Moonlight Meetings - Three Erotic Supernatural Stories (The three first stories from Suzy's Adventures) (10 page)

“Can I help?”

Brimming with adrenaline after the narrow escape with the taxi, Suzy spun and raised her fists. She was prepared for anything New York threw at her, be it robbers, weirdos, or tourists.

A few metres away a young man stood under a comically small and ridiculously yellow umbrella. Suzy thought he was twenty at the most, though it was hard to see in the rain. He was clad in a foot-long dark gray coat over a knitted jumper and blue jeans. From where Suzy stood, he looked about a hand shorter than she was, which made him quite short for a man. His hair, a short, thick and wild tussle of blackness, had the look achieved only by either an expensive hairdresser or a hard storm. Her eyes travelled downwards and stayed at the sight of the man’s bright purple rubber boots, peeking out under his coat. She looked up again and was met by a wide but hesitant grin full of almost-straight and very white teeth. He was so lean Suzy could have mistaken him for a woman, a long way from her mysterious woodland lover’s metre-wide shoulders, but there was an odd similarity between the two men – the paleness of their skin, the hue of their green eyes, the tilt of their smiles. His face was narrow and somehow aristocratic, with high cheekbones sharp enough to slice her tongue open.

Still, despite the man in front of her being blessed with the looks of Johnny Depp circa 1990, the rest was a disaster: the yellow umbrella, the purple boots, his oversized coat, the baggy trousers. He looked as if he’d fought a jester’s wardrobe and come out second. If he was local, he was either a hipster or a loonie; if he was a tourist, he was likely to be robbed, ridiculed, or both. But tourists never asked if they could help her. Tourists backed away or, when she wore her black and studded thigh-high boots, took photos. Then again, he looked genuinely shy, standing there under his miniature umbrella and blinking in the rain like a lost fool. Well, maybe not a fool; he didn’t exactly look stupid or afraid, more curious and uncertain. And he was, she had to admit, stupidly good-looking.

Suzy tuned out her suburban warning signals, and not only because he was cute. She wasn’t one to write someone of at first sight, even if they dressed as trying out for a circus. At least she could ask what he wanted.

“What? Suzy demanded.

“You’re looking for something.”

Suzy frowned. It sounded less like a question and more like a statement of fact. So he wanted to help her, which was all nice and sweet, but the man standing a few metres away didn’t look like a tourist, a hipster or a freak. Well, a little like a freak, but she had the odd impression he wasn’t. She scratched at her wrist; her tattoo was itching like crazy. She really had to get rid of the thing.

“Maybe,” Suzy said. “There’s this tattoo studio. It’s around here somewhere.”

“It’s hard to find unless you know where to look.”

“You know it?” Suzy felt her hopes return. If this man knew where the studio was located, she might not have to declare the whole night a failure. Unless she was wrong, his voice had an English accent, but there were enough accents in the city to fill the tower of Babel several times.

“It’s famous,” the man said. “The artist is one of a kind. Very good.”

Suzy was surprised; given the studio’s small size and her spur-of-the-moment-idea to go there, she wouldn’t have thought it was well known. “He did a decent job,” she said slowly.

“I know.” The man nodded and smiled. “Your desideres binding.”

“I’m a who?”

His smile turned uncertain. “Your marking.” He pointed at his wrist. “Here.”

“How the hell do you know about my tattoo?”

“Oh.” He looked worried. “I saw it at the cafe,” he added, but it came out as a suggestion.

“Never pulled my sleeves up in there,” Suzy said and took a step back.

“Oh,” he said again. “I see.” He sighed and looked up at Suzy with his big, green eyes. A quick smile sailed over his lips, disappeared, then returned to anchor there. “This isn’t going very well, is it?” he asked.

“I don’t think so.” Suzy was unaware of anything going anywhere. She kept her eyes on his; that smile was a fraction too wide and disturbingly attractive.

“It’s just – ” He sighed again and grimaced, making those distracting cheekbones rise even higher. “I didn’t – he never – I didn’t know about you. What you were like.”

“Right,” Suzy said and half-raised her fists again. “I don’t know what you’re on, but I’m more broke than should be legal. No money here. I’ll walk away now, OK?”

“Look,” he urged. “I can explain.”

“Stay where you are.”

“I’m a friend of Greene.”

Suzy’s mind began to spin dangerously while warning bells rang in her head. More damn spookiness. This was precisely what she’d returned to New York to avoid. Worse, the very mention of Greene’s name made a very pleasant warmth spread in her. She could almost smell him, as if his touch lingered. She wouldn’t mind –

Suzy shook herself. What was she
thinking?
“Never heard of the guy.”

“No?” The man hesitated. “He described you very well, thought he omitted to tell me how beau – I mean to say, how you looked.”

“I’m going to run now,” Suzy said, “and you’re going to walk the other way. Understand?”

“He asked me to come.”

“He
what
?” Suzy blinked. “That’s just – why would he do that?” She raised her hands in an I-don’t-want-to-know-gesture. “No, don’t tell me. My head will explode.”

“Why would your head do such a thing?” he asked. “Is there a curse in place? Perhaps I can help? I am quite skilled at removing such enchantments.”

Suzy stabbed a finger at him. “I’ll go now. And don’t follow me.” Suzy turned on her heel and stalked away with her eyes fixed in the distance. She’d go back to the cafe. It was kitchy and gaudy and bright, but at least it was safe. Full of sugar and normal strangers. And there was coffee.

“That’s why he told me to find you,” the man called after her.

“Whatever.” Suzy walked on.

“Because you’re followed.”

