42nd & Lex (31 page)

“I don’t want to hear your excuses Mark. I
really don’t. There isn’t anything that you could tell me that would change my
mind. I don’t care if you’ve been possessed by demons and they’ve been telling
you to act this way. I can’t live like this. I won’t live like this.” Sarah’s
voice is nearing a roar.

The last thing I need is an angry judge when
I have just won one of the best financial victories of my career. I am also
afraid that Mark will get the balls to tell Sarah what has been possessing him
and then follow it up with a “Just ask your attorney, she knows all about it.”
It is definitively time to go.

“Sarah,” I warn, giving Mark a stern look
over her shoulder as well. “Maybe now is not the place for this. We need to get
going before the judge come back in here and changes his mind.”

“Good idea. I don’t want to talk to you
anymore Mark. I just wanted to tell you it’s time to forward your mail. I'm
tired of mailing it to your office.”

“Sarah, just give me his mail and I will see
that he gets it. Now, let’s go.” My voice is stern, more for Mark’s benefit
than Sarah’s. He’s doing a great guppy impression, trying to will his mouth to
finish what he’s started, but nothing’s coming out. Her back is still to me so
she cannot see my face pleading with Mark to leave it alone. Just as he finds
his voice Zaid lets out a warning half growl, half cough behind us that
silences Mark again.

Sarah, Max, and I make it outside of the
courthouse without further incident. Hick doesn’t react to the entire incident.
He merely packs up his briefcase and heads to the door with Mark in tow. I
notice Zaid walking across the street several yards behind us.

“Why does he want to apologize to me, Abri?
I don’t care. It’s over. And what important news could he have that would make
it any different?” Sarah exclaims, still worked up, as we march down the
sidewalk into the bitter January wind.

“I don’t know,” I lie. “I don’t think you
should talk to him though. I know he can’t come to the apartment, but he may
try to call you or wait outside for you. If he does, go back inside and call the
cops.” I want to tell her to watch out for a guy named Serge too, but that will
just open too many doors that I can’t shut again. 

Max has been decidedly quiet through all of
this. I cannot wait to get back to the office with him and discuss it. Sarah
shivers in her coat as we stand on the curb outside the garage where I’ve left
the Evora. Zaid must still be lurking nearby but I can’t  see him. “You need to
get out of this cold, girl,” I chide to Sarah.  

“I know. I was going to walk back to the
gallery, it’s only six blocks, but it’s colder than I expected. I think I’ll
catch a cab. You want to share?” she asks us.

“Ah, I just remembered I have to pick up
something from the clerk’s office, you go ahead,” I lie again. There is no way
I can explain having a car, Lucan’s car, to her.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon,” she says
cheerfully as she hails a nearby cab. He screeches to a stop just beyond us,
obviously expecting a hefty fare uptown from a well-dressed woman. “Bye!” she
smiles as she closes the door.

“Fancy a ride back to the office?” I grin at
Max once she’s gone.

Mark tossed the card key down on the bed and
let the door slam shut. He called out for Serge but there was no response. Good.
He was happy to have the place to himself after this morning’s court fiasco. He
wasn’t upset about the Court’s ruling; Sarah deserves to be taken care of. He
was more upset about not being able to talk to her; to tell her what was wrong
with him, especially since her attorney could confirm it all. Of course, he was
sure that Abri Cole hadn’t told Sarah the intimate details of her dating life,
even if they were friends. 

Mark stripped down and headed for the shower.
The warm water felt good on his stressed muscles and cleared his head almost as
much as a nice rare steak would have. There was so much he wanted to say to Sarah
after the hearing, but her attorney had pleaded with him not to, if only with
her eyes, so he hadn’t. Pussy.

After getting dressed again, Mark sat down
at the small writing desk in the corner of the room. He searched the drawers
for the complimentary stationary that would almost certainly be there. He
thought it funny that in this electronic age that hotels still spent the money
to stock stationary for the desks. Free Wi-Fi he could understand, but not
embossed bond with a scrolly hotel monogram. However, he was glad on this
occasion to find what he was looking for in the top drawer along with a
standard issue Bic pen. He was also glad he had regained enough mental clarity
to have this droll conversation with himself concerning the stationary. If he
couldn’t talk to Sarah, maybe he could write her. Tapping the end of the pen on
his extended fang, he thought of what he wanted to say.

