Chapter Text
Camila was waiting when Beatrice arrived to work.
“Beatrice!” she claimed, pushing herself away from the wall. She was a short thin woman, dressed in a baggy long-sleeved black tee, black jeans, well worn doc martens, and her black curly hair tucked up under one of her seemingly endless collection of beanies emblazoned with the logo/name of this or that movie, band, musical, tv show, or video game. In the three years they had known each other and worked together, Beatrice could not remember Camila ever wearing the same beanie twice. “How was the wedding?”
Beatrice grimaced. Her family, if not quite nobility, were prominent in political and business circles, and the summons from her grandmother, the family matriarch, had been very clear and unambiguous; come home for your cousin’s wedding. Or else.
Not wanting to find out what the old woman had meant by “or else”, Beatrice had gone, spending a very long, awkward week in the English countryside smiling, dodging questions about her love life (nonexistent), whether or not she had a boyfriend (being a lesbian, and one mostly in the closet at that, she most definitely did not) and politely ignoring her parents’ veiled commentary on all aspects of her life. Still, despite the photographers and having to pose or smile for photos, Beatrice was genuinely happy for her cousin, but she was also glad to be back.
“It was okay,” she replied, taking in Camila’s grin, the way she was trying to not bounce in place, the fact that her jeans were neither ripped or stained, and how the shorter woman was refusing to look her in the eye. She sighed. “What happened?”
Camila smiled as though she’d gotten tickets to a concert. “We got sold.”
“What?”
“Duretti got a shot at some big shot political position, but he had too many things on the books or whatever, so he dumped just about company he owned outside of Duretti International. I guess politicians aren’t supposed to be too rich, so we got sold and the new boss is coming today.”
“Damn.” Beatrice looked down at herself. She had dressed for comfort, choosing jeans and a well worn cable knit sweater, and she tried to remember if she still had the blouse and slacks in her office cabinet. “Anything else?”
Camila started walking. “We have a lawyer now.”
“Just what I’ve always wanted,” Beatrice deadpanned, making Camila laugh. “Why do we have a lawyer?”
“Whenever we needed legal stuff, we just contracted from Duretti, but I guess that door is closed or something so Shannon got a hold of some lawyer who helped a friend of a friend type thing and she and her paralegal just got here. Like ten minutes ago. Her name is Ava.” Camila grinned. “She’s just your type too.”
“I do not have a type,” Beatrice protested, regretting ever coming out to the other woman. “And she has her own paralegal?”
“Yeah, they’re kind of a set. You’ll see.”
Beatrice considered this as they entered their workplace proper.
OCS was housed in a warehouse near the waterfront. At some point. it had been split into two halves, divided by a hallway. OCS, the engineering solutions firm she and Camila worked for, was housed in the right hand side. The other half was mostly empty. OCS used it for storage and other things. Neither Suzanne or Shannon (OCS’ owner and Owner/CEO respectively), had ever said what the letters stood for, if anything.
Most of the space was a large open room, half of which was filled with CAD stations, work benches, and tool chests. The other half held the large rectangular oak table where they held meetings, the stairs to the upper level where Shannon and Suzanne lived, and the kitchenette. Shannon and Suzanne’s offices were also along the far wall. A short hallway led to more offices, the storage room and the restrooms. Light streamed down through the skylights overhead and the roof was held up by thick oak pillars and crisscrossed with iron beams that held up the lights.
However, Beatrice’s eyes were immediately drawn to the woman leaning on the table, head cocked slightly as she listened to Yasmine, who handled all of OCS’ admin duties. She was mid to late twenties, dark brown hair that fell almost to her shoulders and dressed in a light gray blazer, slacks and a white button down open at the throat that hinted at a lean body, but obscured details. She wore no obvious makeup, but her eyes were concealed behind a blocky pair of sunglasses, which seemed strange as they were indoors until Beatrice noticed the long white cane leaning on the table next to her.
The long white cane with the bright red tip.
Oh.
“Ava!” Camila called as they got closer, “This is Beatrice, our engineer.”
