid he might
change his mind.

“
You
know what I like,” I yell, needlessly, as she disappears out
the door.

Knowing
I’m in for more of the silent treatment from Jones, I jump up
and turn the TV back on, switching the channel until I get to what
I’m pretty sure is Thai music videos. I let my eyes lose focus
as if I’m zoning out, while I shift back my hand checking my
jeans’ back-pocket for my wallet and running my thumb across
the cash stuffed inside of it.

I
had planned this whole scene to get Jones to unlock our windows and
sliding door locks earlier, I was going to yell about fire safety and
stuff but I hadn’t needed to say a word. The moment Jones
returned from whatever he had left to do he had gone from window to
window, doing this exaggerated ‘checking if they were secure’
show. But when he stepped away from each one, the locks were gone. I
decided that going along with his assumption that we didn’t
notice the window locks was going to be much more to our advantage
than admitting that I did everything I could think of to break them.

It
takes shorter than I expect for the knock to come at the door, only
fifteen or twenty minutes. The moment the knock sounds Jones spins,
barking out, “get to that side of the room, behind the bed, get
down.”

I
do as he says, positioning myself so I’m crouched down directly
between the bed and the sliding door.

To
my surprise Jones pulls a gun from the back of his pants. When did he
get another gun? I have no clue how it’s possible, but it might
explain why he imprisoned us in the room for hours.

“
Who
is it?” Jones says, standing to the side of the door.

“
Linnie!”
I hear from the other side of the door.

I
time it so that precisely as Jones opens the door, I slide the glass
door open about two feet. Jones doesn’t put the gun away as he
opens the door. He sticks his head out and looks both ways down the
hall, only then does he slip on the safety of the gun and tuck it
into the back of his pants.

“
Can
you help me? I have like a million bags,” Linnie says as she
dumps three of the bags into Jones’ arms. He, obviously
surprised, drops the bags.

Linnie
only grabs up a couple more and shoves them toward him. I don’t
know how my sister did it but she managed to buy a ton in just
twenty-or-so minutes. I crawl onto the small balcony using my elbow
and knees like a commando. The humidity presses on my lungs as I pull
myself into the late morning heat.

“
Just
put the bags inside.” I hear Jones say.

I
stand quietly and throw one leg over the balcony railing. Putting my
hand on the door, I signal to my sister to distract Jones, but Linnie
doesn’t yell, ‘What is that?’ and point down the
hall as we had planned. Instead, Linnie yells, “I think you’re
sexy!” And she jumps up, grabs Jones’ face and kisses
him.

I
remember that I was supposed to close the door right then, but it’s
too late. Jones breaks from Linnie and spins to see me right as I
slip the door shut.

Linnie,
obviously trying to save the situation, jumps onto Jones from behind
managing to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his
shoulders. As I see Jones stumble forward I take the opportunity and
throw my other leg over the balcony.

I
had planned the safer route of climbing over our window ledge to the
neighboring balcony, but something tells me that’s not going to
work. I look around, getting an all too panoramic view of the forty
foot drop to the alley below. Clothes lines and awnings might break
that fall, if I’m extremely lucky, I’ve never been too
lucky.

A
quick glance down affirms that one level of balconies juts out below
ours and the distance to it isn’t too far of a stretch, if I’m
acrobatic (which I’m really not). I slip my hands to the bottom
of the metal bars of the railing and, with an intake of breath, drop
my feet over. Holding my breath, I use my toe to hook the railing
ledge, balance my feet on it, and then let my hands slide down the
balcony foundation. I jump onto the balcony below, only then
exhaling.

It’s
probably only been thirty seconds but I hear the balcony doors above
me being thrown open. I run to the other railing and climb up, then
onto the window ledge.

Wishing
there was another layer of balcony beneath me, I continue alongside
the floor beneath our hotel room.
Just
like hopping rocks
,
I tell myself. I hop, with my head ducked, back bent and one hand
skimming the wall for balance, onto the next railing, then the next,
then the window ledge.

