The Forest Bull (15 page)

From Risa’s Files

             
This Weekend: Elite French companion available for incall only. Ft. Lauderdale Beach. Donations 550 per hour, 900 for two hours. Room visits only, no travel or dinner possible, although moonlit walks on the beach are possible for select gentlemen. Email for appointment. References required. No locals. Picture unimportant. Mature men preferred. This is not an offer of prostitution but merely for time spent together. All other contact is between two adults at their discretion. Please be properly groomed and respectful of my wishes. Kisses, Sandrine.

Gyro could s
ense my tension even if I chose not to display the turmoil I felt. Planning, waiting. He stayed close to me in the yard as I wandered, apart from everyone else. A fat moon began to rise over the canal, adding a buttery line of light to the flickering panels of cobalt water. Suma and Wally were putting a medical kit together in case Sandrine got the better of me; they would ride together, while Risa drove me to the hotel. Wally’s frenetic energy in traffic was too distracting, so I would sit quietly next to Risa and her projection of quiet calm. I was to meet Sandrine at ten, well after dark. Through email, I had baited the hook with a false persona of a lonely, childless technocrat on business. No wife. No family. A faceless, salaried employee on foreign ground without any discernible defenses against his own carnal needs. I was perfect for Sandrine’s dark purpose, and she scheduled a visit without hesitation.

             
Under a loose-fitting shirt, I tucked my knife, the cool metal resting with a comfortable heft against the small of my back. I didn’t know if she had the same tendencies as Elizabeth, but I could not allow her hands near my face. Her curious biology precluded any kissing.
What a shame
. Even if I could metabolize her poison, any slowdown would expose me to her other weapon, and I had no intent of being used as a pincushion. That meant I had to disable her quickly and with maximum force. Sandrine was a nail, and I was the hammer. A gentle touch on my shoulder from Risa alerted me that it was time to go. With a final stretch and pat of Gyro, we paired off, Suma and Wally in the other vehicle, and left for the beach.

             
Risa drove. I sat loosely, as she quizzed me gently about our plan. Her voice was soothing to my nerves; at least until I would feel my fighting instincts take control with a chill at my neck and a leaden calm in my mind.

             
“When you walk in the lobby, what’s first?” Risa began.

             
“It’s too nice a hotel for escorts to work without bribing a staff member. I’ll look for a concierge to recognize me. She might even have a Helper, but I doubt it.  It’s too obvious, and they tend to be a bit awkward in upscale settings, especially this close to their mistress when she is killing.” We had discussed the possibility of human collaborators earlier. It seemed thin, especially since three was a crowd when the blood started flowing. Helpers and Friends were like drug dealers. They never died old.

             
“Elevator up to fourth floor. Her room is a suite on the end, like we expected. It will be quiet there. You have the envelope?” Risa asked.

             
I patted my pants leg. “In my pocket. I’ll put the money on the bathroom counter. She’ll pretend to check it and come out. I can’t let her undress me or get undressed. I don’t know exactly how she kills, but it’s attached to her. No contact with her hands or mouth. I need to hit her quickly and without hesitation. That won’t be a problem. I’ll go for a knockout and text you immediately. She’s at least a century old, I think, so we won’t be able to hold her for long. I’ll start questioning her right away, but I’ll have to get up to open the door unless you break in. That’s a bit loud, I think, so I’ll have to be fast.”

             
Risa nodded periodically as I spoke. “Wally’s worried; call her on your way up. Suma, too.”

             
“What about you? Have I got this?” I asked her as we pulled in the parking lot of the hotel. She turned to me and put her hand on my face.

             
“You’re too fast for her. But if she wounds you, run. Run fast, and come to us. Come to me. And then we’ll take care of it, or her, whatever. And she’ll regret being born.” Her eyes were bright. I knew she meant it, and I knew she was worried. As I opened the door, she squeezed my hand once and turned away, her pride keeping any hint of tears from my view.