Ava’s head turned and then she stood away from the table, simultaneously grabbing the cane and holding it in the crook of her arm as she held out her right hand. “Hi, Ava Silva,” she said, smiling and Beatrice’s entire body did an internal jump flip and belly flop because . . . because that wasn’t just a smile, it was the sunrise, it was warmth incarnate, it was — Camila kicked her ankle and Beatrice’s self-control returned.
“Beatrice Seaworth,” she said taking Ava’s hand. “Welcome to OCS. We’re all happy you’re here.”
“Thanks.” Ava had a good strong grip, and she was perhaps an inch shorter than Beatrice. She released Beatrice’s hand, her fingertips brushing over her palm and sending lightning bolts straight up her arm and then lingering on her fingertips. “Archery?”
“Huh?” Yes, very eloquent, Beatrice. Well done.
“There’s calluses on your fingers. You shoot?”
“Oh, no, not recently.”
“I’ve always wanted to learn, but,” Ava waved a finger towards her glasses, “bad eyesight” She smiled again and Beatrice could only stare until Camila kicked her ankle again.
“That would dampen your enjoyment,” Beatrice agreed and Ava laughed, a warm, rich sound that went right into the dopamine centers of Beatrice’s brain.
Camila kicked her ankle twice.
“Beatrice!” Lilith, wearing a longcoat sweater that billowed behind her as she entered he room, was headed their way. “I need this month’s expenditures for the meeting! Now!”
“Meeting’s not for an hour, Lil,” Camila said, being (somehow) the only one who could call Lilith by a nickname and continue breathing, “and Beatrice just got here. Chill, okay?”
Lilith did not chill. If Beatrice was honest, she wasn’t sure Lilith even knew how. “We have one chance to make a first impression, Camila. One. I cannot, will not allow that impression to be sullied - who are you?” Lilith turned her head towards Ava.
“Ava Silva, lawyer.” Ava stuck out her hand, which Lilith took, squeezing just a tad to hard.
“Lilith Mott, accountant,” she replied. “Take those off. This is a professional environment and we do not wear sunglasses indoors.”
“Mmmm, it’s best if they stay on,” Ava demurred.
“It is most assuredly not,” Lilith replied, and snatched the sunglasses from Ava’s face. “Again, this — oh god . . .” Lilith turned absolutely pale, Camila gasped, hands to her mouth, and Beatrice couldn’t keep herself from recoiling slightly.
Where most people had eyes, Ava had a domino mask of scar tissue, horizontally bisected by a long jagged chemical burn where the skin seemed to have melted in some spots. By her left eye was a vertical line that looked like it had been made by a blade and she had no eyebrows.
“I . . . I . . .” Ava’s glasses fell to the floor as Lilith made a gagging noise. “I . . . I’m . . .” she took several steps backwards as Beatrice picked up the glasses, which seemed undamaged. “Oh . . . oh god . . . e-ex-cuse me!”
“Sorry about that," Beatrice said, handing Ava back her sunglasses as Lilith left the room practically at a run.
"Eh," Ava waved it off. "At least this time I got my glasses back."
"This time?" Camila asked. She seemed to have gotten over her shock although she was looking at Ava’s hairline, rather than her face.
"Obligatory law clerk job. First day. Got there, was shown to a desk. Folded up my cane while the trainer went to get something. Supervisor came by, thought I was being cool by wearing sunglasses inside, so he ripped them off, broke them, started to tell me I was fired and then he saw my eyes." She slipped the glasses on. "Now I'm a lawyer and he’s exiled to Peoria." She shrugged. "I was a diversity hire anyway. 'Hey look, we hired a blind chick, hooray for us, there is no scandal involving our senior partners'."
"This was Sanford and Long, wasn't it?" Camila asked.
"NDA, so I can neither confirm or deny, but I will compliment you on paying attention to the news."
“I pay attention to the news!” Camila sing-songed.
“Ignore Camila,” Beatrice advised, seeing Ava’s puzzled expression. “She’s like a cat who fell off the sofa and then got distracted by her own tail.”
“That happened once and I was on medication,” Camila replied airily, crossing her arms.
Ava snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with one hand.