Soon, the words started to flow with a
clarity he’d seldom seen in these last months. He told Sarah everything: about
the bar, Serge, the fight, the change into what he was, the need for blood and
food. Okay, well, he thought about that last one and decided against it least
he totally disgust her. Satisfied with his draft he ended it with one final
thought: 
If you don’t believe me, ask your lawyer. She knows
. 

So maybe it was a cheap shot, but it
guaranteed results if Sarah actually read it. He’d seen the worry in Abri
Cole’s face this morning. She didn’t want to have to confirm anything to Sarah,
but she would for Sarah’s own safety if the issue was pushed. Mark was sure of
that.

The problem now was how to get the letter to
her. He could have it couriered over or he could just mail it the old-fashioned
way. That was probably the best idea but he needed a stamp. Surely, they did
not stock those in with the stationary, he thought. Checking the drawer, he was
again surprised. There was an envelope with a stamp on it under the remaining
stationary. This was the most serendipitous thing that had happened to him in
months, maybe even years. Mark took it as a sign he was doing the right thing.

Before he could change his mind, he folded
the letter in thirds and stuffed it in the waiting envelope, sealing it with a
quick swipe of his tongue. He penned Sarah’s address on the front and propped
it up against the desk lamp. Mark let out an extended sigh as he leaned back in
the chair. The card reader on the door clicked just as he was feeling relaxed. Serge
was back.

Quickly and quietly, Mark ran to the terrace
doors and slipped out. Unfortunately, his Halfling status—or even full vampire
status for all he knew—did not afford him the ability to fly or jump from building
to building like Superman so he was stuck. Carefully, he peered through a gap
in the drapes that covered the terrace windows. Undoubtedly, Serge could smell
him from inside so staying hidden was probably a moot point. He heard the sound
of water running in the bathroom and a radio playing. With Serge in the shower,
Mark had a valid chance at escape.

Mark opened the door again, judging the
distance between himself and the hall door. He was in no mood to talk with
Serge about his court appearance this morning or Abri Cole. It had taken hours
of convincing to keep Serge from joining him in court this morning. He’d
finally won with the rationalization that Abri Cole knew who he was and would
call for his arrest after his failed attack on her. Lucky for everyone self-preservation
overtook Serge’s desire.

Sarah’s lawyer was nice enough but Mark
wasn’t interested in her physically, and he sure as hell didn’t care about the fact
she was dating a vampire. From where he was sitting that fact was not something
to brag about. Nor did he care that Serge wanted her for his own. Well, okay,
so that was a lie. He did care, but only because she was Sarah’s friend and he
knew that if Serge got a hold of her he was going to kill her, not date her. Sarah
didn’t need to suffer that kind of loss.

Mark briefly considered the thought that
without a lawyer Sarah couldn’t continue with the divorce. No, she’d just find
another lawyer. Bottom line, it was time Mark rid himself of Serge and fought
to get Sarah back.

The water shut off and the bathroom door
swung opened. Mark froze. The thick curtains sucked against his body as the
wind on the terrace pulled them outside, doing nothing to conceal his form. For
fucksake, it was his room, why was he sneaking around like an idiot. Serge was
only staying here because Mark let him. He gathered his courage, stepped around
the curtains, and shut the terrace door. The warmth of the room did nothing to
thaw his anger as he marched towards the bathroom. Just as he was about let
loose on Serge, a short, plump Hispanic woman in a maid’s outfit crossed in
front of the open door.  

“Oh shit, I'm sorry,” Mark yelped as he
moved back from the woman nearly tripping over her supply cart. That explained
the radio; it was perched on top of a pile of clean towels. He’d completely
missed it sitting in the middle of the room before.

“Sorry Mister,” she replied earnestly. “I’m
finished. I though nobody’s home. I’ll come back to change your linens when
you’re out.”

