Division Zero: Thrall (52 page)

irsten paced back and forth in the ground-floor lobby of her apartment building. Being at home on a Wednesday, earlier than sundown, lent a bitter edge to the flutter of worry bouncing around her stomach. It exacerbated the
wrongness
of her feelings; as if some force lifted her out of the real world and planted her in a reality that looked and felt in every way the same―except for a series of tiny flaws which escaped conscious notice, but agitated her subconscious mind into believing something was wrong.

Something
was
wrong.

However, no matter how much she studied the data dump from the gnome, it still circled back to the unbelievable. She stared down the length of her shimmering, sapphire-blue gown, feeling self-conscious about the milky white of her legs. Thin straps held silver high heels to her feet. They made her think of Armando/Brian/Douchebag. That was the last time she wore them.
Why am I wearing these damn things? This isn’t a date, it’s an investigation.
Her stomach churned.
He’ll know something’s wrong. Ugh, I’m going to blow chunder all over him.
Thinking of vomiting made her think of a worried Sam dabbing at her face after she decorated his desk. That brought on another twinge of pain, a dagger in her stomach.

She walked to the glass, staring at the street while clinging to the E-90 through her purse under her left arm. A dull, silvery rectangle sixteen inches end to end, she should be able to get the weapon out in a hurry―and it went with her shoes.

A black limo came in for a landing outside, tossing debris and dust in all directions as the ion drives surged to arrest the effect of gravity. She put on the best smile she could muster. Her gait wobbled, Partly from her continued hatred of high heels, but the rest came from feeling like she had been hung from the ceiling and used as a punching bag.

She made it to the car without tripping, close to fainting when Konstantin appeared out of thin air, opening the door for her.
Hologram… Just a f―hologram.

“This was a pleasant surprise, Lyubimaya.” The false image pantomimed shutting the door for her after she gathered the gown around her legs and got in. He appeared at her side. “I am just finishing up a business meeting. We should arrive at the restaurant close to the same time.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” she said, through a Cheshire smile.

He bowed and faded away. She spent the remainder of a fifteen minute ride in silence, concentrating on unwinding the knots in her gut. Barfing all over Sam’s desk was embarrassing enough, but if she did that here with Konstantin, she would never want to go outside again.

As good as his word, Konstantin emerged from the gold-rimmed doors of The Five Corners. Another place where normal people had to wait three months for a table; normal, that was, in the sense of merely being wealthy―as opposed to Konstantin.

As soon as she saw him, the nausea faded. She ran to his side. The closer she got, the better she felt. By the time they settled into a table in the shadow of an enormous ice swan, she shivered with giddiness. Holographic wings around the sculpture moved up and down in time with distant violin music emanating from everywhere. Terraces lined the sides of the dining hall, each of five floors themed to a different geographical motif. Yellow and cream, the vault ceiling made her feel as though she were inside an immense lemon meringue pie. They sat amid a winterscape with staff dressed in white and blue, bedecked with sparkling crystal sequins. Bright azure holograms zipped here and there, snow faeries or fireflies. Above them was Ancient Rome, with waiters dressed in period garb. The third floor contained an amazing collection of African artwork and colorful dashiki-clad waiters. She leaned half out of her chair to peer over the edge of the fourth floor, catching glimpses of Chinese décor.

Konstantin chuckled at the girl-in-wonderland face. “This place is quite astounding, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. What’s on the top floor?”

“Pompeii, I think. Mostly Italian cuisine. It might be Mediterranean though; they change the themes every few months.”

A beep from her purse distracted her. The past twenty minutes, long enough for their appetizer to come out, had gone by in a blur of small talk. Her NetMini flashed an incoming text from Nila: “Evan in panic mode, be careful.” She tucked the device past the pistol, sliding her hand on the grip for confidence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Lyubimaya.” He gestured with an empty glass at a nearby waitress with long white hair, bedecked in diamond snowflakes and swan makeup.

“Do you know anything about some company named Koloss… It owns Kukla Investment Corporation. That’s where Yevgeniy works, isn’t it?”

“Koloss… I can’t say I’ve heard the name.” He smiled at the ice-princess, thanking her for the refilled drink. “Should I?”

Soft, rubberized handgrips squished between her fingers. Her finger flicked at the trigger. “It turns out you own it. I think…” Dizziness swam over her brain, splitting her silverware into three copies, a mesmerizing dance that held her gaze for a few seconds before they faded back together. “I think… Yevgeniy is trying to hurt you. He’s calling demons, isn’t he? You know it. That’s why you studied ancient Sumerian stuff.” Her hand came out of the purse, off the E-90, and clasped the edge of the table. “You’ve been sending money to treasure hunters in Egypt. You’ve been searching for old books, maybe something that can protect you.”

