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“I can’t believe I took a nap to be here,” Zita muttered, fidgeting in her fancy dress. “I hope something interesting—”
“Don’t say it.” Wyn cut her off and fluffed her chestnut curls. Unlike Zita, she seemed relaxed, eyeing passing flutes of free alcohol with considerable interest. “We are quite fortunate. Not only did we receive a free trip to Barcelona and a paycheck to attend the first Atlantean public conference since they announced their existence to the world, we’re also attending exclusive parties that we’d normally never be invited to.”
“This is more of a favor to Dino and you, actually. I’m earning less than if I were working my two jobs at home, and I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if it weren’t work and something you wanted. And it’s still boring.” Zita scanned the room.
The interns they were supposed to be interpreting for were still missing, though she and Wyn had arrived at the agreed-upon meeting place a sensible fifteen minutes before they’d been due and been dutifully waiting there ever since.
While the venue with its sweeping architecture, bountiful artwork, and sparkling crystal chandeliers was nice enough if you liked that sort of thing—she didn’t care one way or the other—it was still just a crowded hotel. The smell of sweat, clashing chemical fragrances, and makeup almost drowned out the salty scent of the nearby sea and the tantalizing odors of the food. No-doubt expensive soundproofing and lush carpeting swallowed much of the warring sounds of music and constant conversation from other rooms, but the continuous throb of noise had her nerves on high alert. The number of security guards didn’t help, especially once she’d spotted the ones garbed as servers but carrying concealed weapons. They were concentrated at the entrance, near where the two women waited, and around the ballrooms where most of the dignitaries gathered.
She touched the saint medallion at her throat, rubbing her thumb over its worn surface as she kept scanning the crowd. “Those losers ditched us, didn’t they? We’ve been standing by the entrance for no reason for an eternity.”
Her friend clucked and glanced up from her phone. “It’s only been about forty-five minutes, and the probability is high, yes. Per their earlier less-than-subtle inquiries about Gothic Quarter nightlife, they are likely there. Your priorities are wrong if you’d prefer more time with them to enjoying tonight’s event. For a conference of people who want to win the first chance to acquire Atlantean resources, the crowd is far more varied than I had expected. I heard some of the European and Japanese meta teams are here. Do you know what that means?”
Zita perked up, rocking on her heels. “That trouble’s coming with that many powerful metas in proximity?”
Her friend rolled her eyes. “Seriously? You sound hopeful. Please stop.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want anyone to get hurt. You got to admit, though, this party would be more interesting if we could all do kung fu or something instead of standing around in uncomfortable clothing pretending to enjoy small talk with each other. Ay, Atlantean spear-fighting lessons! That would be perfect. They had armored squads near the ballrooms who I bet would love to show off some moves.” Zita glanced around in case someone was implementing her genius ideas.
Wyn shook her head and scanned the room. “Or not. As soon as we are off duty, I am going to avail myself of expensive champagne and find amenable souls who enjoy dancing. Dino is approaching. Perhaps he’s heard from the boys?”
Zita glanced that way. A restaurateur turned minor shipping magnate, her friend and temporary boss stomped their direction, his face red above his tuxedo. Dino Papadoupolis held his phone in one hand as if it had personally offended him.
“Hi, Dino! Your nephews haven’t shown up. Is everything okay?” Zita said as soon as he was close enough.
“They’re not hurt... yet,” Dino muttered. He tugged his jacket down to settle it over his generous middle. He took a deep breath and then shot them a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to have had you two waiting by the entrance all this time. The boys weren’t even brave enough to call me. Instead, they sent me a ridiculous text that they’re going to cultivate contacts in an alternate setting, rather than duplicating my efforts here. While that tells me that at least one paid attention in the marketing class they barely passed, they’re idiots if they think I don’t know they’re skipping this gathering to go to a club or party.”
Wyn gave him a polite smile as she elbowed Zita. “At least he made the attempt. I’m surprised they didn’t spot the celebrities who flew in to meet the Atlantean royalty today and stay to mingle with them. It’s a remarkable opportunity you’ve offered them and us.”
