Chapter 9
Nell
Sabina stares at the paper with Cherie's phone number like it's the most precious thing she's seen. She tucks it in the back pocket of her pants and draws on her lips a smile that makes her look like an idiot.
As far as I'm concerned, she can go to hell. The complete moron acts like she can barely stand being in the same room as me. But with my friend it's all smiles and nervously tucking strands of hair behind her ear like she's a teenager.
“Looks like you hit it off pretty well with that Cherie, huh?” Althea comments, positioning herself next to the siren.
Sabina just shrugs and smiles. She's so stupid she's even forgotten how to talk.
I narrow my eyes and turn toward the window so they can't see my angry face. My blood boils. What the hell is wrong with the siren? A little while ago she seemed worried about me, even affectionate in her strange way. Now, she treats me like I'm just an annoyance.
I don't even know why it affects me. It shouldn't matter. I barely know these three. More than my friends, they're my jailers, at least my forced companions, my... whatever. When this job for Kaelisar is over, I won't see them again.
But it matters to me.
It matters too much.
The air vibrates around me. The curtains stir slightly, in an almost imperceptible way, but they do, though I think only Sylara is noticing that this movement is caused by my mood.
“How about we order Chinese food?” the elf asks, and I think she's proposing it just to make me forget about Sabina. “We need to eat something while we plan how to steal that damn arrow.”
The Kobold sits next to me, presses her leg against mine, and her body heat radiates like a small portable heater. It's nice, I suppose. Comforting, opposite to Sabina's coldness.
“What do you feel like eating? Do you like spring rolls?”
“I like everything, order whatever you want,” I respond, perhaps more abruptly than necessary.
Half an hour later, their dining room fills with boxes of Chinese food that Sylara arranges in an orderly manner to share among the four of us. Sabina sits as far from me as she could, surely to keep thinking about Cherie.
“According to what I've been able to find out, Voronov is organizing a party in three nights,” the elf explains as she stirs her seaweed soup with chopsticks. “It's our best opportunity to get in.”
“A party?” I repeat with my mouth full of noodles. “And how are we supposed to get in? Do they also ask for masseuses for their parties? Because I doubt he sends invitations to thieves and magical creatures, right?”
Sylara smiles, that serene and enigmatic smile that never quite reaches her eyes. She stays completely still while talking, so still she looks like a statue. It's unsettling, but also hypnotic.
“I have certain... abilities with computer systems,” she explains as she traces patterns on the table with her long, elegant fingers.
“All four of us will appear on the guest list with false identities.
You'll be Caroline Spencer, heiress to an oil fortune from Texas.
Althea will be your bodyguard. I'll be a diplomat from a small country in Eastern Europe.”
“And the siren? If we bring her in a fishbowl, she could be our pet,” I mock.
“I'll be the wife of a Russian oligarch who had to stay in Moscow for business,” she responds. “I speak their language perfectly, and Russians tend to trust other Russians more.”
“There's one small problem,” Althea interrupts. “Voronov saw Nell's face during the massage. He'll recognize her.”
It's true. As soon as Voronov sees me, the whole plan will go to shit.
“Makeup,” Sylara suggests. “And a wig. I'd already thought of it. I can create an illusion that slightly alters her features, but it takes energy to maintain it. The simplest thing would be a radical look change.”
“Will that be enough?” Sabina, who for the first time since we returned from the mansion, seems worried about me again, asks. Or maybe it's that if they catch me, they catch all of them.
“I hope he doesn't remember what happened with... you know... his lungs running out of air,” I sigh.
Sylara kneels in front of me and places her hand over mine. Her touch is cool, smells like tree bark in spring.
“Don't worry about that. The sedative mixed with lack of oxygen should have created gaps in his memory,” she reassures me. “Probably, he'll vaguely remember a masseuse, but not the details.”
“Yeah, okay. And if he recognizes me?” I insist. “Because that man is a fucking monster.”
“We won't let him touch you,” Althea growls, and her body temperature seems to rise a couple of degrees.
I just nod my head. I like the idea of having nearby a woman who can control fire and is willing to turn anyone who tries to hurt me into ashes. Even so, I'm not attracted at all to the idea of entering that mansion again.
While I try all the dishes they've ordered, they keep discussing the plan.
For an elf from another realm, Sylara has surprisingly detailed knowledge about security systems. Althea contributes strategies in case things get complicated.
