Tales of the Otherworld (6 page)

“It goes above and beyond your contract with her,” he said.

“I know. She said it’d be a separate job. Paid employment.”

“Good. And the job itself?”

“I don’t know enough about Dhamphir yet to agree. It sounds easy. The Granvilles aren’t what you’d call a force to be reckoned with, which makes me wonder why someone hasn’t wrested control from them yet. I’m guessing there’s more to it.”

“You’d be guessing right. The Granvilles are backed by another investor. You’d have to dig hard to find it, though. The Cortez Corporation.”

“Ah. That makes sense, then. If the Cortez Cabal is bankrolling Dhamphir, I don’t want anything to do with—”

Nast’s pager beeped. He checked the message and got up so fast, I jumped.

“I need to take this,” he said, and strode into the bedroom.

I helped myself to the room service he’d ordered and tried not to eavesdrop on his conversation.

When he came out, he headed straight for his coat.

“I’ll be missing my lesson today,” he said. “The payment is yours, of course.”

“We can reschedule for tomorrow. I’m free.”

“I’m heading home immediately. One of my sons was in an accident.”

“Shit. Is he okay?” I grabbed his briefcase for him as he looked around, distracted. “No, I guess that’s a dumb question if you’re blowing off the meeting to get back there.”

“No, it’s not— He had a game this afternoon and was hit in the head with a baseball. A possible concussion, but nothing serious. I just…I should be there.”

He started for the door, then stopped. “My car. I need to page—”

“A taxi will be faster. I’ll call one. You head down.”

He nodded, got halfway out the door, then glanced back. “Thank you, Eve.”

“Go.” I shooed him out and went for the phone.

In all the time I’d been training Kristof Nast, I’d never stopped seeing him as a Cabal sorcerer. He was a means to an end, nothing more. But when he tore out that door to fly to his son’s side, he became something more. He became a person, maybe even someone I wanted to know better.

Nast called me the next day to reschedule. His son was fine. Just a bad headache.

“Do you remember the brew for that?” I said. “We went over it last month, or I could send you some.”

“I’d appreciate it. I don’t think I’ll get a chance to pick up the ingredients. You can courier it to the L.A. office.”

“I’ll put Lavina’s name on it as the return address. Will that work?”

“Yes, thank you. As for our next lesson, I’ll be in town next week for that meeting I missed.”

He gave me the details and asked if that would work. I said it would. As he was about to hang up, I said, “Kristof?”

“Hmm?”

“About your sons. That’s why you want the healing and protection magic, isn’t it? For them.”

I swore the line frosted in the silence that followed.

“I’m not prying,” I said. “I’m only asking because there are other spells I can teach you. Other potions, too. Specifically for children, childhood illnesses and whatnot. Some of the others might be a little strong. If that’s why you want them, we should discuss that.”

“It is.”

“Good. I’ll go make a batch of headache brew and send it out.”

A week later I was kicking back in a hotel suite, eating sandwiches and eyeing the bottle of Perrier with suspicion. I knew it was the fashionable thing, but I really didn’t get the point of bottling water. Give me a Coke any day. And none of that new Diet Coke either. I like my sugar straight.

It was 7:05 when Nast rapped on the door. I had to double-check the clock. He was never late—not even by a minute. When he came in, I could see why.

“Is your son okay?” I asked, standing.

“Hmm?” He took a second to focus on me, those bright blue eyes bleary. He ran his hand over his face and straightened, pulling himself together. “Yes, thank you. He’s fine.”

“You look like you got hit by the El train,” I said.

He glanced up, giving me something that could have been a small, tired smile. Very small. Very tired.

“Rough day, huh?”

“Hmm.”

“Come in and sit before you fall over. And no, I won’t ask what’s wrong. I know the rules. No personal stuff.”

“Is that a rule? If so, I don’t believe I set it.”

“You don’t need to. The Keep Out sign can’t be missed. Neon letters, ten feet tall and flashing. I’m pretty sure I heard sirens, too.”

