Chapter Seven TRACKER
“What’ve you got going on today?” Glen asked as Rosie was pulling a long cashmere sweater over her head to top off suede pants.
“Confronting that bitch.”
“What bitch?”
“The one who cursed Grandpop.”
“The witch?”
“Hmmm.”
“So you tracked her.”
“Yeah. It wasn’t that easy, but I have to admit that it was a nice change of pace from D.I.T.”
“Don’t tell me you’re bored with D.I.T.”
“No, of course not. But nobody wants to become rut bound.”
“Right.”
“That’s not why I’m doing it. I’m doing it because there’s a chance my grandfather might be freed from a curse of addiction. Nasty things really. In my opinion, only a truly nasty witch would do that to a person.”
Glen smiled. “Deliverance is lucky to have you.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
Glen chuckled. “Can’t wait to hear all about it.” He turned back at the door. “There’s not going to be any aftermath for Black Swan to clean up, is there?”
She blinked with wide eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean explosions, disappearing buildings, rivers running through the middle of Manhattan where Fifth Avenue is supposed to be…”
“Alright, stop. The answer is… I’m not expecting anything out of the ordinary.”
“That was vague even for you.”
“Tell you what, I’ll do my best to be good, but if anything unexpected turns up, I’ll clean up my own messes.”
Glen sighed as she went up on tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Is that the best I’m going to get?”
“The best promise, but not the best kissing.” He smiled.
“If I didn’t have to be in a meeting with the student council…”
“Go. I have time tonight. Do you have time tonight?”
He grinned and gave her a pat on the rear that turned into groping. She eased away with a giggle and disappeared. “Damn,” he said, “That is never going to feel fair.”
Rosie stood on the sidewalk across the street from the WC6, Inc. building on Park Avenue in midtown Manhattan. Fifty-three stories of new and gleaming charcoal gray glass. Inside the lapel of her coat, her palm closed around the pendant that was her absolute favorite tool for tracking. Closing her eyes, she reached out with senses and followed the silver thread that traced the path to her target. Seconds later she was in a ridiculously ostentatious penthouse office.
The ostentation wasn’t due to gauche taste, but rather to the display of wealth that was obscene if you knew what you were looking at. Centuries-old Heriz rugs. Leather furniture of a quality normally reserved for high end jackets, not sofas. Priceless, museum-quality paintings. A Tiffany paperweight here. Framed pages in Shakespeare’s hand between the desk and the glass top that covered it.
The witch Rosie had come to see had her back turned and was looking out the window at nothing in particular. She wore faded jeans with over-the-knee suede boots, a silk blouse, and a colorful, primitive shawl, no doubt handwoven by South American Indians. It was unquestionably an avant-garde style for a Fortune 500 CEO. Most people would be expecting a tailored Armani suit.
The red hair was indicative of the Teutonic caste of witches, but it didn’t have the telltale wild curl. Of course, that could have been disguised with a Brazilian blowout, a Keratin treatment, a flat iron, or, for that matter, magic.
The witch jumped when Rosie spoke. “Oh good, you’re alone,” Rosie said brightly. “I was hoping we could have a chat in private.”
As soon as Sixt regained her composure, she looked Rosie up and down, then took a seat on one of the large club chairs in the conversation area. Without a word, she invited Rosie to sit by her motioning toward the remaining seating as if to say, “Take your pick.”
Rosie sat on the large chair opposite Sixt.
The witch’s eyes gave away momentary surprise when a coffee service appeared on the table in front of them.
“Coffee?” Rosie asked as she poured herself a cup from a silver carafe.
Sixt was beginning to be amused by the unexpected turn the morning was taking. “Forgive my lack of hospitality. I should have offered first. Is there something else I can get you before you tell me who you are and why you’re here?” She lowered her chin and added, “Uninvited,” in an unmistakably pointed way.
Rosie smiled politely. “I’m here representing the demon, Deliverance.”
“Deliverance.” Sixt said the name slowly not intimating if that meant she didn’t recall the name or if it meant she’d rather not recall the name. Sixt cocked one eyebrow. “Lovely name, but I don’t know who that is.”
“The demon you infected with a sex addiction curse.”
Oh. That demon!
Sixt hadn’t known his name, but she certainly knew who they were talking about. Truthfully she was thrilled to see the demon’s rep. An opportunity to right a wrong had just presented itself.
“I see,” she drawled slowly. “And you are?”
“Elora Rose Storm.”
“I sense you aren’t human.” Sixt waited to see if the statement would get a response. When there was none, she prompted further. “Are you his lawyer?”
“Granddaughter.”
Sixt’s eyes widened momentarily before she laughed out loud. “Well, that’s unexpected. You’re demon?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m demon-witch on my mother’s side, demon-human on my father’s side.”
Sixt cocked her head to the side. “A very interesting lineage.”
Ashes silently padded over and began rubbing against Rosie’s legs as she wound her way back and forth.
“Traitor,” Sixt said under her breath.
Ashes responded by blinking slowly, purring loudly, and jumping onto Rosie’s lap where she curled up and stared at Sixt as if in challenge. Sixt narrowed her own eyes and sent a telepathic message. Don’t forget who fills your little plate with real tuna and real cream.
“What is this?” said Rosie, holding her hands aloft while staring at the coal-black cat in her lap.
“It’s a cat,” Sixt said as if Rosie was simple.
“No, it’s not. You can have your secrets. All witches do, but let’s at least make a stab in the direction of honesty. Otherwise, this conversation won’t go well.”
Sixt’s admiration of Rosie was growing. “It’s my familiar. Her name is Ashes. She appears to be a cat… most of the time. She adopted me a very long time ago. Now you know what I know. At least about the cat.” Rosie shrugged. “What do you want, Elora Rose Storm?”