He ran his hands through his hair and glanced back the direction he’d come.
His wife—it took Zita a moment to recognize her without her customary chef outfit—had been following him through the crowd. The older woman lifted an eyebrow at him and then glanced pointedly at a sparkling watch on her wrist.
Dino nodded at his wife and then turned back to them. “It is, but this underscores why their father didn’t let them inherit the business. Listen, in case they come to their senses, why don’t you two stay at this party until eight? You don’t have to lurk by the entrance, though. Go ahead and mingle. After that, you’re off duty until noon tomorrow and can stay or go as you want. I’m expecting preliminary contracts Friday from the Atlanteans and I’d like you to review them with me after I have a nice long discussion with my nephews. They won’t need you to understand my point.”
“Sure, though we’re not lawyers or anything,” Zita said.
He hugged them both. “You’re good girls. I want to make sure the terms are reasonable before I allow my legal sharks to rack up billable hours with them. While I hate to leave you stranded, my beloved wife and I have a dinner cruise planned with some friends and I don’t want to miss the boat, literally!”
Both women grinned at his joke.
Seeming pleased, he continued, “Can you believe the Atlantean queen used to work for me? And now we have the first chance at shipping things to Atlantis! Or partway there, anyway. Life is strange but excellent, my friends.”
Zita bit her tongue to keep from explaining that Atlantean rulers were always called kings regardless of their gender. “It’s crazy how these things work out. Have fun!”
“Have a wonderful time! And by the way, please let your wife know she looks amazing and I’m terribly envious of her gorgeous hairpins.” Wyn smiled.
“We will and she will enjoy hearing that.” Dino ruffled Zita’s hair and walked away.
She smoothed her short, uneven hair. “I wish people wouldn’t do that. I’m not five.”
Wyn hooked her arm with Zita’s. “You know what this means? We get to socialize and dance without worrying about herding three college-age idiots anywhere!”
“That’s great for you, but I’d rather hit the buffet.” At her friend’s crestfallen expression, Zita sighed. “Fine, how about we compromise? Since we’re not invited to the VIP ballroom where the Atlanteans will be, let’s go to the balcony buffet. It’s not on the main hotel drag here, so it’ll be quieter than the main conference rooms. Plus, it’s got huge glass doors that lead out to a postcard-perfect balcony that hangs over the sea. We’d both enjoy that, and I can eat and hear myself think while you hit the dance floor there or talk to people. Once Andy and Caroline get done with the VIP stuff, you can hang with them, and I’ll go back to the hotel and snooze. It’ll be past my bedtime then.”
“How do you know what the rooms are like? Don’t tell me...”
Zita shrugged. “I scoped it out early this morning. The balcony’s this awesome stone shelf that hangs out over the ocean.”
Wyn batted at her shoulder. “I told you not to tell me, and don’t think I don’t know you’re going to hit the gym or climb something before you go to bed. You slept while I was at the shops with Caroline earlier, after all.”
“Pues, I was thinking I’d free run through the Parc de la Ciutadella since it’s almost on the way back to our hotel and most of the animals were sleeping at the zoo during my early morning explorations. The tour buses were out in force despite the hour, so it wasn’t worth it to see if the Arc de Triomf would be fun to climb. My nap wasn’t as restful as it could have been, either.”
“Don’t tell me that you, of all people, are suffering from insomnia?” Wyn laughed.
Mindful that someone might overhear them, Zita chose her words with care. “I had another nightmare about the ship. Then Auntie Linda contacted me again and gave me the same message about how I had to go, and you and Andy had to stay.”
Wyn’s smile dropped at the reference to the dream-walking precognitive. “Oh? Again?”
Warmth showered Zita’s mind as Wyn connected them telepathically.
Her friend spoke mentally immediately. Did she add anything new? While I have kept her from my mind, Andy said she disturbed him to reiterate that you had to go alone, but only after return was assured, and that he and I could not touch the evil directly for any reason.