“Oh.” He gave me an odd look, then said, “Yes, I suppose so.”

He moved into the living room.

“You look like you could use home cooking,” I said. “Can’t help you there, but I’m handy with a room service menu.”

He hesitated, and looked ready to tell me not to bother, then nodded, “Soup if they have it. And Scotch. A double. Single malt.” Another hesitation. “Unless you’d prefer I didn’t drink before a lesson.”

“Something tells me you don’t make a wild drunk. A double single malt Scotch it is.”

“Get something for yourself, too.”

I grinned. “I intend to.”

Nast wasn’t in any rush to start his lesson. He wanted to talk about my dilemma with Lavina and Dhamphir…or, I’m sure, wanted to listen to me talk about it, so he could rest. I explained that I’d dug up the evidence I needed to support the Cabal link and presented it to Lavina, who’d brushed it off. When the food came, he downed his Scotch in one gulp, with a shudder that said it wasn’t his usual drinking style.

He picked at his soup, stirring it more than eating it, not saying a word until, gaze still on his bowl, he said, “My father didn’t appreciate me jetting home last week. It was an important meeting and …” A one-shouldered shrug. “A bump on the head is hardly life-threatening.”

“It could be,” I said. “I’m sure your son was happy to have you there.”

“His name’s Sean. He’s seven.”

“Then he definitely would have wanted his dad there. You did the right thing. Not that you need me to tell you that, of course. I’m just saying—”

“I know. My father was fine with it last week. Groused a little, saying that’s what nannies are for, but that was all. Then today, he found out one of the companies he acquired is losing money, so I got an hour-long telephone tirade about my lack of responsibility last week.”

“Did you have anything to do with buying the company?”

“I advised against it. My father overruled me. But
that
had nothing to do with me going home last week. He was angry about the loss and wanted to vent, so suddenly he decided I’d been irresponsible last week, giving him a target.” He leaned back on the sofa. “That’s par for the course with my father. He’s not an easy man to get along with. I didn’t particularly need that tirade in the middle of the day, when I was already running behind, and I’d barely hung up when my youngest called. He got a birthday card from his mother today.”

“Oh. That’s good. Isn’t it?”

“His birthday was last month.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.
Then she’s a stupid bitch
came to mind, but it didn’t seem to be an appropriate response.

Nast was obviously trying to open up to me—hence the quickly downed Scotch—and I wanted to say something. But what? Rumor had it that his wife had been the one to leave. Had he fought it? Did he want her back? None of my business, but not having a clue about the situation meant I couldn’t respond to this without risk of jamming my foot in my mouth and shutting his for good.

So I said, “Oh,” and sat there, like an idiot.

“Bryce—that’s my younger son—wasn’t even two when she left,” he went on. “Everyone said that was good, that he’d be too young to remember her, and that Sean was the one I had to worry about. But it’s the opposite. Sean’s fine with it. They weren’t close, as odd as that may sound. She seemed like she’d make a good mother. That was important. But I suppose she
knew
it was important—part of the deal—so she played her role until the kids actually arrived. Anyway, Sean got over her leaving. Bryce hasn’t. There’s really no substitute for a mother.”

“If you’re blowing off important meetings for them, then I’d say you’re doing a damn good job of substituting.”

His nose wrinkled, sloughing off the reassurance. That wasn’t what he wanted. What did he want? Just someone to talk to, I think.

“I’m going to take Bryce out when I get home. Just the two of us. Overcompensating, but …” He shrugged. “It might help.”

“It will.”

He moved his now-cold soup aside. “We were going to talk about tailoring the spells and potions to children.”

“Right. I brought a couple of books. Let me grab them.”

Things changed after that. Kristof relaxed enough for me to start thinking of him
as
Kristof, not just calling him that to his face.