Konstantin glanced at her with an unreadable face for a moment before the slightest trace of a smile curled his lip. He took a sip of his drink, straight genuine vodka, and set the glass down. “I am impressed, Kirsten. I did not think your people would give serious credence to the existence of such creatures. Yevgeniy thinks he is a threat.” He waved her off. “In truth, he is but a nuisance. I have learned enough mysticism in my years to keep his efforts at worst annoying and at best amusing. His desperation will reach the point where he calls on something he cannot control. Then”―Konstantin seized a stuffed mushroom from the plate and held it up, staring over it― “then, they will devour him.”

Chomp
.

Despite it being only a mushroom that died, Kirsten felt a chill run down her bare back. Within a few seconds, his mirth caught on and she grinned. Amid the arrival of the main course―fish for her, pelmeni for him―their conversation wandered far away from anything to do with demons, about-to-be-executed commissioners, or finance. By the time he walked her to the limo, she found herself wrapped around his arm. She had managed to limit herself to one glass of white wine, albeit a large one.
Am I drunk? Why do I feel like I’m going to fall over if I let go?

“Mmm,” she cooed. “I’m so happy right now, I feel like nothing matters but being with you.”

“Lyubimaya, you can free yourself from such unhealthy stress. As my wife, you would not need to work. You could spend your days with your boy, and your nights with me. You could sleep the sleep of angels, free of worry.”

Kirsten closed her eyes.

“Alas, I fear you are quite dedicated. I would invite you to my home, but I expect your work calls you.”

She bit her lower lip, pulling herself up by the grip she had on his arm. “I want to go with you.”

“You know not how long I have waited to hear those words leave your lips.” He brushed his cheek across hers; a gossamer kiss on her mouth.

He held her hand as they climbed the steps of his manor house. White walls shifted with shadows cast by imitation firelight from numerous holographic lanterns. Kirsten shivered, gathering her coat close to her back as a shield against the wind. The estate, east of the northern edge of West City, had open grounds free of the burden of city plates. Trees, streams, and several constructed ponds dotted the landscape.

“This is so beautiful. The only times I’ve seen real ground, it’s been desert or covered by city.”

“Nature has created many things of wondrous beauty, Kirsten. Far from the least of which I find on my arm at this moment.”

A rush of warmth ran to her face and she found her legs unsteady. Konstantin drank in her adoring stare for a moment before ushering her through the door. Inside, the warm air of a cavernous foyer banished the cold northern wind. A man in a dark suit approached without speaking, taking both their coats.

Led by the hand, Kirsten followed him up a long, curved staircase to a second-floor hall. The extravagance lifted her out of the real world. She slid into the fantasy of a princess in her castle, her doe-eyed gaze unable to believe the paintings, statues, polished rosewood floors, and carpets that passed her on both sides. He stopped at an archway. A fireplace waited at the far end of a room full of medieval weapons; several sets of armor arranged on pedestals.

“Would you care for some hot cider by the fire, perhaps cognac?”

Kirsten leaned into him, palms flat on his chest. Hand over his heart, she listened for several beats while staring into the distant hearth. She caressed him, once again startled by the firm, statuesque muscles beneath his shirt. Feelings of safety enveloped her with his arms. After a moment of quiet, she leaned up and kissed him.

“I want you to be my first,” she whispered, shrinking down off her toes to cling to him again.

He swept her into his arms and carried her. She folded her hands to her heart; paintings, candles, and little statues drifted by. Another stairway took them up to the third floor; she floated in a haze of contentment. He shifted sideways to swing her through a set of double oak doors engraved with squares reminiscent of the main gate of a castle. The room was larger than her entire apartment. Konstantin set her on the edge of a great canopy bed with a carved cherry wood headboard in the image of a pair of entwined Chinese dragons.

She pushed her hands into the burgundy silk, astounded. “A cloth mattress?”

The smile he gave her said ‘of course.’ An expression she once thought contemptible and arrogant. Her heels slipped out of her shoes before she stood and shrugged a shoulder out of the gown. Shimmering azure cloth fell away in a second, gathering around her bare feet. Not a synapse was wasted toward embarrassment at a man seeing her in only black silk panties and a gold bracelet. She
wanted
him like she wanted nothing ever in her life.

Konstantin stepped to her, hand behind her head as he tilted her into a long kiss. She swayed, arms lax, surrendering her body to wherever he moved it. The smooth silk of his shirt brushed her nipples and stomach. She inhaled his scent; their kiss paused long enough for him to gaze into her eyes. He tilted her to the other side, leaning until she slid onto the bed. He sat up, coarse worker’s hands touching her pale, silken skin, sliding around her breasts and pausing just above her hips. He twirled a finger through the band of her panties, lifting an eyebrow in question.

Kirsten could not believe she was with this man. With the pick of any woman in the world―he wanted
her
. She reached her arms over her head, managing a quick nod before closing her eyes. A weak gasp escaped her lips as the elastic slipped over her hips and cool air brushed her intimates. Silk glided down her thighs. Kirsten pulled one leg free, shuddering as he used both hands to guide the material all the way down her left leg. He released her foot, and she slid farther into the plush bedclothes, waiting for his touch.