Wuthering Frights (16 page)

"Such as?"

He sighed as he thought about it, his frown slowly giving way to a smile as he apparently remembered a case in point. "To tell me a joke," he said and shook his head, the humor leaking out of his expression while something close to irritation crept in. "He summoned me once to tell me a stupid ass joke that I already knew." Then he laughed again, but the sound was forced, like he was pretending to find it funny, while there wasn't a shred of true amusement in him.

Somehow, I couldn't share in Quillan's feigned humor. I didn't regard my father's actions and his personality flaw of ordering people around very funny. Disrespectful, unnecessary and self-centered, yes, but funny, no. I stopped walking and took a deep breath. Quill paused in front of me and turned around to face me with a curious expression in his eyes.

"I'm not going to do this forever, Quill," I said, my lips tight. "I'm not going to let him dictate my comings and goings for the rest of my life."

Quill was quiet for a few seconds as he apparently searched for something to say. "Once you're in, there's no getting out, Dulcie." He said the words as if he were already resigned to them, and almost as though he believed them wholeheartedly. The truth of the matter was that he probably did because he'd been involved in this lifestyle for so long, any embers of fight left within him had died a long time ago.

I will never allow that to happen to me,
I insisted to myself.
As long as there is breath is my body, I will fight or die trying!

"There's a way out of everything," I said resolutely. "And I'm going to find it."

"Dulcie, I hate to break your bubble, but you're already in the thick of it. There's no getting out."

I shook my head and clenched my teeth as I faced him with steel resolve. "I'm in it for the moment, but this arrangement isn't permanent. I'll find a way out."

He approached me then, placing a hand on either of my shoulders, the look in his eyes patronizing. "Your father is more powerful than you can imagine. You can't just go after him with your guns blazing. All you'll end up doing is sacrificing yourself and Melchior would just replace you."

I didn't say anything but nodded, knowing Quill had been brainwashed by my father for too long, his backbone having been compromised. But as for me, I wasn't used to taking no for answer and as long as there was breath in my body, I'd get myself out of this shit if it was the last thing I did.

And from the sound of it, it very well could be.

###

Once we located the portal, Quill stepped through and within a few seconds, I was quick to follow. That bizarre feeling of balmy gel enveloped me but before I could respond to my growing feelings of claustrophobia, I felt a swish of air across my face and then felt like I was falling. I opened my eyes, realizing in a split second that the portal had kicked me out and into my father's office ... at ceiling height.

I shrieked and in apparent reflex, my wings suddenly started beating insanely, just saving me from hitting the floor. But now that I was airborne, I had a new problem—landing. I still couldn't exactly control my wings. Once they started beating, it was nearly impossible to get them to stop.

Quillan, apparently observing my quandary, reached out and grabbed hold of my leg, pulling me down beside him. Once my feet touched the ground, my wings continued to frantically thrash back and forth. I had to hold onto
Quill's arm so I wouldn't float away again. Suddenly realizing we weren't alone, I looked up into Melchior's amused eyes. Taking a deep breath, I forced my poker face.

"The portals do have a way of depositing unsuspecting travelers in quite random places, such as the ceiling." My father's voice infiltrated the room and I felt myself recoiling.

I cleared my throat as my heart pounded in my chest. He looked the same as I remembered. His grey hair framed a very handsome face for a man of his age—appearing to be in his fifties although he was over one hundred, a fact which still amazed me. His emerald green eyes were the exact shade of my own, so similar, in fact, that I had to ask myself how I'd never made the familial connection between the two of us when I'd first met him.

"Quillan Beaurigard and my very own flesh and blood," my father greeted us as he took a few steps forward. His eyes fastened on me as his smile grew. "How are you both?"

"I've been better," I said with a frown, anchoring myself more firmly to the chair behind Quillan, my wings still beating incessantly.

My father had nothing to say, but never lost his irritating smile. Instead, he faced Quillan with an expectant expression. "And you, Quillan?"

"I'm good, thanks," Quill said, taking a deep breath, and eyeing me before looking at Melchior again. He seemed nervous. "To what do we owe this honor?"

Melchior nodded and walked around his executive desk, an ornate and overwhelming piece of cherry furniture, embellished with gold accents that matched the hutch directly behind it. In a word, it looked ... expensive. It also looked incredibly ostentatious and overdone. Melchior opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a black box. Then he walked back to us and handed the box to me.

"A present for my daughter," he said simply.

But there was no way in hell I could or would accept anything from him. "Gifts weren't part of this bargain," I said without humor.

"Then don't think of it as a gift," my father answered, his lips drawn tight as he pushed the box further into my face.

I withdrew from him, clinging to the chair which was anchoring me in place. "How about I don't think of it at all?"

My father sighed and gave Quillan an expression that said, if nothing else, he found me exasperating. Then he faced me again and this time, there wasn't any trace of levity in his eyes or the hard line of his lips. "You will need it," he said simply. "It's a portal compass."

Realizing he was right, I took a big bite of humble pie and reached for the box. I mean, he had a good point—I couldn't always rely on Quillan when it came to catching a ride to the Netherworld. As my wings began to calm down, I released my hold of the chair back and stood still for a few seconds, testing myself to see if I might become airborne again. Once my wings appeared to be sitting peacefully, I opened the box. Inside, I found a silver watch, a Rolex, complete with diamonds to represent each hour. Smaller diamonds trimmed the periphery, highlighting the pink watch face. Obviously, my father knew nothing about me—I hate pink.

