Ecstasy (4 page)

She frowns. “Are you transferring for one of the other kids?”

“No. Look…” I run my hand over my face. “I just… I should go.”

Her eyes turn cold. “You’re not here to help the kids.”

“Elena, look, you don’t understand. I can’t. It’s… it’s not safe for me to do mercy hits. I can’t stop once I start.” I want to grab hold of her shoulders, press my fingers into them, make her stop looking at me like I’m despicable. I keep my hands at my side. “It’s hard to explain.”

The cold look stays, and a frown joins it. She doesn’t believe me. Or maybe she does, and she’s unimpressed. Apparently there are debt collectors who can do this. I have no idea how, but I’m clearly not one of them.

“Sure. I understand,” she says, like she does, but not in a good way. “What are you really here for, Joe? Picking out your favorite
companion
for the night?” She dismisses me with a wave. “Keep looking. That offer expired when you ran out of my apartment and didn’t even say goodbye to Tilly.”

“Elena, I’m not… I swear I didn’t know you would be here.” My explanations are lost on her. “If I did—”

“If you did, then what?”

I don’t know what I would have done if I’d known. Avoided her? Come anyway and tried to explain? No, I would have kept far away from the live-wire temptation that she and her sister are to me.

My silence speaks for me. She shakes her head in disgust and turns away, quietly settling back into her chair next to Tilly’s bed. I want to say something. I want to tell her I’m not a bad person, that I really do care about her and her sister and all the dying children in this room. That if it wouldn’t burn me up in a fire of ecstasy I would give Tilly everything I could. That I’m tempted to do it anyway, but I can’t. I can’t save her. I would only die trying.

But the look of contempt in Elena’s eyes tells me it’s useless. Nothing I say will make any difference. And the part about me being a good person is a lie anyway.

I clench my fists and turn away from her.

Between my eyes blurring and the dim light, I can barely see. I don’t care. I march blindly down the center of the rows of beds. All I know is I need to get away. Far away.

I sense Grace at my side, catching up. “Lirium,” she says in a hushed voice.

We’re almost at the end of the row of beds, and I’m suddenly lost. I have no idea which way to turn.

“Lirium, wait.”

Her hand is on my arm, and I let her pull me to a stop. I keep my back to Elena and my head ducked away from Grace.

“This way,” she says, tugging me into the murky back of the room. She finds a door. Amber light fills the stairwell. I stumble in, squinting. I pull from her and turn away, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

Her hand is on my shoulder. “I know it’s difficult,” she says softly. “Some collectors have a hard time with the mercy hits at first. Some days I can barely walk through that room without crying.” She scoots around to face me, putting a hand on my cheek. She looks up into my eyes. “Oh, Lirium. It’s okay.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, sinking my face into the long brown hair draped on her shoulder. She’s holding me, comforting me. I rub my face in her hair and breathe her in. I pull back and crash my lips to hers, finding the only kind of comfort I know how to take. The kind that won’t kill me or leave me worse off than before. She responds, her tongue slipping out to taste me. Suddenly I’m crushing her against the wall, my body finding contact with hers everywhere. My hand is on her forehead, pulsing life force into her before I’m even thinking about it. She doesn’t flinch. Her wide brown eyes trust me implicitly. They remind me too much of Apple Girl, so I focus on her lips instead, speaking to them in a hushed tone, like I’m telling her a secret.

“Off-book,” I say, licking my lips. “Just you and me, okay?” I’m not sure why I need this to be a secret. I’m not sure why I
need
this, but I do.

She presses my hand harder against her forehead. I keep pumping more hit into her. Her lips curve into the relaxed smile that comes from an addict getting her dose. I recognize it, know it, can almost feel it myself. I watch her cheeks grow rosy in front of me. I kiss her again, with trembling lips, unable to wait until her hit finishes.

When it’s done, I yank my hand away and cover her mouth with mine. I press her hard into the wall, urgent in my need. She draws lines on my back with her nails, familiar with what I like from the times before. I fumble with her blouse first, undoing the few buttons, then hastily undo my own clothes, just enough to give me access to her. I nibble my way down her neck to her chest, tasting the vanilla-and-sex scent that pervades her skin. My hands and mouth drink it in, my eyes half-lidded, not wanting to see, just to feel. I’m not completely sure she’s ready, but I can’t wait any longer. I work my way up to her mouth again, sliding my hands up her hips to lift her short skirt.