             
My heels were muffled in the sumptuous carpet of the doorway, only to
clop
lightly as I crossed into a tiled foyer with Mediterranean décor. I peeled right to the waiting bank of elevators after a discreet glance around the room. It was staffed lightly, and I saw no obvious candidates in league with Sandrine until I met the eyes of an unblinking bellman. He averted his gaze as I punched the four on the controls and waited for the soundless elevator doors to slide open. As the doors closed, I noted his brisk walk to the bar area.
Maybe two working with Sandrine, one human, one Helper.
I filed that thought and turned to the matter at hand, my heart rate rising slightly as the elevator stopped with a minor twitch.

             
Odd numbers left, even on right, to the end of the left hall. With a final check of my blade and one other surprise I had, I knocked twice, softly, and stepped back. It was date night.

             
She opened the door and stepped back as I came in. Thin and waiflike, she had an elfin quality to her bordering on androgyny. A black skirt covered her thighs, and a white silk top clung to her frame. A gold chain hung between her small breasts. She was beautiful, with doe-like eyes and a pixie cut that accentuated her apparent fragility.

             
I knew better.

             
“Thomas?” She asked, her voice cultured, French, quiet. I had to remain focused as she sat on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, displaying them for maximum effect. With a start, I remembered my role and cast my eyes down, playing the awkward john. It was exceedingly easy. She had an aura of refinement that was palpable.

“Yes, hi, hi.
Sandrine, hi. May I excuse myself to the restroom for a moment?” She smiled and waved me towards the inner door as I made a show of fumbling with the envelope. I went into the separate bathroom, laying the fee on the vanity and quietly checking my knife. So far, so good. I walked back out to find her in the same position on the bed. Her hand patted the mattress soundlessly, once.

“Do come over, please. Would you care for some wine?
Or something stronger? The bar is excellent.”

Her manners were impeccable. I sat. There was a mild tension
, but she reached out and grasped my hand, softly, and smiled. “Tell me a bit about yourself. And about what you like. You shouldn’t be nervous. I’m here for you, and I’m very experienced. Would you like to kiss me, perhaps? A massage?” Her flirtation was seamlessly woven with her hand steadily moving about my leg, my stomach, a brief caress of my upper arm. I’d been frisked for weapons in the most erotic, disarming way imaginable. I was impressed, even if she did miss my blade. She was a pro. I could respect that.

“I am not with women very often.
At all, really. So, I was on business, here, you see . . . ,” I stumbled, offering her an opening. She accepted. Out of position, I could not refuse her kiss. She was gentle, very coy. I felt nothing odd, even though I knew she was built to kill, and I had let her in far too close. Memories of Elizabeth percolated in my thoughts. I shut them down. I had to be present for this.

Her perfume was Chanel, but
, under it, there were hints of vinegar and almond. Not the smells of a woman. Nor the scents of humans, for that matter. I forced a blush and stammered, “Could you, you know, kneel in front of me? Just to start? And then maybe, we can walk on the beach, like we are lovers? I miss that sort of thing. And the other thing, too. If I ever really even had it. I don’t know . . . ,” I trailed off as she stood, removing her heels and delicately placing them on the bed. They looked expensive. I wondered what size they were and how many she had. I knew Wally would like to know.

She knelt
, smiling, crossing her feet behind her, and began to slide her hands up my legs. It was electric. I could see how she had been so lethal for so long. Her smile was secretive, and she raised a single brow of inquiry. I placed my hands behind me, flat on the bed, my legs and torso tense with her charged eroticism. She leaned forward, reaching for my zipper as I exhaled in anticipation. A light chuckle escaped her throat. It was the laugh of a woman who knows she is in total control.

Without warning,
I drove the pommel of my knife into her temple hard enough to make her teeth
crack
against each other as she sagged to the carpet, stunned. From my pocket I withdrew a pair of titanium zip ties.  In seconds, she was trussed on the bed and very, very disoriented. It was time for questions, and she had, after all, advertised that she was an excellent conversationalist. I intended to get my full hours’ worth of her company, whether she felt chatty or not. Climbing on the bed, I straddled her, careful to remain on her chest. I wasn’t concerned with her comfort. I was concerned about my life.