It was the same old vague warnings, horrible end of the world, blah blah blah, though she actually flicked my head with her fingers when she told me the be strong and never lower my guard bit. Oh, and she told me she was sorry. That was new, though she didn’t say why. Recalling the phantom touch, Zita rubbed her forehead.
Wyn tapped a finger on her lips. Interesting. Andy didn’t mention an apology when he told me of his visitation. While I suspect some aspect of her precognition requires ambiguity in her warnings, perhaps she can be convinced to be less cryptic. A time frame would be helpful, for one. We’ve been getting these warnings for the past two weeks, but whatever the event is has not materialized yet. Of course, yet is the operative word given her past accuracy.
Aware they were just standing around staring at each other in a crowded hall, Zita spoke aloud. “Since she’s stuck on repeat, I used that trick you taught me to get rid of her. I didn’t see the point of blocking her completely, in case she wanted to say something actually useful.”
Their telepathic link melted away as Wyn glanced around and nodded. “You have gotten quite good at that. Her advice is important, but she needs to temper the timing of her calls to respect our need for sleep. That’s the whole reason I blocked her the past couple of nights. Now, shall we tend to other matters? Let’s go feed you and discover if the balcony view is as picturesque as you have promised.”
“Finally!” Zita bounded ahead with a laugh.
***
An hour and a half later, Zita drifted along enormous windows observing the sun setting over the Mediterranean and eating her second plate of food. While nothing was overtly wrong, other than that she was trapped in a swanky party with a ton of strangers and couldn’t leave yet, her instincts had been itchy all night. So far, she hadn’t figured out what the problem was. She checked on her friend.
Never suffering from the lack of a partner, Wyn was still dancing. Although her current companion appeared to know what he was doing, her polite smile seemed forced.
Warmth curled in Zita’s mind.
Recognizing the sensation, she sent, You having fun or do you need a rescue? If you’re hungry, the bombas and the escalivada are both especially delicious.
No, he’s fine, an excellent dancer. I’ll finish out this song before I rejoin you, but I wanted to warn you that someone seems unduly interested in you. Concern warred with amusement in Wyn’s tone.
While Zita had suspected the party was slowly sucking her life away, now she had confirmation. You noticed, and I missed him? Something’s off about this party and I feel like someone’s been watching me from the moment I set foot in this room.
Her friend sniffed, a feat over the mental connection. You’re probably just picking up on the guy staring at you. Whenever you look his direction, he turns away. He’s in a tailored black tuxedo, with blond arm candy in a navy dress and Louboutin heels. Something about him isn’t right. How about I meet you right outside the doors of the balcony so you can check him through the glass without him viewing you as well? And stop pacing—don’t think I didn’t notice.
Zita did her best to unobtrusively scan the room. If you haven’t noticed, there are a ton of dudes in tuxes with blonds in blue dresses.
By the table with the desserts, though neither has a plate. They’re talking to an elderly man in a burgundy jacket. Try to be subtle.
I know where that is. Subtle, huh? Well, if he’s been paying attention, then he knows the pattern I’ve been going in. Zita kept pacing despite her natural inclination to march over to the dessert table and confront whoever it was.
Amusement tinged Wyn’s voice. Of course you do.
She walked, studying the only couple in that area that fit Wyn’s description.
Her stalker... was fine. Really, really fine.
At least, what she could see of his body from behind and with his tuxedo jacket in the way. His shoulders were the right amount of broad for his height, and his body tapered, but not too much. Most remarkably, his perfect posture lacked the careless, minute movements that most people employed when standing in place and socializing. Rather, he was still and perfectly balanced, like a wary cat in a room of children.
An urgent need to see him move ran through Zita as she counted down the seconds. If she’d kept up her established pacing, she’d have turned away at this point. Suspicion teased the edges of her mind.
Finally, he changed position and faced her.