I bury myself in her, one fast thrust that lifts her from the ground.

The hot relief blanks my mind. My frantic movements still. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back against the wall, lips parted. It’s all the confirmation I need. My thrusts bring quiet moans from both of us, but mostly me, a sound that feels like frustration and anger and need leaving my body. Her heels clatter the wall, banging in time with me. The release coils inside me, and small bits of my mind white-out, one by one, as it builds. When it comes, I gasp.

I forget how to breathe. It’s a moment of pure sensation and relief, empty of sound and thought. I don’t think about what she’s thinking. I don’t think about anything at all. I want it to stretch and carry me, but it’s already starting to fade: the coldness of my hand on the wall, the cool draft of air wrapping our bodies. Awareness of the world seeps back into me. My lungs cry for air, and I suck in erratic drafts of her skin and mouth as my lips hover over them.

She caresses my cheek, soft hands trying to give sweetness to the moment. I turn my face away.
Only one collector can understand another.
Ophelia’s voice is reminding me of my real purpose here. I pull back from Grace completely, disentangling our bodies, suddenly needing distance. I fumble with my clothes, half-turned away while she fixes hers.

I need Ophelia to help me figure out how to survive. How to not be the next wash out or mortality statistic on Candy’s collector sheet. I need to find out where Ophelia is and get her away from the mob. After that... who knows. I can’t think that far ahead.

 Grace is finished with her clothes, standing tall on her heels again, only a slight flush in her cheeks and muss in her hair giving us away.

“Take me to Madam A,” I say. “I’m ready to make a deal.”

She nods and brushes past me, putting on the same fake, all-business calm that I have. I catch her arm, gently. She turns and looks straight into my eyes, searching for something. I smooth down the strand of her hair that’s still sticking up.

“That hit,” I say, my voice hushed. “Give it to Tilly.”

She nods hastily, like she knows that I don’t want her to say anything. She turns and marches up the stairs.

I follow, determined to do whatever it takes to find Ophelia.

Madam A hangs up from a call on her monitor as Grace and I step into her office.

It’s dark, like the entryway, and Madam A’s tiny body is dwarfed by the enormous wood-carved desk she’s sitting behind. She rises and comes to the front. If it’s obvious that Grace and I just had off-book sex in the stairwell, Madam A doesn’t let it show.

“My contact in the Kolek family has information about your friend, Ophelia,” she says.

My ears perk up. The police said Kolek was the mob boss controlling my neighborhood.

“What do you want in exchange?” I say, cutting to it. I’ve wasted too much time already.

She measures me with her dark eyes and looks to Grace standing behind me. They exchange some kind of meaningful look, and Grace gives a very small nod. Probably another test—one it appears I’ve passed by the satisfied look on Madam A’s face. I’m instantly suspicious that they’ve planned out the entire thing, including the stairwell sex.

I need to be more careful around Madam A.

“You understand the work we do here, now,” Madam A says softly. “So, what kind of man are you, Lirium? Are you the kind who’s willing to use his talents to help children who have been abandoned by the corrupt system that rules over life force transfers? Or are you the kind that can turn your back on them and still look in the mirror?”

I can’t keep in the snort-laugh. I don’t like the sound of it, but I’m way beyond looking in the mirror. And she’s still trying to sell me on signing up full-time for her charity. “I’m the kind who wants to rescue his friend from the mob. I’m interested in a one-time exchange of favors, that’s it. Then…” I glance at Grace. “…we will no longer have reason to do business together.”

“That’s… unfortunate.” But Madam A doesn’t look surprised. “However, a one-time exchange is acceptable. For now.”

“What did you have in mind?” I steel myself; if it involves Tilly or Elena, I’m going to have to walk away empty-handed. Or negotiate for something else. But if it’s a smaller transfer…

“I have several girls who have accumulated hits that need to be transferred out to the children,” she says. “Our current debt collector has been unavailable recently due to some… personal business. We’re a little behind, and as I’m sure you know, the children can’t really wait.”

Children.
That means multiple mercy hits, which makes a chill run down my back. But it sounds like the hits are small ones. And that I can work around the Tilly problem. “I agree to do the transfers, but it will have to wait until I return.”

