Margaurethe paused at Whiskey’s office door, tugging at her jacket and brushing nonexistent lint from her shoulder. Helen, the receptionist, pretended to not see her, for which Margaurethe was exceedingly grateful. Deciding that she was presentable, she knocked lightly and let herself in.
Whiskey stood at the bookshelves, craning her neck to see who had entered. She wore black leather pants and boots, and a skin-tight emerald-green camisole that revealed the dragon tattoo crawling up one arm. A tattered denim jacket lay draped across the back of one of the chairs. Margaurethe smiled, wondering how difficult it would be to get her young charge into at least a business casual wardrobe.
Whiskey held up a thick leather-bound book. “Looks like I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“And you’ll have plenty of time in which to do it.” Margaurethe closed the door behind her. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Her question was met with a sardonic grin. “Eventually.” Whiskey carefully put the book back in place, and turned to fully face Margaurethe. She looked down then, and studied her Doc Martens, giving a light shrug. “Last night was kind of…I don’t know. Terrifying? Humbling?”
Margaurethe watched as Whiskey sighed and turned away to stare out the windows onto Naito Parkway. She enjoyed the dichotomy of rich carpet and mahogany settings surrounding Whiskey’s dark wildness. She stood so regally, head held high despite the leathers, subconsciously daring anyone to say something against her presence here. Though she looked a pauper everything about her screamed nobility. Feigning casual disinterest, Margaurethe noted the stiff neck and clenched jaw, the discomfort in her surroundings. Whiskey fought so hard against showing weakness. In many ways she was so much like Elisibet.
“I imagine it can be.” Margaurethe moved closer, standing beside her. “You now have it within your power to do some real good in the world, and I think your experiences to date may dictate exactly how much good you’ll do. Don’t let this mantle of power overwhelm you. That’s why you have advisors; we’re here for you.” She paused. “I’m here for you.”
Whiskey’s eyes caught Margaurethe’s. They stared at each other for long moments, and Margaurethe was reminded that this was not her Elisibet. This was someone else, someone with different life experiences and viewpoints. Despite the wrenching pain she felt at the loss of her lover, Margaurethe also felt a trembling within, a shivering stillness of expectation.
“Thanks.” Whiskey smiled. “I’m going to need all the help I can get.”
The tableau broken, Margaurethe realized she had stopped breathing, and inhaled. “Then I suppose we should get started. Shall we?” She gestured toward the large desk with a smile.
Whiskey nodded, and sat down while Margaurethe collected one of the other chairs to sit beside her.
“First you need a username and password to log into our network. You noticed the office in your apartment?” Margaurethe opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a folder.
“Yeah.” Whiskey looked at the paper Margaurethe produced. “I sign this?”
“Yes. We have a company policy regarding network and Internet usage.” She went down the document, point by point, and had Whiskey sign it.
Several more papers were produced, numerous policies on safety and security that had to be signed. Informational details regarding the company, a slew of personnel reports on the more crucial employees in the building, and a dossier of Whiskey’s personal guard. By the end of an hour, Whiskey was awestruck. “God, is every day going to be like this?”
Collecting the latest round of documents, Margaurethe smiled. “Not every day. Once we get you up and running, you’ll spend more of your time in meetings rather than paperwork.”
“That’s not much better!”
Laughing, Margaurethe lightly rubbed Whiskey’s shoulder. “You’ll get used to it.” She chuckled again at the grumble she felt beneath her hand, and patted Whiskey once before moving on to the next topic. “Now for your education. I’ve set up a few tests so we can ascertain where you are academically.”
“Not far. I hit the streets by the time I was twelve.” Whiskey shrugged. “I loved reading in the library in Seattle, but I haven’t had a lot of formal classes since fifth or sixth grade.”
Margaurethe nodded. “As I assumed. Let’s get you logged into the system, shall we?”
Whiskey obediently signed onto the computer.
“This computer is a mirror of the one in your home office, so anything you see or create here will be there.” She pointed out the icons on the desktop window, explaining the program uses and documentation available. “And this one is the educational testing program. When you click on it, you’ll be taken to a page that allows you to choose between a number of subjects— mathematics, science, arts, literature, philosophy and culture. I’d like you to take at least one of these tonight after we meet the Saggina, and two or three each day until you’ve completed them all.”
Clicking on the icon, the program started, and Whiskey peered at the subjects. “Sanguire politics and culture, too?”
Margaurethe studied her profile, feeling a slight smile curve her lips at the familiar vexation on Whiskey’s face. Yes. So like Elisibet. “Those as well. Keep in mind, we’re not testing to current American educational standards. These tests are to European Sanguire standards, which are much more extensive.”
Whiskey groaned. “I’ll never pass this stuff.”
“You don’t have to ‘pass,’ Whiskey. There’s no failure here. This is just a measurement tool, like a ruler.”
Scratching the back of her neck, Whiskey slumped back in her chair and looked at Margaurethe. “Followed by schooling, of course.”
“We have to get you up to snuff, or you’ll not do anyone good.” Margaurethe could not help it; she reached out to touch Whiskey’s mind, the deep smell of roses filling her. “Cheer up, m’cara. It won’t last forever.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”
Margaurethe cocked her head. “Said what?”
Whiskey leaned forward, one elbow on the arm of her desk chair. “That’s the second time you’ve called me m’cara.”
Flustered, Margaurethe pulled back. Her heart sped up as she realized Whiskey was correct. She had used her pet name for Elisibet without thought. “I’m—I’m sorry.” A flush heated her throat and cheeks, and she stood so quickly she wavered. A hand grabbed hers, stabilizing her, and she saw that Whiskey had risen, as well.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m not offended.” Whiskey stopped her rapid speech, took a deep breath, and squeezed Margaurethe’s hand. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”
Margaurethe could not decide whether to be pleased or saddened. Did Whiskey enjoy the feelings, the memories that pet phrase evoked? Her adamant denial of all things Elisibet contradicted that possibility. Am I opening the door for more heartache?
Carefully, Margaurethe closed down the mental connection between them, light as it was. She smiled at Whiskey, holding tight to the hand in hers before releasing it, ignoring the faltering look on Whiskey’s face. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
Whiskey studied her, pursing her lips.
Margaurethe stepped around the desk, putting distance between them. “Shall we get lunch? I believe your chef has come up with something spectacular for this afternoon’s entree.”
After a pause, Whiskey nodded. “Sure. Okay.” She scrubbed the back of her neck again. “Let me log off the computer.”
As she did so, Margaurethe collected her tattered emotions. Whatever am I thinking?