The key to getting him to relax, not surprisingly, was his kids. And that was the key to getting me to see him differently, too. The more he talked about his sons, the more respect I had for him. It was like seeing a mythical being come to life—a real parent, the kind I’d heard existed, but never met. Certainly never had myself.

When he came for his lessons, I’d ask about his boys, and he’d talk about them for a few minutes before we got down to work.

I guess a guy like Kristof Nast had learned not to let his guard down. The world has to see him as a cold, cutthroat corporate leader, not a single dad juggling play dates and baseball games. I was a safe outlet for that—someone who wouldn’t think less of him if he had to interrupt our lesson to call home and see how his son did on his math test. Someone who was too low on the totem pole to ever use that weakness against him.

So he relaxed. Nothing drastic. The tie came off, the collar was unbuttoned, there was a little more conversation. The occasional smile. Even, once or twice, a laugh.

A couple of months later, as fall was setting in, I was the one calling him to reschedule a lesson. I was running an errand for Lavina—a courier job that had gone sour. I’d avoided an ambush by the client, who’d decided he didn’t want to pay for the goods and brought along two buddies to support his point of view. When I called Lavina, though, she wanted me to trade in my messenger cap for a pair of brass knuckles.

“Teach him not to mess with me, Eve. Then bring back my scroll and the payment.”

“Sure. I’ll do that tomorrow, when he’s lowered his guard…and gotten rid of his guards.”

“No, you’ll do it now.”

I’d argued. I’d warned her that I thought this new client was trouble. And I was annoyed that in spite of my warnings, she seemed to be pushing ahead with the Dhamphir project, and not happy that I refused to help out. Besides, though I didn’t say it, I had a more pressing—and better paying—engagement that evening, with Kristof.

When I balked, she threatened. So I did my best. By the time I had payment in hand, though, it was six thirty. I still needed to take the goods to Lavina, go home, and clean up.

I explained to Kristof. He said he’d be at the hotel. I could come by if I felt up to it, or skip it if I was too tired. I promised to be there by eight.

I walked in to the smell of spaghetti. A pot of sauce was bubbling on a hot plate. Kristof was in the living room, reading a business magazine. He walked into the kitchen behind me.

“I thought you could use dinner,” he said.

“Where’d you pick this stuff up?” I asked.

“The grocery store.”

When I turned to gape, he arched his brows. “I have children. The ability to cook isn’t an option.”

I could point out that, for him, it
was
an option—one that came with being rich enough to hire chefs. I could also point out that, from what I’d heard about his wife, she wouldn’t have exactly been baking cookies for the kiddies either. It wouldn’t matter. To him, being a proper parent meant knowing how to cook.

“I’ll get the pasta going,” he said. “Go sit down. Get something from the minibar.”

I grabbed a beer and went to sit. There was nothing to read, so I picked up his magazine, which looked about as interesting as a dishwasher manual. When I picked it up, though, something fell out.

“
MAD
magazine?” I said as I walked back into the kitchen, waving it. “Are you planning to take over the company? Doing your background research?”

“It’s for my sons.”

“The seven-year-old? Or the four-year-old?”

“They’re very advanced for their ages.” He fixed me with that cool look he did so well. “I hope you aren’t suggesting that
I
was reading it.”

“And I hope, by stuffing it in
Fortune
, you aren’t suggesting that I’d give a rat’s ass
what
you’re reading.”

“True. Habit, I suppose.” He took the lid off a pot of boiling water. “Spaghetti or linguini?”

“
Do you think I’d know the difference?”

“Linguini, then. Not appropriate with the sauce, but I prefer it.”

I stayed in the kitchenette, watching him cook and drinking my beer.

“So, are you going to talk to me about what happened today with Lavina?” he said after a minute. “This isn’t the first time she’s done this.”

“She’s punishing me for not helping her with Dhamphir. She said she was fine with my decision, but then she keeps pulling this shit.” I took a long draw on the beer. “I think the way she’s doing it bugs me more than what she’s doing. It’s sneaky. Underhanded.”