“I’m sure you can guess. I want the curse lifted.”
“Simple as that?”
“I like easy.”
“Well, who doesn’t?”
“Why did you do it?”
Sixt’s amused expression remained locked in place. “The answer to that question is personal and has no bearing on this transaction. So.”
“So?”
“You want to know the price.”
“Essentially… yes.” Rosie’s demon side smelled a deal in the making and flared to the forefront of her personality. “What will it take for you to release him?”
Sixt pursed her lips as a relaxed vibe returned to her body language. Rosie waited patiently while the witch thought it over. At length she said, “Penance.” She knew the victim’s granddaughter would think Sixt was talking about Deliverance’s penance, not hers. And it suited Sixt’s purpose to allow the demon-witch to believe exactly that.
“Look. Regardless of what wrong you think he did you, he’s paid penance by the truckloads. So, again, what will it take?”
“Time.”
“Are you being deliberately obtuse? You’re not the only one who has an outfit to run. Spit it out and stop with the head games.”
“Very well. I will relieve the demon of his compulsion in exchange for a year and a day of his time. At the end of the contract, he can go on his way free of the curse.”
Knowing that a year meant little to someone with Deliverance’s lifespan, Rosie thought perhaps that might not be a horrible deal, even if she couldn’t improve on it. “Let’s talk nuts and bolts. When you say ‘spend a year and a day with you’, what does spend mean?”
Sixt’s lips twitched, her eyes bright with the possibility of having her wildest dream come true. “Go where I go. Eat where I eat. Sleep where I sleep.”
Rosie studied Sixt. “You don’t really know much about him, do you?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he doesn’t sleep and rarely eats. When I say rarely, I mean once every several hundred years.”
Know much about him? That was the understatement of the day. Honestly, Sixt knew nothing about the demon at all. She couldn’t even remember what he looked like… exactly. “Point taken. He goes where I go. Lives where I live. And spends a minimum of four hours a day interacting with me.”
“Interacting means…”
“Talking, going to movies, watching TV, having coffee.” She caught herself. “I guess he doesn’t drink coffee either?”
Rosie shook her head. “He likes TV, especially fifties reruns.”
Sixt continued as if Rosie hadn’t spoken. “He will do whatever needs doing. At home he can be my butler. Away he can be my escort or bodyguard.”
Internally Rosie was spluttering the word butler and guessing that Deliverance would say he’d rather stick with the curse. But to Sixt, she said, “Are we talking twenty-four seven?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Rosie repeated. “Which of these details is flexible?”
Sixt laughed. “I’ve named my price.”
Rosie nodded. “Yes. You have. Here’s what we’re willing to do. Four hours a day of quality time, meaning he will be in your presence, for thirty days. He will not be a butler or engage in any form of servitude. That would be humiliating. And, trust me, you don’t want to humiliate a demon. Ever. Also, sex is not on the table.”
Sixt gave Rosie an engaging smile. “You think I care if he’s humiliated?” Her smile grew into a grin. “I would relish it. I want him hanging my friends’ coats and taking drink orders.” She stole a glance at Rosie to see if she was buying her act.
Rosie shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I think I do. A year and a day in residence in any capacity I say, twenty-four seven with,” she held up her index finger, “at least four hours a day ‘quality’ time as you say. Sex is on the table.”
“Two months.”
“A year and a day.”
“Six months.”
“A year and a day.” Of course Sixt had no intention of keeping the demon for that long. She’d have him stay with her as her guest until she could find the right time and way to apologize. When he understood that the curse was a mere lapse of judgment, he’d forgive her. Then she’d let him go. Karma done and done.
“No servitude.”
Sixt shook her head. She knew that, in order to be taken seriously, she had to appear to be rigid. At least at first. “He’ll do anything I say. Jump up and down naked while singing the ‘Star Spangled Banner’.”
“Okay, look. My family tree is unusual, but he’s still my grandfather. That was a disturbing image and one I will always resent you for.” Sixt laughed. “No sex.”
“You’re not serious, Elora Rose Storm.”
They went back and forth until Rosie concluded that Sixt negotiated like a demon.
“You’re a hard bargainer, witch. I will present your offer to Deliverance and suggest he agree to your terms, as named in detail, except that leaving sex on the table is a nonstarter. It makes no sense to be liberated from the necessity to be sex slave to many so that he can be sex slave to one. He will not go for it.”
Sixt looked thoughtful. She stood abruptly and took up the post she’d been occupying when Rosie first arrived, looking out the window. After a minute of internal debate and, apparently, struggle, she said, “Alright. A review. In exchange for lifting the curse, Deliverance will be attached to my residence twenty-four seven for a year and a day including four hours per day minimum of ‘quality’ time. He will be available to me during waking hours. At the end of that time he is free to go.”
“Sex is not part of the deal. And that means no touching.”
“Agreed. Sex is not part of the deal. No touching.”
“If he agrees, when does the year begin?”
“Tomorrow. Noon. A year and a day.”
Rosie had hoped to at least shave one day off her Granddemon’s sentence, but Sixt was holding all the cards. She pushed Ashes away and rose from the sofa. “I’ll be in touch. Let me warn you, again, for your own good. It would not be in your best interest to push your advantage too far. If you humiliate him, sooner or later, somehow, some way, you will pay for it.”
“Duly noted.”
“Hope so.”
“Bye,” Sixt said cheerfully with the air of a woman who’d won. She wiggled her fingers to punctuate that Rosie had just been dismissed.
Since Rosie wasn’t feeling the vibe of fake pleasantries, she was just as happy to disappear without further adieu. So she vanished.