Silent Doll (4 page)

I walked back to my machine, starting to feed it the coins that would set it onto a wash cycle. The woman set her towels down on the long bar that separated the room in the middle and deposited the small ball of fluff she was carrying too. I watched it move: it had a head, feet and even a sleek little tail that wagged as it looked at me. I had no idea as to the breed: it sort of looked like the product of a rat that had once upon a time had a wild night of passion with a faux fur pom pom.

I stuffed my change into the pocket of my robe, which also had my keys and phone in it, and returned the stare the dog was giving me. It made a noise that I could only assume was supposed to be a bark. I reached out and patted it, feeling for the body under all that fur. It bounced around, making more noise. It was what Incarra would refer to as a yapping beanie baby, but I guessed it was an easy pet for the old woman to manage. She darted a look at her dog.

“Butch, you stop that noise now. Leave the girl alone.”

I smiled at the old woman and patted the dog’s tiny head; he couldn’t have looked less like a butch if he tried.

“It’s okay,” I said, “the little guy doesn’t bother me.”

The dog licked my finger. I’d always gotten on well with animals. The woman shook her head as if I was as bad as the dog for encouraging him and went back to neatly folding her towels. I rubbed his head, saying goodbye to the inappropriately named animal, then headed back upstairs to my apartment.

I went under the sink for the cleaning things and started by doing both bathrooms, then I took the broom and swept over the wooden floor, holding the dustpan still with my foot as I tried to get the dust and dirt into it at the end. I checked the time on my microwave and went back down to switch my clothes over to one of the dryers.

The old woman and her pet were gone. I carried the sopping load over to the dryer on the other side, dropping a few items and having to go back to pick them up. I think the old lady would have been shocked by what girls my age thought passed for underwear these days. I’d never gotten to know my neighbors, although I had lived in this building pretty much all my life. People moved in and people moved out, and after my mother had died, I became even less likely to get to know my neighbors.

I dug around in my pocket for change and slid coin after coin into the dryer, figuring that about forty-five minutes was enough time. The machine came to life when I slammed down the lid and started to gently vibrate. I looked around, sheepishly checking that nobody was watching, then spun around and jumped back to sit on it as it went into the spin cycle.

Disappointing. All those stories I read were complete bullshit. The thrill was minor, and I felt embarrassed that I had even tried it.

I was going through an extremely dry patch, and yes—it was of my own doing. There were willing men in my life, but I didn’t need the complication. I sighed and took my sad self back upstairs.

I picked up a book for a little while. I was just to the part where the hero and the heroine meet for the first time when my phone rang.

“Hi, Simian. What’s up?”

“I’d thought you would like to know that your friend’s all right. He’s fitting in really well, mostly thanks to Brie.”

“Yes, I could tell she was a giver when I first saw her.”

“Cassandra…” he said, mock chiding. “Are you free on Friday?”

I looked over to the calendar hanging on the front of the refrigerator.

“I don’t appear to have anything on.”

“I didn’t ask that, I asked if you were free.”

“Simian!”

“What? You’re the only one who gets to make bad jokes?”

I smiled, I couldn’t help it. I had great affection for the man. “I’m free on Friday. What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you could join Sophie and I for dinner. We’re going out, so you’ll need to dress nice.”

“All right,” I said. Dinner with Simian and his wife didn’t sound too bad. It would get me out of the house on a Friday night. “I’ll see you on Friday.”

After I hung up, I walked over to the calendar to write it in before I forgot. I wasn’t very good at managing my own time; I really needed a secretary, but I couldn’t afford to pay one.

I put my book down with an envelope marking my place—my only bookmark had been left in Aram’s copy of
Pride and Prejudice
, and I wasn’t about to go ask for it back. Not after that dream.

Laundry collected, bed remade, I took a moment to stand at the window and enjoy the unusually sunny weather; then I went about preparing for the evening. I showered and shaved, then sat in front of my dressing table to brush my hair. It still startled me that my brush came to the end so much quicker these days. I sighed; I had to tell myself it still came down between my shoulder blades, that it was a much more manageable length and didn’t take nearly as long to dry.

I stroked my former braid, which sat against the mirror base. It had gotten sliced off in a fight with a werewolf; considering he was going for my neck at the time, I’d gotten off pretty easy with just a haircut. I fluffed my remaining hair and applied hair care products; since weight no longer pulled the curl out of it, I had to style it to avoid a frizzy, lumpy mess.

I chose a gently a-line black pencil skirt of a sensible length and a red tank top to go over my black bra and tiny panties. The last thing I wanted people seeing when they looked at me was the outline of granny panties. Not that I needed all that much holding in anymore; I’d lost weight recently, partially from working out and partially from not eating as much as usual. The weight loss had been completely unintentional, but I couldn’t help but like the fact that I’d dropped a dress size.

A small black jacket looked good over the tank top, and I dug out a bag that I could put my things into as I didn’t have pockets. A little mascara, some eye shadow and lipstick were the most I ever did; but all in all, I was looking pretty good when the doorbell rang.

Chapter Four

Incarra smiled at me when I opened the door; I invited her in, as I was still barefoot. Incarra had her hair arranged into dumplings on either side of her head, from the center of which shot strands of the pink coloring she had applied to the ends of her hair. She’d outlined her slightly tilted eyes, making them seem more even with black liner, and painted her lids white with little pink cherry blossoms in the corners. She’d even worn her contacts. Her lips were lilac but unlined; her mouth was a little uneven, and she claimed that lip liner just highlighted that fact. She had on a simple black top with fishnet sleeves. I followed the line of her arms down to her hands: her nails were painted black with purple stars. Her “skirt” was actually more like a tutu in purple netting, under which she had black leggings that ran to her knees and the same pair of glitter-covered canvas all stars she always wore. I smiled back, showing teeth.