Even Sabina, despite her distant attitude, contributes information about the social habits of wealthy Russians.
She constantly drinks small sips from a flask she always has on hand.
I wonder if sirens dehydrate out of water.
“Let me see if I've understood correctly,” I interrupt, drawing an improvised floor plan on a paper napkin that's come out horrible.
“Once inside, Althea and I sneak toward Voronov's bedroom while you two distract the guests.
Cherie explained to me how to open that damn safe, but I'll need at least ten minutes without interruptions.”
“Eight,” Sylara corrects. “We can't risk more. Security makes rounds every fifteen minutes and we need margin to get out without being seen.”
“Eight then,” I concede. “After, we hide the arrow... Where? How big is that thing?”
“In my purse,” Sabina responds. “I can create a small dimensional bag inside. No one will detect it there.”
I try to maintain a professional image and don't even arch my eyebrows, though the idea of creating dimensional bags seems like something out of a movie.
“We meet here an hour later,” the Kobold adds.
“Sounds simple,” I mock. “What could go wrong? We're just going to steal from a mobster who has a well-deserved reputation as a sadist and a small army at his service.”
The three of them look at me with expressions that range between amusement and thinking I'm an idiot. Sabina opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, then regrets it and looks away. That damn distance again.
“Nell,” Sylara whispers, lightly squeezing my knee. “It's very important that you keep studying the book. The control you showed with Voronov was impressive, but also dangerous. You need to master your element consciously, not just by instinct.”
“Yes, Mom,” I respond, rolling my eyes dramatically, though deep down I appreciate her concern.
When it's time for me to leave, Althea walks me to the door while the elf picks up the dinner remains and Sabina locks herself in the bathroom, probably to hydrate, or grow her tail, or whatever sirens do. Maybe to think about Cherie.
“Be careful going home,” the Kobold warns me. “And if you need anything, anything at all, call us. By the way, are you okay?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“Sabina...” she begins, but I interrupt her, raising my hand.
“I don't give a shit what the siren does, okay?” I lie.
Althea sighs.
“It's not what it seems, Nell. Sabina has her reasons to...”
“I don't want to know them,” I cut her off. “As far as I'm concerned, she can go swimming with Cherie if she wants. I don't care.”
Althea tilts her head slightly, as if listening to something I can't hear.
“The air around you says otherwise,” she observes with a wink.
I look around me confused and, indeed, small dust whirlwinds begin to form at my feet.
“Shit,” I mutter. “How do I control this? I can't create something like this every time I get nervous.”
“By studying. The book will help you, if you give it a chance.”
“Okay, okay. I'll read the damn book. Though it still seems much more practical for an old man to show up and explain it to me like in all the movies.”
“Some things must be learned in solitude,” she murmurs. “But we'll be here if you need us,” she adds, before turning on her heels and leaving me alone.
**
Back in my apartment, Colt has fallen asleep on the couch with the TV on. He has sauce on his chin and snores lightly. He reminds me of when we were kids, when we'd sneak to watch horror movies after the caregivers went to sleep.
Carefully, I place a blanket over his shoulders and turn off the TV. I wonder what he'd think of all this: magic, sirens, elves, Fae... Probably, he'd think I've gone crazy. And maybe he'd be mostly right.
Already in my room, I put on a T-shirt that's too big for me and lie on the bed with the heavy book about Air Elementals. I still don't understand anything at all.
“The Breath of the Wind,” I read. “An air elemental doesn't control the element: they collaborate with it. Air is freedom, movement, constant change. To master it, first you must let yourself be carried by it.”
I let out a long blow of desperation. It sounds like one of those philosophical shit things, pure garbage.
I try one of the simplest exercises. I close my eyes, breathe, and focus on the air entering and leaving my lungs. I imagine that each exhalation forms a small whirlwind in front of me.
When I open my eyes again, my heart skips several beats. A few inches from my face, a small sphere of air floats. It's the size of a marble, but it's there, and I created it.
Okay, it might not be practically useful, but still, I created it, and that makes me feel important.
“Fuck,” I mutter through my teeth, extending a finger to touch it.
The sphere dissolves. I try to recreate it, though exhaustion prevents me from concentrating. My eyelids are heavy, and before I know it, I fall asleep with the book open on my lap.
And I dream of endless oceans and green eyes watching me from the depths. I dream of arms surrounding my waist underwater, of parted lips that taste of salt when they kiss me.
I dream of Sabina.