Chapter 42 #12
“I’ll help you. We didn’t have to harvest a lot of flesh, since the transformation of the women impersonating you doesn’t need to last more than a few hours once it begins, but your legs will hurt, and you don’t want to lose your balance and fall.”
Kia pulled back the covers, helped Rachel sit up and ease her legs over the side of the bed.
“You have webbing between your fingers.” Was that a rude thing to say?
“There are truths about the Arcana that can’t be seen in the light of day,” Kia replied. “Does that bother you? You’re going to be living among us for the next year.”
The throbbing in her thighs faded as she looked at Kia’s hands and felt the excitement of learning something new. “Do all the Arcana have webbed fingers?”
“There are many branches on the Arcana’s family tree. My branch has webbed fingers—and an affinity for water.”
“Wow.” It was more a sound made from an exhalation of breath than a deliberate word, but there was so much she hadn’t understood about the Arcana—and now she would have a year to live among them.
Her bladder reminded her that she had more immediate concerns.
Her legs hurt again as soon as she stood up, and she was grateful for Kia’s support as she shuffled to the bathroom to take care of business.
“Why the thick bandages?” she asked once Kia had settled her back in bed.
“We weren’t sure what kind of patient you would be,” Kia said dryly. “Some remove thin bandages in order to see the area where the flesh was harvested. Some ignore the necessity of staying quiet in order for the body to heal. Thicker bandages are a visual cue to rest.”
“Does it work?”
Kia laughed. “Sometimes. I think you’ll be one of the sensible people. Now, would you like some soup?”
19
A fishing trawler that couldn’t be seen by any but the dying or the dead except at dawn and dusk dropped anchor in Destiny Bay. A small boat rowed by two Arcana males pulled up alongside. The men on the trawler hauled up the net that held the remains of three women.
“The Sorcerer King asks that you take these remains and leave them near a place called King’s Hill where humans will find them.”
“I can do that,” the captain of the trawler said. “Any bounty for this favor?”
One of the Arcana males smiled, showing teeth that weren’t yet masked by daylight. “The Ladies Three said there is a possibility of new crew members.”
“Got a couple men here who would like to go but can’t until there is a replacement.”
“Then let’s hope the humans are careless today.”
The captain smiled. “I’ll have my nets ready.”
The two Arcana rowed back to the beach. The captain ordered his men to raise the trawler’s anchor—and as dawn gave way to full day, one of the ghost ships moved up the Fate River, felt but unseen.
20
After an Arcana scout ascertained that Alistair Hampton was not in the apartment building, a driver pulled her shiny black car up to the curb of the riverside eatery where Rachel One and her two companions waited.
The driver didn’t work for the car service the Arcana usually used, but the woman owed the Arcana a favor.
“This shouldn’t take more than an hour, so don’t go too far away,” Rachel One said as she slipped the engagement ring on the third finger of her left hand. “I’ll call you when we’re about to leave the apartment. It’s important to avoid contact with the man who lives there.”
“You’re going to steal from some big shot?” the driver asked as she smoothly maneuvered the car through the morning traffic.
“We’re not stealing. We’re only taking what belongs to the woman who no longer wants to live with him.”
The driver winced. “Fists?”
“And other kinds of harm.”
“Do you know Lucas Frost?”
“We know him.”
“Could you tell him I heard from my brother? He’s settled in a neighborhood in Wyrd and is doing okay now. He’s safe now.”
“I’ll tell him,” Rachel One said.
The driver pulled up in front of the apartment building. “Wait until I open the door for you. The doorman will be watching and will expect it for anyone living in this building.”
They waited for her to open the doors for them.
Then she removed three large empty suitcases from the trunk, set the cases on the sidewalk, and raised the handles.
Pulling the suitcases, the women strode to the door of the apartment building with a confidence that might have echoed what Rachel Nightingale had been like when she’d first moved in with Alistair Hampton.
The man at the security desk looked surprised to see her. “Ms. Nightingale! Mr. Hampton has been concerned about you.”
Rachel One flashed him a smile that looked more feral than sultry, causing him to lean back from the desk. “Needed a little girl time with some friends.”
They continued to the bank of elevators.