"Quillan will teach you how it works," Melchior said as Quillan obediently nodded.

Sighing heavily, I pulled up my sleeve and immediately saw Sam's Viking bracelet. A sense of warmth filled me as I thought about my best friend. Not wanting to taint the beauty of her bracelet with the gaudiness of Melchior's watch, I pulled my sleeve down and offered my other wrist, allowing Quillan to fasten the watch on me.

I glanced at Melchior, my lips tight, my hands crossed against my chest. "Now that we've taken care of that, Quill mentioned that I shouldn't be driving my ANC provided bike—that it would be too obvious should it be spotted while I'm in your employ."

Melchior nodded thoughtfully and then smiled. "I have a fleet of vehicles at my disposal on the basement level of this building. My secretary will call the guard to inform him that
you are in need of one
." He paused as if considering the logistics before adding, "It will be shipped to you."

I turned to Quill, expecting him to get this show on the road. As far as I was concerned, I'd just ticked off everything on my list.

"How did the
Yalkemouth
import go with Baron?" my father asked, spearing us both with his trenchant gaze.

I didn't respond, so Quill nodded. "Good, just as planned."

"Very good, very good," my father said, but suddenly seemed uninterested, like there were bigger things on his mind. I figured he had to have known the import went off without a hitch, probably getting the report from Baron, himself. "Horatio arrived in High Prison just yesterday," he continued.

"And?" Quill asked.

"He is living the high life in one of my apartments for the next three weeks at least. Then I will release him back to Splendor."

"Beats High Prison," I said angrily, remembering what a shithole it was and how I'd worried Knight and I would never get out.

"That it does," my father agreed, seemingly not sensing the acidity in my words or, more fittingly, not caring.

"Okay, so let's cut through the crap here," I said, my temper finally getting the best of me. "Why did you call us here?"

My father faced me and frowned. "You will not speak to me in such a way ... I am the Head of the Netherworld and you will treat me with deference and respect."

"I don't care who you are," I began as my fingers dug into my palms and my hands balled into fists. "I agreed to do your bidding, but that's it. As far as I'm concerned, you are a piece of ..."

"Dulcie!" Quillan silenced me, grimacing with a knitted brow meant to discourage me from further speaking my mind.

"Do not forget, girl," my father interrupted him, turning his fuming eyes on me, as well as his long and bony index finger, "that I can end the life of your friend with merely a phone call," he finished, referring to Knight. "If you care for him as much as you appear to, you would do well to keep that in the forefront of your mind."

I gulped and tried to take a cleansing breath, realizing my father had bested me ... again. Yep, he had me exactly where he wanted me; and it was the second to worst feeling I'd ever had. The worst feeling was hearing that Knight was sentenced to death.

"Now that we've addressed your quarrelsome nature," my father continued and with a discouraging glance at me, returned his attention to Quillan, adding, "I would like to discuss my reasons for requesting your presence." I said nothing while Quill merely nodded and smiled at my father, so he continued. "First, I would like you both to meet someone."

Melchior walked back to his desk and turned the dial of the rotary phone. Immediately, the sound of ringing blared out over the speaker phone (the logistics of which I still hadn't figured out).

"Yessir?" A woman's voice picked up. Probably Melchior's assistant, if I had to guess.

"Please send Christina in," my father responded, lifting the handset, only to replace it again at the sound of a dial tone. None of us said anything for the next five seconds as we awaited Melchior's guest.

There was a knock on the door. "Enter," Melchior called out.

The door opened and a woman walked in. She passed by both Quillan and me as she approached Melchior. She offered him a smile and extended her hand which he instantly clasped in his own, kissing the top of hers. I could only wonder at the nature of their relationship. Melchior admired this woman—I could see as much in his eyes, but as to what his admiration meant, who knew? Either way, I'd find out—the information seemed like a necessary arrow to have in my quiver.

"Melchior, it is good to see you again," she said with a slight New York accent. She was small in height (even shorter than my five foot one) and her frame, though also petite, was very toned. She was dressed well, wearing tailored, black dress pants with a matching black, unbuttoned blazer. Beneath the blazer peeked a purple tank top. But what really captured my attention were her shoes … They were white snakeskin, peep-toed heels with metal spikes on the heels, which had to be at least four inches high. I suddenly viewed my own ensemble of leather pants, black sneakers and faded, ripped, long-sleeved T-shirt with disinterest.

I watched her make small talk with my father as I admired her incredibly long, straight dark brown hair that ended at her butt. And speaking of butts, hers was pretty nice. Um, not that I was into checking out women's
butts
, but sometimes you can't help but appreciate a good one. And she had a good one.

"Christina, I would like you to meet two of my colleagues," my father said. He faced us both as I felt like choking on his description of us as "colleagues." "Minion" would've been more fitting, or in Quillan’s case, "groveling, ass-kissing puppet."

The woman spun around and smiled at us both, her front side just as attractive as the back. Quillan had apparently come to the same realization as his eyes raked her up and down wolfishly. She offered him her hand and smiled politely as he shook it. Then she approached me and offered her hand again with another practiced and radiant smile. As soon as I shook her hand, I felt a sense of familiarity welling up within me. She had a certain power within her that spoke to the same power within me.