Disenchanted (13 page)

“I know you guys mean well, but this is getting us nowhere, not that there’s much we can do anyway. Especially me, I’m too damn tired to even think let alone do anything.”

With the weight of everything, I sag back in the chair, letting my exhaustion take over, then rethink it. Slithering forward until I reach the edge, I toss what little energy I have into pushing myself to stand up.

“I’m sorry. I need to get some rest.”

Dragging myself up the stairs, I give a fleeting thought to Nys and Rey. They’re big kids and I hope smart enough to get some rest. If not, too bad. I’m not going to let that keep me from a hot shower and soft bed.

I half expect to see a pair of judgmental, golden–green eyes and an angrily twitching tail when I open the door. Instead, I find the hairball stretched out across the bed, fangs exposed in a gaping yawn when I cross the threshold of the bedroom.

“Nice to see you, too.” I plop down on the edge of the bed and kick off my shoes.

“Life sucks, kitty.” He gives a halfhearted meow as I curl up next to him and play with his ears. I’m starting to sound like the whiny heroines I despise, always complaining and never doing anything to fix their lives. Just sitting back, letting everything happen to them. Maybe it’s time I take charge instead of waiting for someone else to fix my life. Continuing to stroke his fur, I begin to relax and my eyelids droop. So much for that shower.

***

Cooling moisture clings to my skin, sucking away the warmth. A slow, swirling mass of misty air obscures my legs and the ground. I’m almost afraid to move, but I can’t stand here shivering forever. If I trip, I trip. My heart flutters, thinking of falling below the dampness, drowning in it.

Get a grip. It’s just a dream. You didn’t fall asleep in the tub again. You’re safe in bed.
But the fear doesn’t want to give in to common sense.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, then slowly let it out before opening them. Nope, still stuck in dreamland. Only one thing to do. Wake up.

“Ouch!” Okay, so pinching doesn’t work. My sight wavers in the combination of tears and mist, but something, or someone stands in the distance. Vereinen. It has to be. As usual, just out of focus, hovering around the boundaries of my dreams.

“Hey,” I yell, waving my arms. It’s about time he gives me a heads up on why he’s back in my life after all these years.

No acknowledgment, no movement at all. Asshole.

“Hey.” I start toward him, fears forgotten, intent on my destination. “Einen.”

Slogging through the fog, my limbs are heavy. Breathing labored, my lungs feel like they are filling with the suspended moisture. Clothing is now a waterlogged weight. Soggy strands of hair cling to my face and neck. Trickles of water send shivers down my spine and blur my vision even more. No matter how far I walk, I never get any closer. It’s like being on the treadmill of the damned. Like being on any treadmill is good.

“You’ve been hanging out in my dreams and I want to know why,” I shout at the distant figure. “Why are you back and why won’t you show yourself?”

Slowly he raises his hands and lowers the hood. I stand frozen, mouth gaping. What I see scares the crap out of me. Pale skin with a greyish hue and hair the color of white gold. It’s like looking in a mirror.

Fear thrusts me forward and I find myself sitting upright in bed, clutching at a tangle of damp sheets. Breathing as if I’d run a marathon. Pulse thumping in my ears. I can literally feel the big veins in my neck and temples throb. Yep, I just had the shit scared out of me.

Slowly, I pull myself to the edge of the bed. Resting elbows on thighs, pressing palms against eyes. After thirty–some–years, I find out my imaginary friend looks like me. Creepy and a little annoying considering I’ve thought of myself as a one–of–a–kind for so long. That and he’s prettier. It must be some sort of subconscious association my addled brain is making.

Too creeped out to go back to bed, I grab my robe and slip it on. Wait a minute. A wave of nausea hits my gut like a prizefighter. There’s a lovely bruise blooming on the inside of my upper arm. On the other hand, maybe I’m going nuts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A strange little sound emanates from the direction of the couch as I enter the living room. Up pops Nyssa, ten tons of hair spray, severely dented, leaving her big ‘do at an odd angle. She yawns, blinking matted lashes.

