Riven (Mirus 2)

~*~

Marley tipped her gaze up to the remains of the once beautiful arched ceiling of Peacock Alley inside the decrepit Lee Plaza Hotel in Detroit. The decorative centerpieces of each tiled section were missing now, swiped by vandals and souvenir-seekers. “It’s so sad to see what’s become of this place,” she said. “You can tell it used to be something in its heyday. Are you sure this is safe?”

As Ian had seen it at the height of its elegance in the early 1930s, he could vouch for that. But he wasn’t about to mention it. “I’m sure there are a thousand and one ways to get tetanus and all manner of other ills in here. But it’s not going to fall down on our heads. One of these days the economy will turn around and somebody will renovate it. In the meantime, it makes for a handy private meeting space for those who know how to actually get in. C’mon.”

She was still uneasy. Ian started to take her hand, to comfort her, but stopped himself. He had no business offering comfort, no business confusing the situation. He hadn’t intended to kiss her, hadn’t been prepared for what that would stir up in both of them. He hadn’t been prepared for a lot of things with Marley.

Guilt dogged his heels as he helped steer her around some of the detritus littering the floor and through a set of double doors into the ballroom. It would all be over soon. He’d get her settled on the West Coast—the only part of After they’d discussed—and he’d be off to Wales, as originally planned. By which time, hopefully he’d have an excuse that wouldn’t get him court-martialed.

The grand vaulted ceilings rose up and up, well-illuminated by the light streaming in from the windows marching along one wall. As soon as they stepped into the room, Ian tensed, nudging Marley behind him and reaching for his sidearm. Marley didn’t make a sound as he made a sweep of the space, just kept close and crept behind him with admirable stealth for a human.

A woman stepped into view on the balcony, a pistol in her hand. Ian ducked, tugging Marley behind the tipped carcass of a long dead piano. But no shot sounded.

“Put it down, Scarlett,” he called.

“Fifteen years, Ian. You don’t call. You don’t write. Now, suddenly, you want a favor? I gotta ask myself, what’s up with you? This isn’t your usual deal.”

No. No it wasn’t. Not by any stretch of imagination.

He signaled for Marley to stay put and stepped out from the piano, gun pointed toward the ceiling to indicate no threat. “I’m not here to bust you, if that’s what worries you. If I’d wanted to do that, I could’ve dispatched somebody years ago.”

Scarlett’s dark eyes narrowed, considering. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why the walk down memory lane?” She lowered the gun, shoving it back into a shoulder holster and propping both hands on her hips.

“I need your particular brand of expertise.”

A slow grin curved one side of her generous mouth. “Well, now, that covers quite a bit. Which part exactly?”

“Erasure.”

Scarlett nodded. “That little bit of five foot nothin’ hiding behind the piano, I take it?”

Satisfied she was in negotiation mode, Ian holstered his weapon and held out a hand to Marley.

She eased out from cover, her attention focused on Scarlett. “What exactly do you mean by erasure?” Her hand found his, gripped tight.

“She in thrall?” asked Scarlett, ignoring the question.

Ian bristled at the suggestion. “No,” he ground out.

Scarlett’s all-seeing eyes scanned each of their faces, lingering on their joined hands. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“It’s like nothing,” he said.

Scarlett made a derisive snort. Ian scowled at her. She stepped off the second floor balcony as if it were merely a curb, plummeting to the ballroom floor, black hair a streaming banner. Marley cried out, started forward even as Scarlett landed in an easy crouch.

“I’m fine, sugar. No worries.” Scarlett rose and prowled toward them, speculation written across her face.

Marley pressed closer to Ian, teetering back toward uneasy, but not yet afraid. He could all but taste it through her skin, felt his own power unfurling. It would be so easy to nudge her over—

“Why the erasure?” Scarlett asked.

Ian jerked his attention back to the Fixer. “She saw a Nix. He saw her and reported it to the Council. You know what she’s facing without your help.”

“Fucking bastard law. Happy to help. Usual fee. Plus you owe me a favor at some unnamed time in the future.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Done.”

“No, not done,” interrupted Marley, tugging her hand free and crossing her arms. “What is erasure?”