“No, no. Please, go ahead. I’ll was just
going anyways,” he stammered. He must have missed her knock before. Well, at
least he could leave before Serge got back. He hoped the maid was as lucky. Serge
would love to find clean sheets, fresh towels, and lunch in the form of the plump
little maid waiting for him. Mark choked back a gag as he grabbed his coat and
left. It was after lunch now, but if he hurried, he could stop off for some
food and start thinking about how to win Sarah back before heading into the
office for the afternoon.

***

Serge
spent the morning wondering the park; thinking of how Abri Cole must look in a
business suit. He’d only given in to Mark’s demand that he stay away because he
would have either ended up arrested by the humans or dismembered by O’Reilly and
that tracker who were undoubtedly accompanying her to court. Instead, Serge had
found a lovely young woman jogging alone with her headphone up too loud and
amped her into submission under the Greyshot Arch. Serge was incredibly turned
on by the struggle. It was ten minutes before he had her under control and a
solid lock on her jugular. Unfortunately, her heart gave out before he could
suggest moving their little party to the Essex. Satisfied, Serge made his way
back to the room for a quick shower before he was due at the Enclave for his
shift.   

Court days always wear me out more than
regular days and today is no exception. I sling my briefcase and purse on the
dining room table with a sigh. Lucan doesn’t appear to be home yet. In fact, it
looks like he hasn’t been home all day since the shades are down and the newspaper
is where I left it on the kitchen table. 

The sun is going down and the city lights are
coming up. It’s not a sight to be missed, especially when a nice chilled glass
of wine and some relaxing tunes accompany it. After locating the remotes on the
coffee table, I hit the buttons for the CD player and the shades before heading
to the kitchen for a drink. My heart stops when the shades have fully retracted
to reveal the view. Outside, perched on the steep, steel curve of the building is
a heavily silhouetted shape staring out over the edge. A man-sized shape.   

I tuck and roll behind the dining room
table, snagging my purse as I go. My heart is pounding in my ears as I fish
around for my cell phone. I dial Lucan’s number and wait. His phone buzzes on
vibrate across the room. He’s here somewhere.  

“Abri?” his muffled voice calls out to me.
“Abri, are you here?”

“Lucan!” I stand up from my hiding spot and
move towards the windows. “What are you doing out there?”

“I locked myself out. I didn’t hear you come
in. How long have you been here?” he calls back through the thick glass.

“Just a few tense minutes under the table
thinking you were Serge out on the ledge, that’s all,” I joke. “How do I let
you back in?”

I can’t hear his reply over the keening wail
of Ryan Adam’s harmonica on the stereo. How did the volume get up that high?

“What?” I call back. “I can’t hear you. Let
me go open the window for you.”

I tug at the sill of a window large enough
for Lucan to crawl through until I hear the antique glass give a sharp pop and
a diagonal crack runs across the pane. The steel frame is warped. “It’s stuck. The
lock is free but the window is stuck. Why don’t you just kick in the glass? It’s
already broken,” I shout.

Lucan shakes his head at me. I realize he is
barefoot out on the ledge of the building so I haul back and kick the little
window with all I have. It gives way on the first volley. The glass falls to
the ledge below in several large chunks. Hopefully nothing slides off onto the
street.

“Probably should have thought that one out a
little more. Why do you insist on going out there, it’s dangerous! And in bare
feet!” Lucan doesn’t answer me. “I can call a glass man in the morning. I
represented a guy last year that works for Quick Glass, I think I still have
his number in my off—” I stop. Lucan is staring at me, his eyes wide with,
fear, pain, I don’t know.

“What’s the matter?” I ask cautiously. “I'm
sorry about the window, but at least it’s small. Part of a historically
significant building and most likely not easily replaced, but small.”

“It’s not the window I'm worried about,” he
replies calmly, too calmly. “Abri, look at your foot.”

I look down. There is a red splotch seeping
its way through my sock.

“Run,” he says barely above a whisper.

I run to the only secure place I can think
of— the elevator. It provides not only an exit, but also a steel reinforced
cage. I pull the wooden outer door closed and slide the lock in place on the iron
grate. My heart is pounding in my throat. For the first time I am truly afraid
of what Lucan could do to me. I wait.