She wheezed to consciousness, her eyes rolling like an animal in distress. A circular dent in her skull remained f
rom my knife handle, a killing blow for a human. It gave her left eye the curious tilt of an impressionist sketch gone wrong.

“What do you wan
t?” Her voice was chilly, and free of inflection. I had to admire that type of recovery. She was resilient. “You paid for my body. I don’t think you want anything more, Thomas. You will find that I am a prickly blossom.”

“Prickly. What a descriptive
,” I said and reached back under her skirt. I found her secret, its chitinous length tucked up against her abdomen. How many men had felt that violation? How many women? It was cool and glassy under my grip. I squeezed once, hard. She gasped and bucked under my weight, her head rolling side to side in a symphony of nerves shrieking at once. I had her Achilles heel in hand, and I intended to use it. Even the genitalia of an insect were highly sensitive to pain, it would seem.

             
“Call me Ring. The ruse was necessary, and I feel compelled to apologize after bearing witness to your stellar manners. Quite continental of you. Since you know I am aware of your enhancements, if you will, let me tell you what I want, and we’ll attempt to remain cordial, shall we?” I was feeling gallant, and a bit confident. My plan seemed to be working. So far.

             
When she remained silent, I continued. “First, don’t scream. Any excessive noise results in this blade,” I tapped the point against her breastbone, “being driven through to the mattress. Blue stars, ashes, poof, no Sandrine. Okay?” She nodded once, grimacing. “Second issue. Do you know what you are going to tell me tonight?” I cocked my head, listening.

             
“No, I do not. I hope you will explain what you wish to hear.” She seemed unsettled, even a bit fearful. That was a new and unusual sensation for her, I was certain.

             
“I want to find Elizabeth. I want her with no misdirection. No warnings. No tripwires, verbal or otherwise, that will alert her in any way. You will tell me, beginning this instant, or you will live much longer than you ever thought possible. While dissolving. You see, my friends and I are compulsive researchers. We love facts. Information is power, as I am sure you know. And the fact that I find most relevant now is that you will find this,” I waved a small plastic bag, filled with white powder, “is going to prove very persuasive, should you choose to be less than forthcoming.”

             
Even restrained and with a fractured skull, she managed a derisive laugh. “Heroin? Or something else? Do you seriously think that flooding my body with narcotics will do anything other than anger me further, let alone debilitate me? My metabolism will shrug that off without hesitation. Please, allow me to assist you.”

She opened her mouth wide. Her tongue was very pink and narrow. I halted my hand from moving too close, unsure about
the range of her stinger hidden underneath that curving palate.

“I wouldn’t d
o that if I were you. Boric acid is quite fatal to your kind. A common insect killer, easy to find, and easy to administer. The death is rather slow, and doubtless, painful. So, your vaunted metabolism will heal you, only to be overwhelmed by the next round I administer to you, which you will, of course recover from. Somewhat. And the beat goes on. You see? Unending pain. Continual living death and renewal until I tire of your presence or run out of poison. Neither of which will happen quickly, Sandrine.”

As I spoke, she closed
her mouth, her face paling from my gravid tone.

             
“So, first things first. Tell me about yourself. From the beginning. And leave nothing hidden. Begin.”  I tapped the knife handle in her skull fracture. She hissed and stiffened. But then, she began to speak.

             
“I was born the bastard of a defrocked bishop who backed the wrong Papal court. After Avignon surrendered the seat of Catholicism in 1377, my father was another castoff who had lived a life without concern, suckling at the teat of the Mother Church in repugnant glory.”

She
ignored my expression of shock at her age. She was far, far older than I had known. It presented an unusual opportunity for me to gain insight into the immortals and their culture if she kept talking. I chose silence, inviting her to fill the void.

“Rome inexorably wrested control of the Papal throne fro
m France, and I was young, born without title, and had precious little chance of marrying anyone substantive. At best, my father hoped for me to wed another by-blow and remove myself from his demesnes, which edged closer to penury with each passing year.”