She frowns. “All I’m asking for is four short hits. You will be on your way soon.”

I cross my arms. “At which point, you won’t need me further, given that I have no intention of working for you full-time. It seems safer for you to have a reason to want me back.”

The smooth skin of her forehead wrinkles. “You think I’m going to sell you out to the mob.”

“It’s crossed my mind once or twice.”

She smiles. “What assurance do I have that you’ll return?”

“I’m… interested in making sure Tilly receives some of the transfer.” Which is true, even though there’s no way I can personally transfer out to Tilly. And it’s a convincing, given my moment of weakness in the stairwell. When I get back, I'll just make sure their other debt collector does that particular transfer.

Madam A narrows her eyes. “Two transfers now, two later.”

“I’ll do all four transfers, plus another two, but only when I return.” I keep my face impassive. “I want you to have incentive to bring me back.”

She sighs. “Fine. But if you do not return, Tilly will drop to the bottom of the list for transfers.” She tilts her head to me. “I want you to have incentive to return to us as well.”

My stomach hollows out, and I sneak a look at Grace. Her gaze is fixed on Madam A, emotionless. I have no way of knowing if she’ll follow through with giving my hit to Tilly.

“Agreed,” I say between my teeth. “And I assure you, I have every intention of returning.” Surprisingly, I actually mean it.

She inclines her head again, accepting my promise. “I still have contact with a debt collector who has worked for us in the past,” she continues. “He now belongs to Kolek.”

I don’t like the way that sounds, like the debt collector is the personal lapdog of a mob boss. “How unfortunate for him.”

“Perhaps,” she says, noncommittally, which I find even more unsettling. “But it’s fortunate for you. He says your friend Ophelia was brought to Kolek’s central operations this evening. And he’s agreed to provide a cover for you to get inside. In case you are wondering, the facility is well-guarded. Even if I told you the location, it would be impossible for you to get in.”

“So it’s quite a risk for him to cover for me,” I say. “What are you giving the debt collector in exchange?” Even if they’re friends, that can’t be the extent of it.

“He owes me a favor,” she says evenly. “I’m more concerned about you, Lirium. Kolek is a dangerous man.”

“I’ll manage. Just get me in, and Ophelia and I will find a way to get out.” I hope this is true. This is about the extent of my plan so far, and it sounds terrible when I say it out loud. But I’m short on options. Madam A raises her thin-line eyebrows, like she thinks I’m even more foolish than before. I glare at her. “What’s my cover?”

She pauses a beat. “How good are you at pretending to be a sex worker, Lirium?”

The look on my face makes her break into a grin.

I’m still not convinced this isn’t Madam A’s idea of a cruel prank. Maybe her twisted attempt at revenge for my unwillingness to sign up full-time for her charity.

Then again, I did ask for this.

I’m standing outside a mansion, the kind I would never expect to see on the east side. A lush, expansive lawn serves as a natural barrier between the guarded gate and the house. White stucco walls are hidden behind palm trees, but brightly lit with spotlights. It’s hard to tell the size of the estate in the dark, but I don’t spend time trying. The fatigue-clad security guard at the gate with the automatic rifle slung over his shoulder has captured my attention.

“I’m Joe,” I say, giving my real name, because everyone will assume it’s not. “I have an appointment with Valac.” I follow the script Madam A gave me, hoping there actually is a Valac locked up in the mansion somewhere. It sounds like a debt collector name, and probably means “demonic being of evil deathliness.” Ophelia would like it.

The guard speaks into his wrist for a moment, waits, listens to something only he can hear, then clears me with a nod of his head. I shuffle towards the black-iron gate, but the guard stops me with the barrel of his rifle crossing my path.

“I’ll have to search you first.” His voice is rough. His buddy in the guard shack looks unimpressed with my trenchcoat and boots. Madam A cleared my attire, after she unbuttoned half my shirt, spiked up my hair, and replaced the hospital bandages on my knuckles with nu-skin tape that makes my wounds practically invisible. Part of me wonders if I was really, all along, only a few buttons away from passing for a male sex worker. The guard slings his rifle over his shoulder and makes quick work, running his hands up and down my body. He doesn’t give a second look to my hands, the only real weapon I have. I try to act like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

Finally he nods to his partner. The gate clicks, then buzzes as it slowly slides open. I hurry through the opening as soon as it’s wide enough and stride up the long driveway. Another rifle-carrying guard stands at a door I assume is the entrance, based on the giant, plaster archway and two-story columns marking it. I climb the three steps of the marble stoop. He holds up a hand when I’m still a few feet away. I freeze in my tracks. He doesn’t say anything, just stares. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I try to act cool. I search my memories for what Madam A’s girls looked like when I opened the door: calm, collected, sexy. Smiling like they’ve done this before.