There’s
a loud crashing sound above me, but I ignore it. Only one balcony
more until I reach the end of the alley, where I can see a web of
metal rafters holding up an assortment of unlit neon signs. The
rafters weave in a way that I could climb down a few stories, if it
holds my weight. I make it across the window ledge, then the first
balcony railing, but my foot catches on the second and I go flying.
For a second, I see only the colored umbrellas and the bustle of
people below me.

The
thought: ‘I am so selfish for dying this way,’ slams into
my head right before a metal bar collides with my chest. I just have
the wits to grab it as the collision echoes through my whole body.
Thanking whatever power that had guided my body to the web of
rafters, which thankfully extended out a little further than I had
observed a few feet down.

I
look up and straight into Jones’ face. He looks at the rafters,
then down at me. And I’m almost positive I know what he’s
contemplating. The rafters might hold my weight, but I bet Jones
weighs twice as much. He’s probably weighing the risk of having
the rafters collapse under our combined weight against risking my
getting away while he finds another route to the bottom.

I
hesitate, I know I shouldn’t but for some reason, I feel a
little bit guilty.

“
Climb
up here, right now, that is an order,” Jones says down to me.

Guilt
gone
.

I
climb down the rafters, using it like a ladder. When I glance up
again, Jones is no longer there. I hasten my pace, going as quick as
is humanly possible for me. At the lowest level, about twelve feet
from the ground, I slide down onto an awning. There’s a ripping
sound as I’m unceremoniously dumped over the side onto an
outside eating table. A woman screams as my flailing limbs send her
drink flying. I crawl off the table calling, “Sorry! I’m
so sorry!” but I don’t stop. I run.

The
crowd diminished in number noticeably from last night, but there are
still hundreds of people bustling through the shops. I have to dodge
pedestrian traffic as I make my way through booth after booth. Unlike
last night when the street was just filled with foot traffic, cars
now crowd into the road.

Either
my collision with the rafters or the overwhelming aroma of grease and
spices makes my stomach feel queasy. Hitting that pole must have
broken something because every inhale sends a new sharp pain into my
ribs. I press my fingers into the area where I hit the bar, “Ow,”
I whisper; but I don’t slow.

Running
past the shops and restaurants I get to an intersection where the
traffic isn’t deadlocked. The moment I raise my hand to hail a
taxi, a red and blue taxi car pulls to the side, blocking traffic.

I
pull open the back and jump in. Immediately the taxi merges back into
traffic. “Do you speak English?” I ask.

The
taxi driver looks back at me from where he sits on the right side of
the car and says, “Sorry, no English.”

I
hold up a twenty dollar bill feeling like the worst kind of tourist,
“American money?” I ask.

The
taxi driver says, “Baht?”

“
I
don’t, I don’t have any. No baht,” I say.

The
driver keeps driving and doesn’t kick me out, so I assume it
means that he’ll accept American currency.

“
Hualamphong
Station, please,” I say.

My
eyes slip shut as I finally let my shoulders slump down. And as if
the adrenaline was holding the lesser pains at bay, my arm, which had
already been sore from when the asuras had thrown Jones into me,
throbs from the climbing. But amazingly, the pain in my chest has all
but vanished, but when I discretely lift my shirt to peek at where
there should be a wicked bruise forming, nothing is there; the pain
has vanished. Then I remember: Madeline’s
natural-transformation-spell. She said major injuries would heal.
That means…I majorly injured myself.

That
fall was so stupid, if not for Madeline’s spell I could have
broken bones or internal bleeding, or worse… I can’t
believe I was that stupid.

And
God, I hope my sister didn’t stray from the plan any more, and
that she had the common sense to run when Jones pursued me.
Why
did she have to kiss him? It’s not that I think it’s
Linnie’s fault that Jones turned around when he did, he’s
not an idiot. He was bound to figure out that we were trying to pull
something. But,
seriously
?
She risked the entire plan just to kiss a boy.

No
matter how sexy the boy, I would never have risked her. The whole
Linnie and Jones idea makes me uncomfortable, I don’t know if
it’s that I have an emerging prescience or that I know how bad
my sister’s taste in men is. I open my eyes as the taxi pulls
up in front of, what is pretty safe to assume is, Hualamphong
Station. On the window, I trace my finger along the giant arched
ridgeline of windows; then, use my shirt to awkwardly wipe away the
fingerprint smear on the window.