“Bibble babble, crotch and fire,” Rachel One said quietly. Nightingale didn’t think the security cameras could pick up sound, but just in case she was wrong, there was no reason to say anything that would be helpful to anyone.
The other women laughed, giving the impression that the girl time was going to continue upstairs.
Once they reached the apartment, the key Nightingale had provided fit into the lock on the door, and the alarm code hadn’t been changed. Excellent.
“Let’s get this done,” Rachel One said when they entered the bedroom and opened the closet and drawers.
She removed a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket.
“We take clothes, toiletries, and anything in a jewelry or trinket box. There are also a couple of favorite books on this list, as well as the laptop Rachel Nightingale used to write her stories.”
“If the man hasn’t already destroyed what she values most,” one of the women said.
“What she values most is her life and freedom, and she’ll have those things,” Rachel One replied.
An hour later, they rode the elevator back down to the lobby. All three of them gave the man at the security desk a sassy smile, making sure the security camera caught their faces, and walked out of the building.
Their driver grunted a bit as she lifted the heavy suitcases, but she was efficient, and they were gone five minutes before Alistair Hampton’s car screeched to a stop in front of the building.
21
At the same time that Rachel One and her companions walked into the apartment building, Rachel Two and Ashley Laxton walked into the bank that held Rachel Nightingale’s primary accounts; Rachel Three and a companion walked into the bank that held the safe deposit box and a savings account; and Rachel Four walked up the steps of the main branch of the King’s Hill public library and took a position next to a standing stone lion.
Rachel Two walked up to the counter, smiled at the cashier, and said, “I want to close all my accounts and transfer the funds to this account.” She pushed the paper with the Nightingale account numbers through the slot in the glass shield, then the paper that contained the information for the Arcana account number.
The cashier’s smile slipped. “All your accounts? Are you sure, Ms. Nightingale?”
“I’m sure,” Rachel Two replied.
“Maybe you should talk to the manager?”
“Why?” Ashley asked. “My client is entitled to do whatever she pleases with her own money.”
The cashier looked at the man quickly approaching the counter.
“Can we help you?” he asked.
“Mr. Danvers,” the cashier said, “Ms. Nightingale would like to close her accounts.”
“Why?” Danvers asked. “Is there a problem? Perhaps we should go into my office and discuss this before you make a final decision.” He paused. “Have you discussed this with Mr. Hampton?”
Rachel Two gave Danvers a cold stare. “There is nothing to discuss. I want to close my accounts—my accounts—and transfer the funds to the account number I have provided. That you think a male companion should have any say with what I do with the money I earn is sufficient reason for me to move my money to another banking institution.”
“I just meant…” Sweat beaded Danvers’s upper lip.
“I’ve been taking care of my own finances since I was sixteen. That’s half my life,” Rachel Two said. “I can take care of them now.”
Ashley gave Danvers and the cashier a sharp smile.
“Perhaps you mistakenly believe that you should call Mr. Hampton to tell him his female companion is withdrawing what many of us would see as a considerable sum of money but would be petty cash to a man like him.” Her eyes were cold, revealing a hint of what she was when the sun went down.
“Be careful, Mr. Danvers. Fate—and business—can be a fickle thing. If word slipped out that you and this bank believe that men should be informed whenever a woman withdraws funds from her own private accounts—even men who have no legal or familial connection to the woman—what will happen to the bank’s reputation if, after such a phone call, a woman is prevented from having the means to escape an abuser and ends up in the hospital—or the morgue?
How many single women will want to leave their money in your bank and take that risk? ”
Danvers paled as he stared at Ashley. “You wouldn’t.”
“Why not? While I don’t know where they keep their money, I know of two women who wouldn’t survive the next beating if you made that kind of phone call.”
“But Ms. Nightingale is engaged to—”
Rachel Two held up her left hand. “Not anymore. I’m relocating to another city—for my health. I’m leaving within the hour.”
“I see.” Danvers pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. “I see.”
It didn’t matter if he saw or not. The accounts were closed and the funds were transferred.
Rachel Two and Ashley Laxton were in an Arcana boat with Rachel Three and her companion, heading for the docks at Destiny Bay, before Mr. Danvers picked up a phone in his office—and almost made the call.
22