I smile at the guard and shift my weight to one foot, quietly tapping my boot. The guard frowns. My heart pounds in my ears. I look away, pretending to examine the architecture, heat rising in my face.

I have no idea how to do this.

Finally, the mansion door slides open and a man leans out, holding on to the door frame. He’s young, with wavy, longish blond hair. He grins, bites his lip, and lets his gaze travel the length of my body before saying, “Joe, is it? Do come in.”

I force a grin and saunter up to the threshold. I feel like an idiot, but the guard is already looking away, bored. Valac—at least I hope it’s Valac—slides his arm around my shoulders, ushering me into the darkened entryway. He leans back to press the button to close the door, a hand still firmly latched onto the shoulder of my trenchcoat. A receiving room down the hall is decorated with sleek gray couches and chairs, all lit with a warm white glow, but there’s no one else in sight. Valac returns his attention to me, giving me a one armed hug and leaning close to my face.

“So nice of you to make a midnight booty call.” His voice is low.

I give him a coy look, just in case. “You’re Valac, right? I just want to make sure I have the right client.”

“Oh yes.” He grins again, then whispers in my ear. “You’re in exactly the right place, my friend.”

I really hope Madam A isn’t having a laugh at my expense right now.

He turns me to a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed in the dark. “C’mon, my room is upstairs.” His arm slips from my shoulders, but then he grabs my hand to pull me up the stairs. At the top, there’s no one in the hallway, which is sparsely decorated with steel-gray tables. White vases with matching roses infuse the air with their perfume. Valac drops my hand and moves quickly to the second door. He passes his hand over the keyswipe, and the door slides open.

I hurry after him, checking behind me to make sure we’re not being followed. His bedroom is more steel-colored furniture with white linens and a gray-and-white mosaic that covers one wall. The door slides shut behind me, and Valac wheels to face me. His clean shaven face, black silk shirt, and trim-tailored dress pants make him look like he just returned from a photo-shoot. He moves closer until he’s less than a foot away and examines me with blue eyes that look entirely too hungry for my taste.

“Look, you know I’m not really a sex worker. Right?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Relax, man. You’re not my type.” He’s still inspecting my face though. “Just trying to figure out your angle.”

I edge out of his personal space, but my back’s against the door. I try not to feel trapped. “You’re a debt collector, right?” I ask.

He holds up his right hand. His collecting hand. It’s crisscrossed with so many welt-scars that I can’t count them.
Years.
Those are years of life he’s taken. I know, because there’s one on my palm too. I hold it up. He takes a half-step back, giving me room, but looks even more puzzled.

“Then you should understand why I’m here,” I say, “I just want to get Ophelia safely away from Kolek.”

His eyebrows go up, and he’s still close enough that I notice they’re blond as well. “An altruistic debt collector? You’ll get yourself killed with that kind of thinking, Joe. Didn’t Ophelia teach you anything?”

“You know her?” I press back. “Was she your mentor?” I need to know what this guy’s deal is.

“Yes,” he said, eyeing me again. “I’m assuming yours as well, since she doesn’t do debt collectors, and yet you’re still trailing after her like a puppy.”

My eyes narrow. “At least I’m not Kolek’s lapdog.”

His blue eyes turn ice cold. That was a mistake, but it’s too late to take it back. “Where’s Ophelia?” I demand instead. Which is what I should have been asking the moment I was in the door.

He gives me a wolfish grin and puts one hand on the door behind me, leaning in entirely too close. “If we go see her right away, we’ll blow your cover. You’re supposed to be servicing me in my room.”

I’m thinking I might be his type after all. “Sorry,” I say dryly, not flinching away. “I don’t have sex with debt collectors either.”

He lets out a light-hearted laugh, backs off, and strides over to a smoothly-cushioned chair. He flops into it, draping one leg over the chair-arm, chin in his hand, studying me again.