Daughter of Darkness by Ed Gorman

mothers and their children-nice people for the most part, she was sure. People who wished her no harm, people who would help her if she asked…
        The spell, or whatever it had been, was starting to pass.
        She sat in her car sipping at her soda. Her trembling had stopped. The worst of the headache had receded as well. It had been like a seizure, a great dark god holding her slender white body in his hand, and squeezing her until her life was almost snuffed out-
        The sun had moved out from behind the clouds now. She rolled down her window. Even the air smelled fresh, and beautifully redolent of autumn-
        She felt better. Even the dread associated with her eight missing days was gone.
        She wanted to go see Ted. He always made her laugh, and she felt so secure in his strapping and powerful presence.
        She started her car engine and headed back for the expressway.
        
***
        
        Ted Hannigan's loft was located in the River North Gallery District, a section of the city Jenny loved. On a sunny day, it was great fun to stroll up and down the streets that were lined with art galleries. It was a little world unto itself, people here focused on art of every description. Sure, there were snobs and poseurs-a place like River North was bound to attract them-but most of the people were in equal parts enthusiastic, intelligent, and unpretentious.
        Ted's loft was on the third floor of what had once been a warehouse. He often joked that this was the only place a man with three ex-wives could afford. Ted's interest in women was far more passionate than his interest in art. Ted had never kidded himself. He had adopted a Monet-like style of illustration and taken as his subjects the wealthy and arty set of Chicago. They loved his work, even if most of the major local artisans found it little more than clever commercial illustration and not in any way serious art. Ted had a Rolls Royce, a modest country estate, and spent at least two months of every year living well in Paris. He had made his peace with his own artistic limitations years ago.
        While most of his art was for sale at the Harcourt Gallery right down the street, Ted did private portraits in his loft. Much as he hated such concessions, his portrait work required him to put a small business office in the front part of his loft. This meant a desk, a three-line phone system, two filing cabinets, a copying machine, a fax, and a leather couch and chair for his clients to sit in while they awaited the master. Ted always joked that the next thing you knew, he'd be joining the Chamber of Commerce and voting Republican. Oh, and one more thing came with the office-whatever stunning young thing Ted happened to be sleeping with at the moment. Ted's age range these days had gotten slightly older. The fetching short-haired blonde behind the desk this morning appeared to be at least in her late twenties-which was an improvement on the last one, who'd been a sophomore dropout from Northwestern. This one even dressed somewhat conservatively, in a nicely cut four-button jacket with casual white blouse and pleated blue slacks. Jenny could have lived without the nose ring and the butterfly tattoo on the top of the right hand, but then Jenny had never been much for fads or trends.
        As soon as Jenny introduced herself, the blonde said, "Oh, yes, you're the one who walks on water." Before Jenny could say anything, the blonde stuck out a hand and said, "I'm Andi Teller. Ted's been telling me about you all morning. And I mean all morning. The way he was describing you, I thought walking on water was just one of your many talents."
        Jenny smiled and shook Andi's hand. "Ted's sort of my unofficial uncle. I think he's slightly prejudiced."
        "Well, he sure wasn't exaggerating about one thing, anyway," Andi said. "You're just as beautiful as he said you were."
        Jenny blushed. She'd never been good at