“You’re ready to party.”

“Yeah.” She tilted her head to give my outfit the same evaluation. “You look like a grown up.”

I laughed.

“Incarra, we are grown up.”

“Yeah, but you look it, I mean you look…” She tapped her chin, thinking. “Mature.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I walked into my bedroom and checked the time on my phone just as a shiver rolled down my spine and the amulets in the corner of the room glowed briefly. Incarra came into my room, rubbing her arms and grimacing.

I slipped into a sensible pair of black heels, gave my purse one last check to make sure it had everything in it I needed, then I ushered Incarra out into the night.

Incarra decided to fill the walk with an endless stream of questions. Just when I was starting to get annoyed with it, she got me to laughing.

“Come on, aliens? Really…”

“You don’t believe in aliens?” Incarra asked, arching her eyebrow at me.

“Nope.”

“You’re dating a vampire, but can’t stretch that imagination of yours to include U.F.O’s.”

“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe in the little green men. Besides, ‘I vant to suck your blood’ is much more plausible than ‘we come in peace. Take us to your leader.’”

“Yeah. You know they’re going to vaporize him the minute you turn your back, evil little suckers.”

I stopped dead, letting her get a few steps ahead of me before she turned round.

“Sometimes,” I said, “I swear there’s a giant Warner Brothers cartoon going on in your head all the time.”

She just smiled and waited patiently for me to start walking again. I made my feet start moving, and we headed for the venue listed on the ticket.

The warehouse in question was decked out to look like something out of the 1930’s: all smoky glass, bright lights, and velvet ropes. Most of the people waiting in line seemed to be couples. I pulled the tickets out of my bag, prompting a number of envious glances, and went straight for the doorman, a tall skinny man in a bowler hat, white vest and black trousers held up with actual suspenders. His arms were decorated from the wrist to the shoulder in black tribal-style tattoos. They were spectacular; I wondered if they continued across his chest. If they did, he would probably still look dressed even shirtless. His smile showed tar-stained teeth.

“Right this way, sweets, ticket holders get in first,” he said. His voice was as smoky as the windows, a deep baritone that was a tad sexy but mostly scary. It was the kind of voice you did not want someone sneaking up behind you to have. It promised things you might not be sure you would like. I handed over the shiny pieces of card. He checked them against his list and nodded.

“All right, honey, down the stairs and take whatever table you like.”

Music swirled up around us as we followed the stairs down and around another corner. Red drapes mostly obscured the dank grey walls. A stage took up one entire side of the space; it was constructed with an arch around the edge that was lit with dozens of bulbs like a huge vanity. To the left, a band was warming up. Tables and booths were grouped around the stage. There was even a bar.

“Wow,” Incarra said, looking around. I shifted my purse on my shoulder and scanned the faces. Noticing two remarkably pale faces in a booth near the bar, I cursed under my breath. Aram was sitting in a booth with his brother, Jareth. Spotting me, Aram slowly rose to his feet; Jareth turned and looked to see what had drawn Aram’s attention.

Aram was clad in the tightest pair of black jeans that I had ever seen on a man and a green silk shirt, half unbuttoned to show off a fantastic slice of his alabaster skin. His brown curls hung around his face, giving him a cherubic appearance.

I hadn’t seen Aram in person for almost three months. Looking at him was painful: neither of us had really wanted to break up. He wanted me back–I could read how much right there in his eyes.

I looked away and steered Incarra to a table closer to the stage, away from Aram. I made sure to take a seat that put my back to Aram. She looked over her shoulder to where he was glowering at us.

“Isn’t that…”

“Yes.”

“We’re not going over to sit with them because?”

“Aram and I broke up.”

Her mouth dropped; I gave her a look that told her to mind her own business. I searched through my bag just to keep myself distracted.

“How bad a break up was it?”

“It was very amicable,” I said without looking up, but in a tone that I hoped said that I wanted her to drop the subject. Sometimes it took Incarra a while to take a hint.

“Good, because they’re coming over here.”

I had just enough time to take the startled look off my face as Jareth pulled out a chair on one side of me and Aram took the other. They had drinks in their hands, frothy cocktails which they placed in front of both Incarra and myself. I felt my breath quicken a little at Aram’s nearness.

“Miss Cassandra, it has been a while since you deigned to visit us,” said Jareth in a slightly haughty tone. I had not only cut Aram out of my day to day life but him as well; which seemed to piss him off. Jareth wanted to sleep with me. I had, briefly, entertained the idea whilst drunk and mad at Aram, but it wouldn’t have ended well. I turned my head, feeling my hair swish over my shoulder; Aram shuddered in his chair beside me.

“Oh, please do come over and join us,” I said, my voice dry.

Jareth’s lips stretched, showing me his fangs in a slightly disturbing smile. Incarra coughed, drawing three sets of eyes to her, and I had to bless her for interrupting.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Aram gave Incarra a long level look, as though trying to place where he knew her from. I gave a martyred sigh, deciding just to get on with the evening.

“Jareth, Aram, this is my friend Incarra.”

Jareth took her hand and gave it a courtly kiss.

“A pleasure,” he said, all charm and debonair style. I snorted.

“Ah yes,” Aram said, “I remember you—the one with the handcuffs.”

I placed my hand over my eyes and proceeded to take deep breaths. Jareth smirked.

“I do not believe you have shared that story,” Jared said.

I may have mentioned that my friends intervened in my downward spiral. This intervention included an attempt to restrain me. Using purple. Fluffy. Handcuffs. It was a moment in my life I would rather not discuss.