“Why are we laughing and am I going to be hearing about it for the next week?” A young man, maybe twenty, if that, poked his head over Ava’s shoulder.
“A week?” Ava scoffed. “You underestimate my power.”
“No Star Wars references while on the clock,” he replied and held out his hand towards Beatrice. “Diego Malta.”
“Beatrice Seaworth,” Beatrice replied, shaking it.
“Diego is a paralegal, notary, and pain in the neck,” Ava said with a fond smile.
“You mean paralegal, notary, and completely indispensable,” Diego shot back with an equally fond smile.
“You’ll suffice.”
“So glad to know my future is secure, Skunkface.”
Ava elbowed him in the side. “Meathead.”
The exchange seemed to be some sort of signal because Diego clasped her arm and Ava immediately straightened up.
“Okay,” Diego said professionally, “Yasmine and Camila told me where everyone typically sits, so I laid out the papers and binders accordingly.” He turned her to face the table. “Where we are right now is the head of the table. Suzanne sits here, so she will be to your right. Shannon sits to her right, Yasmine to her left.” He began to lead her around the table, specifying where each person sat.
“I should finish getting set up,” Yasmine murmured and headed for the kitchenette. Beatrice nodded and headed for her office, Camila with her.
“Well?” Camila asked, drawing out the word as they entered the hallway.
“Well what?” Beatrice asked.
“You know,” Camila sing songed in an exaggerated falsetto.
“All right, yes, she’s my type. You’re right and I hate you.”
“Yes!” Camila cheered and ducked into her own office, cackling like a mad scientist.
Beatrice rolled her eyes and entered her office. As she preferred, the space was devoted to work, with the only decoration being a painting depicting houseboats on the Thames just before sunset. It was an Evengy Lushpin original and Beatrice was very fond of it.
However, there were more important things to worry about.
Behind her desk were twin vertical cabinets divided by a low shelf and Beatrice went to the one on the right. She put her bag on the bottom shelf and then reached for the garment bag hanging on a hook. With quick, efficient motions, she put on the blouse and slacks, hung her comfort clothes up, and then from a small box, she removed a necklace; a string of beads framing a simple gold cross. Her hair she tied up in a bun, holding it with a pair of wooden sticks and after a moment’s mental debate, decided that the simple stud earrings she already had in would suffice, as would her black flats.
She glanced at her phone to check the time and then got out her computer and emailed Lilith the reports before paging through her email to see if there was anything that needed her immediate attention. There wasn’t. Another check of the time and then she grabbed her notebook and some pens and returned to the open room.
Ava and Diego were already seated, Yasmine was sitting further up, and Camila had switched her baggy shirt for a black fitted turtleneck and removed her beanie. She was leaning on the chair next to Ava and talking a mile a minute but she straightened up when Beatrice approached.
“Hey, Beatrice,” she said, patting the chair she’d been leaning on. “Got your seat right here.”
Beatrice’s brow furrowed. That was not her usual seat, nor was it her usual side of the table why was . . . oh. Camila’s face had split into a huge grin.
I hate you, Beatrice mouthed, I hate you so much.
Camila’s grin morphed to what only could be called “shit eating”. You’re welcome, she mouthed back as she moved to the next seat over.
Beatrice gave her the best Death Glare she could as she moved to the seat next to Ava.
“Ava, it’s Beatrice, I’m going to be sitting down next to you and I’m putting some stuff on the table, and now I’m sitting down and pulling my chair forward.”
Ava cocked her head. “Dude. What’s with the play by play?” She seemed vaguely annoyed.
“Oh! l I didn’t want you to be surprised or . . . sorry. I . . . I don’t know the protocol.”
Ava gave a delighted laugh. “Protocol! I love it! So proper.” She leaned forward onto the table. “Look, I’m easy. I mean, I know a guy who would rake you over the coals for not being descriptive enough - which is hilarious because he’s not even blind - but me, as long as I know you’re there, and you ask before entering my personal space, we’re good. Cool?”
“Yes,” Beatrice agreed, “Cool. Very cool.”
“Cool,” Ava smiled.
Beatrice’s brain short-circuited.
Camila kicked Beatrice’s ankle.