“You’re up.”

“Why didn’t you use the guestroom?”

“Wanted to be near the door,” she says through a yawn, or that’s what I think she said.

“Okay. Where’s Rey?”

She points to the door and flops back, pulling the blanket over her head.

I open the door and a body falls in. At least it’s breathing. Dead would be more consistent with my life lately. Looks like Rey spent what was left of last night and this morning propped up outside my apartment.

He crawls inside, grips the end of the couch and pulls himself up; bopping Nyssa’s blanket covered ‘do in the process.

“Mind starting the coffee and feeding the cat while I take a shower?”

“Think I can handle that.” He stretches to his full six foot height after several cracks and pops.

I almost feel sorry for him, but I do have a guestroom. There was no need to sleep in the hall, or play watchman at my door.

Closing the bedroom door behind me, I pick up the card Jacobs left me and stare at the number on the back. It’s now, or never. Grabbing the phone I head into the bathroom and start the water, hoping it will keep Rey and his super–sensitive ears from overhearing.

Taking a deep breath, shaky fingers dial the number. It begins ringing and my thumb hesitates over the button to hang up.

“Hello,” says a honey–smooth voice on the other end.

Sweat breaks out on my upper lip as my thumb hovers.

“Hello?” repeats the voice, “Miss Fey, is that you?”

Too late to hang up now. He must have caller ID. I raise the receiver to my ear.

“I know it’s you, Schattenkind.” The slightest edge of irritation taints the seductive cadence.

“Huh?” I say without thinking. “I mean, yes, it’s me.”

“What can I do for you, mien Schattenkind?”

“I’m just curious—wait a minute, what’s a shatten kind?”

His laughter reverberates through the phone and across my body. I grasp the edge of the sink as everything becomes fuzzy. Black and white and grey all over. Like my whole world is nothing, but shadows.

“Is that why you called me? You are curious about a word?”

I shiver, the kind of shiver you get when someone grazes their fingers seductively across your skin. Imagine what phone sex would be like with this guy. On second thought, don’t. I need all my wits, what little are left, around me.

“No,” I say slowly.

Robbed of not only color and definition, everything sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well, my own voice included. I shake my head, color and sound pop in and out.

“Then what is it you are curious about?”

I bite my lower lip, knees turning to jelly as heat flashes through my lower, suddenly not–so–private, parts.

“Well, let’s start with Jacobs and then why you wanted me to have your number.”

“Perhaps we should discuss this in person. I will send a car.”

I lean against the wall and slide down, knees too weak to hold me up. Not exactly what I expected and before I can decline, the line is dead. The bastard hung up on me. Laying the phone on the floor I decide the steaming bath I ran is a bad idea. A cold shower would be far more appropriate.

***

The girl in the mirror looks confident. She wants answers and is going to get them, even if it means finding a way to sneak out and meet with Var Royd. I just hope that thought seeps in and settles the wiggles in her stomach before she chews off all her lip
–
gloss.

“You’ve made your decision, for better, or worse, now all you need to do is figure out how to get past the
Wonder Twins
.
”

Sure, I could ask them to go with me, but something tells me Royd won’t tell me shit if he has an audience. This has to be one–on–one. I need to know why he financed the loan on my shop than. A hair salon is hardly the type of investment someone like Var Royd would be making. And why me? Then there’s the German phrase, what’s that mean? If I knew how to spell it, I could plug it into an online translator, but that ain’t happening.

Taking a deep breath I open the door and the scent of fresh, brewed coffee teases and tantalizes, pulling the willing straight to the source. He–who–will–not–be–ignored glares at the three measly pieces of kitty kibble in his bowl.

“I thought you were going to feed the cat.”

“The container’s empty.”