Even that slight movement, economical and with a predator’s grace, told her what had her alarms jingling. It’s Freelance.
Wyn stumbled, and her solicitous partner led her to the side. What? You think he’s... I’ll check.
Party line dropped.
In her peripheral vision, Zita saw Wyn sitting in a chair with her dance partner hurrying off toward the bar. Her friend’s gaze went distant.
Even though it felt like an intrusion into his privacy to do so, Zita took a moment to study Freelance without his mask or gear. His magnificent body tensed as he assessed her with grave eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The craggy, serious planes of his face were striking and austere, rather than handsome. While he could have been as old as forty-five or as young as thirty, she guessed he was in his mid-thirties, given the lack of obvious gray in his hair, that indeterminate shade of brown that could seem darker or blonder dependent on the light. He wore no rings, though a watch peeked out from beneath the cuff of the hand holding a champagne glass.
She stuffed the last bite of food from her plate into her mouth and chewed as she glanced at his companion. The woman he was with...
His companion was a ringer for Caroline Gyllen, if Andy’s famous girlfriend favored a different style of makeup and had a couple more inches of height. Her hair was just as golden, her body the same level of country-club toned, and she wore her dress as if it had been created for her, which it might’ve been. She had one hand tucked into his elbow as she laughed and spoke with another guest. Discreet jewelry sparkled at her ears, neck, and wrists, but her hands were free of rings.
Guess Caroline’s everyone’s pinche type, Zita thought, her lip curling and the taste of the spicy food souring. She touched her father’s steel saint medallion, her only jewelry.
Warmth furled in her mind as the mental connection with her friend returned.
Frustration spilled over the link with Wyn. I can’t read him. He’s either a robot or Freelance or someone with the same power. How is it that he is almost as intimidating unarmed in a very nice tuxedo as he is bristling with armor and weapons?
You assume he’s unarmed. Zita couldn’t help her amusement at the thought. Though she had seen no sign of a weapon, she assumed he still had one beyond his lethal form. She tore her gaze away from his and busied herself setting her plate on a tray set aside for dirty ones.
Not helpful. This is your call. What do you want to do? her friend sent.
Mechanically, Zita moved to the closest buffet table with her back to him as if to grab more food. It was all a ploy to hide her too-expressive face and figure out her next move. As much as she wanted to jump off the balcony and fly until she knew what she wanted to do, she couldn’t leave Wyn here alone.
I can’t believe he’s had a wife or girlfriend all along, Wyn fumed.
Before her friend could say more, Zita sent the conclusion she hadn’t even realized she was making. No rings, so probably not married, and I don’t think she’s his girlfriend. The body language isn’t quite right. They’re not leaning into or even paying much attention to each other at all, for all that she’s got her hands on him. It’s like they’re pretending to be together. Or they have sex without any real fondness for each other. I can’t rule out either.
Her friend’s mental voice was soft and revealed what she thought. I’m so sorry, Zita.
The last thing she needed was Wyn’s sympathy when Zita hadn’t even sorted out how or why or what she felt. I don’t know. I need to work out. Where can someone get a minute alone here? Parties should always have an exercise room. Crystal and gold-plated everything, and not a treadmill in the room. Sad.
Privacy at a massive, formal soiree in a public place? Unless you’re staying at the hotel or know someone with the pull to clear a room, the best option would be a bathroom stall to yourself.
I’ll go there then and figure out something there before I give too much away. Remembering who they were dealing with, Zita grimaced and amended, If I haven’t already. Give me ten minutes to think privately and I’ll figure out if we need to change tonight’s game plan at all. Don’t leave with anyone. This party still feels sketchy, even though I know who’s been watching me now.
Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll check in promptly if you don’t signal me first. And yes, I’ll stay in this room until then. With a final wash of affection, their mental connection cut off.
Zita went in search of the ladies’ room.
***
She was trapped in a high-end nightmare.