“Thank you for the reports, Beatrice,” Lilith said, sitting down across from Camila. “Everything was in order.” She nodded to Ava. “Ms Silva.”
Seeing Ava’s expression turn icy, Beatrice tapped Ava’s arm. “In Lillith’s family, you do not apologize, you correct,” she whispered.
“Well that’s a bunch of hot steaming bullshit,” Ava replied.
“True, but that is how she was raised, and it’s a hard thing to unlearn.”
“No, no, I get it, but it’s still hot steaming bullshit.”
“Agreed.”
Yasmine looked down at her phone as it buzzed. “They’re here,” she said, and everyone rose.
Through the doors came five people. In the lead was Suzanne, an older woman with a facial scar and who walked with a cane. Camila had multiple theories about the scar and the cane, each one more outrageous than the last. Next to her was a woman slightly younger, with dark blonde hair. Behind them came Shannon with two other men, a dark skinned man in an expensive three piece suit, and an older man with a full beard and glasses. Both his hair and beard were iron gray and he wore a suit with no tie.
“Dr Salvius,” Suzanne said as they reached the table, “may I introduce our employees. Yasmine Amunet, our admin, Camila Blake and Beatrice Seaworth, who handle all of our engineering matters, Ava Silva, Legal Counsel and Diego Malta, Paralegal, and Lilith Mott, accountant.”
“A pleasure,” said the dark haired blonde. Her accent was British, too fresh to be have been here long, and Beatrice felt the slight pain of homesickness. “I am so very glad to meet all of you.” Oddly, Beatrice had the feeling she meant it. “I ask that you call me Jillian, though. ‘Doctor Salvius’ is for formal affairs.” She indicated the two men. “This is Kristan Schaefer, my assistant,” the dark skinned man nodded, “and Vincent Ulloa, Logistics.”
“Hello,” said the bearded man. His voice made him sound like a grandfather, and suited his appearance.
“Please sit,” Suzanne said, and everyone sat. Jillian across from Beatrice, Kristan across from Ava, and Vincent from Diego.
As Beatrice opened her notebook, she noticed that Kristan was glaring at Ava with open hostility and Ava musta have sensed something, because she broke off from saying something to Diego and turned towards him questioningly.
“Ms Silva,” Kristan said with the air of someone ready to start yelling, “Perhaps you are used to more laissez-faire environments, but you will not find that here or at any other Arq-Tech facility. It is incredibly rude to wear sunglasses indoors. Take those off at once.”
“Man,” Ava said dryly, “believe me, keeping my shades on is me being super, and I mean super polite.”
“I very much doubt that,” Kristan responded. “Take those off or consider yourself terminated.”
Ava sighed, almost melodramatically. “Well, can’t have that.” So saying, she lowered her glasses as though to stare at him over the rims and Kristan turned pale, shoving himself and his chair back, eyes wide and he looked like he was going to be sick.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, dude,” Camila said, pointing. “First door on the left.”
“Th-thank you,” Kristan said, and bolted.
Ava pushed her glasses back up her nose and smirked, just a little bit.
“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Beatrice whispered.
Ava turned her head slightly. “Maybe,” she grinned and Beatrice once again felt like she was looking at a sunrise.
Camila kicked her ankle.
“Ms Silva,” Salvius said, “please accept my personal apologies, and I promise you, there will be consequences.”
“I think ralphing in the bathroom is enough,” Ava said. “I mean, I’m pissed, but it’s not the first time people think I’m wearing these to ‘be cool’. Comes with the territory. I’m used to it.”
“It’s also going to be the last time,” Salvius said grimly. “I, and Arq Tech, look after our own. Even in situations like this. Especially in situations like this.”
“I don’t want him to lose his job,” Ava protested.
“Oh, I’m not going to fire him,” Salvius said, but her smile was empty, “not when there are other ways to indicate my displeasure. I believe the vernacular is ‘bitch duty’.”
“My apologies,” Kristin said, returning to the table, “shall we continue?”
“Of course,” Salvius agreed, looking down at her binder. “But make a note. I want you to set up mandatory sensitivity training seminars across the entire company. Executive, management and lower level. Everyone. You and I will be at the first one.”