“I...” Strangely, the little part of my brain that keeps me from saying something stupid kicks in. “Damn, that’s right. I forgot to get another bag.”

Sitting at the table, Nyssa cradles her dented head in her hands and Rey clings to a mug for dear life. Inhaling the scent of my caffeinated addiction, I fill a cup and lean against the counter.

“So, whose bright idea was it for Rey to spend the night in the hall?”

Nyssa glares at me, but it’s difficult to take a bed-head raccoon seriously.

Rey slurps the last of his coffee, then holds his cup out, grunting something to the effect of, “Who do you think?” His own appearance less distressed, probably due to spending part of the time as a fox, patrolling the building.

“Dara’s orders?”

“Of course,” pouts Nyssa, lifting her smeared face.

Wish I had a camera so I could show people why you don’t sleep in makeup, as if the damage to your skin isn’t enough. I fill Rey’s cup and top off Nyssa’s, feeling guilty they had to put up with Dara. Only slightly, considering what I’m planning. Now all I have to do is ditch my houseguests. From the looks of them, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

My second limo ride in as many days, too bad it’s because I’m infamous instead of famous. Sitting in the back of Royd’s limo, I feel the slightest twinge for slipping out. I never once promised to stay put while Nyssa showered, nor did Rey need to know that ‘forgotten’ bag of cat food I sent him after is actually in a higher cupboard. Can’t keep the bags where C.C. can reach them; he’ll just tear them open and feast until he bursts. It kind of amazed me Rey couldn’t smell it. Oh well, just makes things easier for me.

The car is waiting outside and so far, everything has gone smoothly. I left a note on the table to give the others a clue as to where I am, in case things go south. Pulling a Lorelei, I’m able to slip out without revealing my features. The press and gawkers can only speculate it was me they saw.

My rush to the car nearly halted by the sight of Brand and that giant dog standing across the street. Damn, I figured stalker boy would have lost interest after the NTF hauled me away. He gives me a slight nod as I climb into the backseat. The intensity of his gaze sears me like a flat iron set on high, squeezing the air from my lungs.

I can’t help turning to watch him shrink and disappear as we head out of town. What is he still doing hanging around? The haircut wasn’t that good. Maybe it was the free regenerative service I performed and he wants longer hair.

Fever flashes across my cheeks and spreads. Could it be the kiss? Yeah, it was pretty hot for me, but I bet he’s had better. Speaking of comparisons, one kiss leads to another. Wonder if he and his buddy have compared notes? I don’t know which bothers me more, them laughing at, or fighting over me. The fighting is a much better ego boost, so I guess laughing wins.

Hold the hormones, babe. What if he’s The Collector and I’m on the collectibles list? My tummy takes a tumble that no amount of the pink stuff will help. How could I be so stupid?

“Shake it off,” I whisper, “you have more important things to think about.”

Like what comes next. Being so proud of myself for deciding to take charge and pulling off my slick getaway, I realize I haven’t thought this through. Confronting Royd was the plan, but how? I’m going to be on his turf.

Doubt creeps its way along my spine as I stare at the window separating me from the driver. Have I planted my foot in a big old pile of shit? Is this really Royd’s driver? What if he’s The Collector? What if Royd is The Collector? I rest my hand on the door latch, breakfast wanting to make a repeat appearance. Coffee going down, good. Coffee coming back up, not so much.

“Are you alright, Miss Fey?” an overly professional voice comes over the intercom.

Either the glass between us isn’t one way, or touching the handle triggered something.

“Just a little car sick, not used to riding in limos.”

“There is bottled water in the mini fridge, or the bar may contain something that might settle your nerves.”

Yeah, something to relax my nerves, I reach toward the bar, remembering Jacobs’s whiskey. My hand snaps away. What am I thinking? The last thing I need is to be
that
relaxed. Nervous and sober, Royd’s delicious voice played havoc with my hormones. Imagine what they would do relaxed and a little tipsy.