Suzy slowed down. Despite her determination not to care about what the gorgeous un-fashion victim said, his words made her skin crawl. The possibly supernatural – her jury was still out and apparently on vacation – meetings she had had didn’t help. She looked around but saw no one close. No cars, no other pedestrians. People crowded the bars farther up the street, but all windows were fogged over with condensation. The rain, now approaching infernal intensity, appeared to have driven everyone away. Apart from the man and Suzy, the streets were empty. A little too empty.

She turned around. The man had not moved expect to fold his silly umbrella, letting the rain hammer down on him and splash off his coat. Now some twenty metres away, he looked like an abandoned mannequin. Strangely, his thick tussle of hair stayed unruly instead of being plastered to his head. Suzy wished she knew what brand of gel he used.

“What are you talking about?” she shouted. “Don’t make me call the police.”

The man started towards her. Suzy stood still, uncertain what to do, caught between the likelihood that he was a lunatic and the overwhelming impression that he was in need of help. It most certainly had nothing to do with that smile. When he came closer, he raised a hand and pointed.

“That is what I mean,” he said.

Suzy’s eyes widened; the man’s features had changed. He still looked young, but the hapless naivety was replaced by concentration. He looked focused, hard and feral, and he didn’t look happy. Even stranger, he didn’t look at Suzy. The hairs on Suzy’s arms stood up as if she’d stepped on a live wire.

Easy, now.” Suzy prepared to run. “I don’t wan’t any – ”

To Suzy’s relief and surprise, he walked right past her without breaking pace. Was he seeing things? Had his attention turned to some imaginary person? Confused, she turned, and the hairs on her arms stood up even more.

Less than ten metres away, three men were moving towards her. Tall, lanky and clad in tattered clothes, they closed in fast, silent as silhouettes, moving in an oddly snaking way as if sliding on the wet asphalt. Their faces were lost deep inside hoods, but unless they were the three tallest women in the world, they had to be male. When Suzy had looked around less than ten seconds ago, the streets had been empty. She had no idea from where they had come, but she wished they went back, right now. Their silence and their movement could mean only trouble.

The young man with who’d said he knew Greene walked right towards the three men. Either he was suicidal or visually impaired; if the new arrivals on this surreal scene were as dangerous as Suzy suspected, they’d eat the poor maybe-tourist alive.

“Hey,” Suzy croaked, in want of anything more intelligent to say. “Leave him alone.” And me, please, she added quietly. For some reason, her tattoo had started to itch even more.

The young man reached the three men, and chaos ensued.

One of the hooded men raised a hand and Suzy saw the glint of steel. A knife. A streetlamp struck of more steel: All three carried knives, broad and curved. The knife slashed down but the young man stepped to the side, avoiding the stab by a hair's breadth. The blade arced through empty air, then again as the purple-booted man ducked under a horizontal swipe. Suzy tried to scream but the words stuck in her throat as if she had a hand around her throat. She was panicking. She was caught up in a fight between one cute, miserable weirdo and three lethal and nightmarish strangers. Vintage Suzy luck. Options flew through her head: She could fight, and be sure that she would be stabbed or worse; or she could run and hope that no one chased her. She knew neither party; perhaps they would lose interest in her if she made it far enough. But running meant leaving the hapless stranger on his own, in the hands of three ominous thugs. That wasn’t her. And the man had said he knew Greene. She’d mentioned that name to no one, not ever her girlfriends. You could only test people’s credulity so much. She had to do something, but she had no idea what. In real-time, Suzy’s thoughts were compressed to a manic
oh shit I have to run no I can’t I hate New York
before she forced her shocked body into co-operation. She was terrified to the soles of her feet, but she had to act.

In desperation, she searched the sidewalk. Fighting those men with her hands was a rotten idea from the start, and the knives ruled it out completely. She needed a weapon. He eyes fell on the discarded umbrella, a strip of ludicrous yellow on the street. A few quick steps and it was in her hands. Better than nothing, but not by much. Armed with a length of weak aluminium and a few layers of a hideous yellow plastic, she turned to face the attackers.

The three men had surrounded the doomed vigilante and were stabbing at his frantically ducking rain-blurred form. They would kill the man in no time unless Suzy did something. This was madness, complete and pure, but she had to intervene. She would die, and she would die holding a damned small yellow umbrella.

She took a deep breath and rushed towards the fight, just as the young man snapped a sideways kick into the stomach of one of the assaulters, who doubled over and fell to the ground with soft splash. Suzy almost stopped in her tracks; apparently, her would-be saviour could defend himself at least a little. But there were still two more men, both of them chopping and slicing manically, reminding Suzy of frantic priests over a sacrificial altar. Trying and failing again to scream for help, Suzy closed in while holding the umbrella out in front of her like a spear. When she reached them, she immediately leapt back as one of the tall men swept at her with his knife. The young man twirled out of the way of the other man’s knife, turned to the man who had attacked Suzy, and rammed his knee into the back of the man’s leg. As the attacker’s leg bucked, the younger man followed up with a elbow to his opponent’s neck and sent the man crashing to the ground, next to his fallen comrade.

Suzy gaped. Two big men knocked down by a guy she’d supposed was a innocent nutcase in need of directions, spare change and new clothes. Obviously, he could hold his own, meaning Suzy could run, but by then she was a two-legged cocktail of adrenaline and anger. She would stay to the end of this and make sure the man didn’t end up skewered on one of those knives. Of course, that meant putting herself in danger, but she felt as if she was locked on an unalterable course of action. If only the umbrella she was holding out in front of her would stop shaking.

The remaining attacker circled the young man, looking for an opening. Suzy snuck closer, waving and stabbing her umbrella. When the young man saw Suzy, his eyes grew wide.

“Run,” he shouted. “There can be others. They are dangerous,” he added, as if Suzy was too thick to understand that street fights and knives were a bad combination.