Clock Work (3 page)

5.

The room was spacious, as was the rest of the flat. Having spent his childhood inside a cramped, single room shared with his three siblings and their mother, Reed now surrounded himself with space.

He wasn’t nocturnal for any other reason that he didn't much care for the sun. The flat had large windows that would have filled it with natural light, but Reed much preferred the view of more distant stars.

A laptop rested on the floor next to the enormous bed, its screen tilted toward the keyboard like a half-closed eyelid.

On that screen was a map, and on that map, a blinking red dot. Reed had watched it for a minute or two before tilting the screen—enough to shield some of the glow, not enough to put the machine to sleep—and set it aside.

The blinking dot had been in a different location then, but as the day moved on to evening, it began to move. First, away from the shop, and then to a different part of the city, where it stopped again. The program that tracked these movements also recorded them. When he woke, Reed would have a log of all known locations throughout the day.

The red dot marked a small tracking device he had placed on the keychain he’d found at the antique shop. It had been in the warehouse behind the showroom. The brass was stained red, the teeth had bits of flesh in it. Scaled flesh. Someone had used the keys as a makeshift knuckleduster on one of the thugs he'd hired.

Adjacent to the keys, a small amount of blood. Human, not goblin.

Reed had pieced it together in his head.
Someone comes back to the shop, surprises the thugs. Hits one of them in the face with a fistful of keys. Is wounded and incapacitated, most likely from a bite, a goblin's weapon of choice. Then they get up and dismember their attackers?

No, someone else showed up. The carnage he'd found in the showroom was the work of an experienced killer. Someone not only trained, but practiced. They had been armed with an edged weapon, a sword. Someone with that skill level would never have allowed themselves to be bitten. They wouldn't need to resort to using a pocketful of keys as a weapon.

Who?

Someone else was looking for the device, and in all likelihood, they already had it.

This person would be hard to find. The only thing he knew about them was that they were good with a blade.

The person whose keys he’d found would be easier to locate. If they had keys to the
shop, they would be an employee. There were only three to choose from: a) the old shop keeper, Mr. Connolly; b) his business partner, the slightly younger, more portly Mr. Donnelly; and c) the college girl with the pierced nose.

There were three keys on the ring, and an equal number of key chains. One was a bottle opener. Another was a small pig that oinked and shot lasers from its eyes when you pressed down on its back. The third, a grungy plush animal, some kind of cartoon.

Looks like the correct answer is c, for college girl.

As he waited for the cleaners to arrive, Reed washed the keys in the bathroom sink. He stuffed a small tracking chip inside the plush cartoon, and left them on a workbench, next to an iPad and a small soldering iron.

There was no guarantee the plan would work. The girl might have died from the bite, or her rescuer may have treated her wound and left her at a hospital without properly introducing his or herself. But it was something.

And if the device was long gone, Reed was in no danger. The ground meat that had hired him to find it would soon pass its expiration date.

6.

Parker and Aran travelled across the city to a small pub where she was the only non-local. They started with buttered brown bread and tea, before moving on to a hearty lamb stew. She ate more that he did. As soon as food was in front of her, Parker found that she was ravenous; the events of the night before had left her feeling weak and hungry.

When they finished, they wandered for a bit, settling into a quiet cafe where they ordered more tea.

He asked her questions about America—where she lived, what school was like, what she did for fun. And she asked him questions—where he had learned to fight with a sword, what he did for a living.

His answers were direct, mostly. He'd spent several years abroad, studying martial arts. Last year, he'd inherited some valuable heirlooms that he'd sold for a small fortune, and he'd used that money to launch a career as a tech industry investor.

She laughed at this.

"What's funny about that?"

"I had thought you were in that industry when you first came into the store, you kind of had that look about you. That, or a professional football player—you had that look too. What I mean is, you weren't the typical customer."

He laughed at this.

"And what about your other work?" she asked. "Rescuing girls from monsters?"

"That's more of a hobby."

It's a shame we're meeting under these circumstances,
she thought. He was attractive, and not just physically. He had a sense of humor, he was charming, smart, and easy to talk to.

More than once, she told herself that she was feeling this way because he'd just saved her life. There was a word for that. She couldn't think of what is was. Or maybe there wasn't a specific word for it, but there should be.

At some point, they began holding hands, and she began to wonder if they would kiss. It seemed like more and more of a possibility. She learned something else about him—he was a bit shy. A few hours ago, she wouldn't have guessed this coyness could coexist with his confidence and physical prowess. But it did, and it was even kind of sexy.

Finally, Parker got tired of waiting.

As they walked away from the cafe, she asked, "Have you thought about kissing me?"

She could tell the forwardness of the question threw him off a bit, but he remained composed.

"Yes."

He didn't say anything else. A long, awkward moment stretched out between them. Parker tried to think of something to say, but any of the possibilities she composed in her mind weren't worth saying, would have only made this moment more awkward.

He stepped in front of her and stopped. If she had anticipated it, she could have done something more seductive, less clumsy. She could have gripped him by the belt. Or pressed her breasts against his chest.

But as it was, she just kind of bumped into him.

It didn't matter. His lips were against hers, and despite how aloof he was about getting them there, the kiss felt like the most natural thing in the world. Not too eager, not shy. She parted her lips and let her tongue slip into his mouth. His hand moved around her hips and then onto her back. Hers moved under his jacket. The material of his shirt felt thin, the muscles underneath it like stone.