Even the bathroom was ritzy, white and rose in sleek lines that were probably meant to be modern, feminine, and restful. She half-expected people to ambush her with perfume samples and then force a manicure and makeover on her.
With an involuntary shiver, Zita washed her hands slowly and focused on a quick breathing exercise, consciously loosening her muscles. The more she considered the matter, the more certain she was that she was right, even without getting close enough to verify if he smelled the same. That man is Freelance. And he noticed me. The question is if he knows I’m Arca and did he notice Wyn with me? Am I risking her identity by being near her?
She studied her reflection and tugged the neckline of her dress up, though it did not budge. It was form-fitting and black, swooping low across her generous chest but hiding her shoulders and arms. Personally, she was proud of the muscles she’d earned, but Wyn had felt they might be intimidating.
As if Zita had ever scared anyone in her life. If someone had issues with a few defined muscles, they were better off not knowing her. Now she was glad her friend had talked her into the dress as it was one more layer to protect her family and identity.
She was pretty certain it wasn’t enough to throw him off track for long, if at all. All that quiet competence and intelligence she found so sexy was working against her now. I need a plan. This would all be so much clearer if I could climb something for a while.
Another woman came in and set her clutch on the pink marble counter, heels tapping on the fine marble tiles. It was the Caroline clone that had been clinging to Freelance.
Zita turned off the gold tap with more force than necessary.
The other woman glanced at her as she puckered her lips and applied lipstick. Her English delicately accented with Paris, she said, “I saw you out there.”
Did he send her in here after me? After confirming they were alone in the bathroom, Zita replied in the same language as she grabbed a hand towel. It was softer than the ones she had at home. This hotel was so lucky that less scrupulous people didn’t rob them blind. “Me?”
“Yes. You were ogling my escort. Are you an American?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t make a play for your man.” Trying to focus on anything else, Zita’s leg jiggled with repressed energy. This place has to have a gym. Maybe I can sneak into it? It’d be more fun, Freelance won’t get a chance to figure me out, and Wyn would be safe. She could party and I’d be close enough to ensure she didn’t go home with anyone she didn’t want to. Dino did say I was off for the night about now.
The other woman’s lips curled into a moue and she posed in front of the mirror, checking herself out. “Ah, you have chosen such a way to say yes. Though I do not recognize your accent, that dress is very American, as was your comment. Since you are wise enough to know you could not take him if I wished to keep him, I will be direct as well and give you some advice. First, are your parents at this party?”
“No, like most grown women, I left them at home. I don’t need any help, thanks.” Zita finished drying her hands, folded the towel, and set it into a basket filled with other dirty ones. She headed toward the door.
The blond woman leaned forward and freshened her mascara, patting an errant strand of hair into place as she threw words at Zita. “Cut your teeth on easier prey than my companion. He has neither the desire nor the capacity for any of the warmer emotions. If you’re hoping for more than a night or two of physical pleasure, look to the waitstaff or someone’s intern. Then again, if that’s all you seek, then make your attempt with my blessing. Be warned, he prefers his women sophisticated and wealthy in their own right rather than, well, you.”
The other woman’s comments lit Zita’s temper, but she swallowed it down. Pausing, she frowned. “For someone who’s in a relationship with the man, you don’t know him very well. I know better, and I don’t even know his name.”
“I have no claim on my companion, nor does any other. Your words betray useless hopes, but that doesn’t change the truth.”
“The truth that you’re wrong, yeah.” With that lame riposte, Zita left the bathroom.
Anger and something else swirled inside her as she trudged back toward the buffet room. A tiny ripping sound warned her to relax her shoulders before the strained back seam of her dress gave way. I need a gym. That’s the plan. I’ll go back, hang out with strangers so he won’t know who I’m here with, and then change and hit the gym. After I’ve blown off some steam, I’ll send a note via waiter for Freelance to meet me there. Hopefully, that’ll buy me time to figure out what we need to say. We need to say something. This ghosting shit has to stop, one way or the other, and Wyn and Andy have been encouraging me to talk to him for weeks.
