was probably thirty, with reddish hair and freckles.
“I’m not what I appear to be, but I can’t tell you any more. I don’t have permission,” Stacia said patiently.
“How come the bossy, black-haired one could talk about it then?” the blond asked.
“Because she is the boss—at least of them. I’m not,” Stacia said.
“Well you can boss me if you like,” the redhead threw in.
“Me too,” the blond added.
Catching sight of Arkady and me, she stood up and dusted off her clothes. She hadn’t appeared dirty but her actions brought the attention of both cops, Arkady, and myself to her lithe form.
“Sorry boys, looks like we’re leaving. No time to play,” she said with a smile at them and a glance at me. Both cops spun around and stepped back at the sight of me or more likely, the giant vampire at my back.
“She can’t give you her number, fellas, but you can give her yours,” I said with a smile as I waved Awasos into the back of the Denali.
“They already did,” Stacia said to me as she slid into the backseat. Arkady moved to the driver’s door and I closed the tailgate before climbing into the front passenger seat.
We found Tanya and Lydia talking to the reporters out by the access road entrance, the troopers on duty still blocking the road. Trenton was standing guard behind his young queen.
From what I could understand of the half dozen simultaneous conversations, at least two of the cameramen standing on top of their new vans had caught some of the missile crash.
“The major is all right with them heading back to the site,” I told the cop on gate duty. He looked dubious but called on his radio for an update and then raised both eyebrows when the answer agreed with my statement. The press, sensing something was up, watched our exchange, various cameras trying to record it through the tinted glass of the Denali. When the gatekeeper trooper told those nearest him that they could proceed up the road to the crash scene, there was a mad scramble for vehicles and gear. Arkady pulled our car onto the road, moving slowly to avoid crushing any frantic journalists. Almost clear of the confusion and chaos, we were just starting to accelerate when I glanced at the side of the road at the very last reporter crew there. A familiar face turned my way, her head doing a fast double take as she recognized me. Brystol hit her photographer’s shoulder but he took too long to turn his attention where she wanted it. We pulled away into the dark, her pale face receding into the distance in the passenger side mirror.
“I need direction, my Queen,” Arkady said, looking at Tanya in the rearview mirror. I turned and looked back, meeting her eyes when she glanced my way. She nodded, unbuckling her seat belt and stripping off her leather jacket. Opening the soft brown garment across her lap, her fingers moved across the fabric to the intersection of the nylon lining with the leather edge at the bottom back. A tiny, hidden zipper opened a pocket about four inches long. She reached in and pulled out a flat wooden box about six inches long and three inches wide with a mere half inch of depth. The wood was a checkered pattern of light and dark squares, polished by wear and time to a smooth sheen. It looked old. Slim white fingers tipped with blue polished nails manipulated the box with nimble skill, pushing on this dark spot, pressing on this light square. I realized it must be one of those puzzle boxes, the kind with no apparent method of opening. Sure enough, the final press of those adroit digits caused a slight click, and a tiny section at one end popped open. She pulled it like a little sliding drawer and it came smoothly open, a folded rectangle of expensive parchment tucked inside.
The folded notes turned out to be several pages of old letterhead, each packed with tightly handwritten lines of numbers and
“I’m not what I appear to be, but I can’t tell you any more. I don’t have permission,” Stacia said patiently.
“How come the bossy, black-haired one could talk about it then?” the blond asked.
“Because she is the boss—at least of them. I’m not,” Stacia said.
“Well you can boss me if you like,” the redhead threw in.
“Me too,” the blond added.
Catching sight of Arkady and me, she stood up and dusted off her clothes. She hadn’t appeared dirty but her actions brought the attention of both cops, Arkady, and myself to her lithe form.
“Sorry boys, looks like we’re leaving. No time to play,” she said with a smile at them and a glance at me. Both cops spun around and stepped back at the sight of me or more likely, the giant vampire at my back.
“She can’t give you her number, fellas, but you can give her yours,” I said with a smile as I waved Awasos into the back of the Denali.
“They already did,” Stacia said to me as she slid into the backseat. Arkady moved to the driver’s door and I closed the tailgate before climbing into the front passenger seat.
We found Tanya and Lydia talking to the reporters out by the access road entrance, the troopers on duty still blocking the road. Trenton was standing guard behind his young queen.
From what I could understand of the half dozen simultaneous conversations, at least two of the cameramen standing on top of their new vans had caught some of the missile crash.
“The major is all right with them heading back to the site,” I told the cop on gate duty. He looked dubious but called on his radio for an update and then raised both eyebrows when the answer agreed with my statement. The press, sensing something was up, watched our exchange, various cameras trying to record it through the tinted glass of the Denali. When the gatekeeper trooper told those nearest him that they could proceed up the road to the crash scene, there was a mad scramble for vehicles and gear. Arkady pulled our car onto the road, moving slowly to avoid crushing any frantic journalists. Almost clear of the confusion and chaos, we were just starting to accelerate when I glanced at the side of the road at the very last reporter crew there. A familiar face turned my way, her head doing a fast double take as she recognized me. Brystol hit her photographer’s shoulder but he took too long to turn his attention where she wanted it. We pulled away into the dark, her pale face receding into the distance in the passenger side mirror.
“I need direction, my Queen,” Arkady said, looking at Tanya in the rearview mirror. I turned and looked back, meeting her eyes when she glanced my way. She nodded, unbuckling her seat belt and stripping off her leather jacket. Opening the soft brown garment across her lap, her fingers moved across the fabric to the intersection of the nylon lining with the leather edge at the bottom back. A tiny, hidden zipper opened a pocket about four inches long. She reached in and pulled out a flat wooden box about six inches long and three inches wide with a mere half inch of depth. The wood was a checkered pattern of light and dark squares, polished by wear and time to a smooth sheen. It looked old. Slim white fingers tipped with blue polished nails manipulated the box with nimble skill, pushing on this dark spot, pressing on this light square. I realized it must be one of those puzzle boxes, the kind with no apparent method of opening. Sure enough, the final press of those adroit digits caused a slight click, and a tiny section at one end popped open. She pulled it like a little sliding drawer and it came smoothly open, a folded rectangle of expensive parchment tucked inside.
The folded notes turned out to be several pages of old letterhead, each packed with tightly handwritten lines of numbers and
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