They stood there and kissed for a long time.

It stopped with a series of short, sweet kisses. The night seemed a shade darker than it had been before, or maybe it was her eyes readjusting after having been closed. Or something else. Her body coming back into sync with itself. A kind of jet lag after the trauma of the night before. She suddenly felt exhausted.

"I'm going to be really direct with you: come home with me. Not like that. We're not going to bed together. I'm not like that, and you seem like
enough of a gentleman not to expect anything. But I like you, I want to kiss you more, and I am absolutely terrified of being by myself after what happened last night. I'd feel a lot safer with you around."

He smiled and kissed her again.

***

For Parker, the most familiar street in the city was the one leading to her apartment. And tonight, there was something comforting in that familiarity. There'd been moments during the day when she'd felt like she was living on borrowed time, like her death had only been delayed by a few hours and she'd have to answer for it later. Like putting off an unpleasant conversation, or leaving a piece of mail containing bad news unopened.

But walking down the sidewalk, stepping past the small flowerbeds in her neighbors' front yards with Aran by her side, that feeling was fading.

She felt a little silly, both for having asked him to come home with her and for needing a bodyguard. She hoped she wasn't leading him on too much. She'd more or less made up her mind to leave the city within a few days. She doubted she would ever return. She would pack her things tomorrow and figure out some version of what had happened to tell her bosses. Enough to let them know they could be in danger. She'd leave out the fact that the men who'd attacked her were goblins.

But there would be time for that later. She'd almost died last night, and if there was ever a time to live in the moment, it was now.

She squeezed Aran's hand and she felt safe for the first time that day.

Which made what happened next all the more shocking.

Three shapes slinked out of the shadows, their movements broadcasting aggression. The change in Aran was as sudden as a light switch, from cuddlesome to killer. He stepped forward to meet the aggressors. A flicker of light from a nearby window showed scaled faces, yellow eyes, sharp grins.

One raised a baton and swung at Aran. The weapon clanged against the sidewalk as it fell, the attacker following after it. Aran was already moving on to the other two, driving a brutal kick into one's guts and hammering the other in the jaw with a fist, sending them both to the ground.

Parker picked up the fallen baton. It hummed in her hand, charged with electricity. It was some kind of cattle prod or taser. The first goblin Aran had struck was picking himself up off the pavement. Parker jammed the metal end of the weapon into its back and watched it full-body spasm, and then collapse again. He stayed down.

Aran finished off the other two, never giving them the chance to pick themselves up.

He turned toward her and froze, looking past her shoulder.

Parker turned to find three more of the snake-faced men standing behind her. They fanned out, encircling her and Aran. They held submachine guns.

Another figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, half a foot taller than Aran. And extremely thin. Human. Or maybe not. This was the one in charge.

Parker and Aran were ushered into an alley. It was their only option. With three guns aimed at them, continuing to fight would be suicide.

The tall man cleared his throat and spoke. "Good evening." His voice was deep, and the accent had an ancient quality. Not local, from somewhere else in Europe. He walked forward until he was only a foot away from her. Up close, his face was wound in tight, colorless skin. She gripped Aran's hand. Aran gripped hers.

The tall man's tone was exaggerated, playful. "Now where do I think I recognize you from?" He was used to talking to people who were afraid of him.

"Ah, I think I know. Do you, perchance, work at an antique clock shop?"

He smiled. A mouthful of healthy, crooked teeth.

Parker didn't answer.

"Relax," he said. "You're not in any danger. Someone who can repair clockwork may prove very useful this evening. Who knows, if the parties involved are pleased with the outcome, you may find yourself on your merry way with not only your life, but a little extra weight in your purse. Do you have a name, clockwork girl?"

She mumbled.

"One more time?"

"Parker."

"Parker," he repeated, rolling her name around inside his mouth as if he were tasting a wine. "Unusual name, very American. I like it."

He moved on to Aran.

"Ah, and you. Might I have a name to call you by?"

"Aran."

"A-r-r-o-n?" He spelled out.

"A-r-a-n."

"Like the sweaters! A much better choice of letters. I take it you were the one who made a bloody mess of the antique shop last night?"

Aran said nothing. The tall man held a half-grin. "Perhaps what I am most curious about in this whole kerfluffle, Aran, is how is it our paths have not crossed before. But you seem more the type to take pride in your obscurity rather than your reputation."

After a thoughtful moment, he added. "A shame. There are many jobs that come my way that could benefit from someone with your skill set."

"I think we play for opposing clubs, mate."

"Oh and what clubs would those be? Good and evil? Some nonsense like that? I'd work for the Pope if he was offering a job and the pay was good. Who knows, I might have already, indirectly."

The tall man sighed. "Anyway, y
ou're in for a rougher night than your companion. I will, at some point, be handing you over to them."

He
motioned to the armed goblins. Several of the snake-like faces snarled. Parker wondered if the three Aran had killed the night before had been their friends, perhaps brothers or cousins.

The tall man continued. "Depending on whether or not you
cooperate, I may make sure it's a fair fight and not an execution."

The tall man stepped back and clasped his hands in front of his chest. "Do either of you have any questions so far?"

"I have one," Aran said.

The tall man held a hand out, palm up, inviting the question.

"What should we call you?"

The tall man smiled. "Please, call me Reed."