Kristian wilted a bit, but he nodded and wrote a note.
Salvius turned back to the table. “So, as I was saying, my name is Dr Jillian Salvius, I am the owner and CEO of Arq Tech. I’m a biochemist by training, but I dabble in other areas, and, due to family investments I can’t legally divest myself from, I am very, very rich. I realize that sounds like bragging, but it’s the baseline reason for why I bought Duretti’s share of OCS, and with it, this warehouse.”
“How so?” Shannon asked. There was no judgement in her voice, only curiosity.
“Being wealthy is its own kind of power. Very little is beyond your reach. I founded Arq Tech right out of university. I built it up, and if not exactly self-made, I was at least professionally established and respected. So I turned my attention to the only other thing I wanted in life; A child. I selected a clinic and a donor, only to find out after several unsuccessful attempts that I was infertile.” Her mouth thinned to a line, regret and sorrow evident on her face. “I couldn’t accept that, no, I didn’t want to accept that. So I sought out fertility treatments. Extremely experimental fertility treatments.”
“Doctor Salvius,” Suzanne said, folding her hands on the table, “while we all appreciate your dilemma, we are not in the field of medical research, and certainly not fertility treatments. I fail to see how we can possibly help you.”
“Oh, no, the treatments worked.” Salvius pulled a photo from her binder and slid it down the table. “This is my son, Micheal.”
“Ohhhh,” Camila cooed, “he’s adorable.”
Beatrice could admit the child in the picture was in fact, adorable, as far as what she knew of children and adorableness went. Short blond hair, a bit of freckles and a bright, happy smile.
“Unfortunately,” Jillian continued, “He has a very rare blood disorder and is severely immunocompromised as a result. I have found only one treatment that seems to work.” She took out a dagger in a plastic bag and set it on the table. “This dagger is made from a very odd metal, unlike any I’ve seen before with some very odd conductive properties.”
“It is known in ancient Catholic texts as Divinium,” Kristan said.
From the corner of her eye, Beatrice saw Ava’s head turn sharply towards the head of the table.
“According to those texts,” Kristan continued, “the metal is from Heaven itself. Literally forged by Angels for their armor and weapons.”
Shannon made a noise of interest, but it seemed a bit strangled and she, Yasmine, and Suzanne were staring at the dagger like it was a poisonous snake.
“Obviously it’s meteoric in origin,” Jillian said, “but grinding it into a fine powder and injecting it directly into his bloodstream seems to be the only thing that even begins to help.” She took some photos from her binder. “I’m afraid this is the part where I sound mad.”
“More mad than God metal?” Camila asked.
“Divinium,” Kristan corrected, testily.
“That’s what I said, God metal,” Camila replied. She lifted her chin, defiantly meeting Kristan’s gaze.
“Camila,” Lilith said sharply.
A muscle in Camila’s jaw twitched, but she looked away from Kristan. Kristan glanced at Lilith, but was rewarded with an icy glare.
“Much more mad, I’m afraid,” Jillian said, as though the exchange hadn’t happened. “After the first few injections, Micheal began having dreams of “a white man” who told him things. That soon he would be better, that there was a place for him.”
“The imagination of a child trying to cope with isolation and illness,” Suzanne said, but she didn’t sound convinced. “Religious iconography.”
'At first, that’s what I thought too,” Jillian said. She set down a photo of a child’s crayon and colored pencil drawing, a single figure colored white on a black background, arms wide. “But I’m an atheist and we’ve never discussed religion. He knows he’s very sick and children are information sponges, so it’s possible he heard or saw something, but the drawings continued.”
More photos were set out.
A lot of photos. All of a child’s drawings, but as they were laid out, Beatrice sat up straight, then got up and leaned over the table. “This is a schematic,” she said.
“Quite so,” Jillian agreed.
“Are you sure?” Suzanne asked.
“Very.” Beatrice told her. “It’s a . . . portal?”
“That’s what my own scientists and engineers tell me. They also tell me there’s no feasible way to power it. I disagree, and that brings me here, to OCS, and more specifically, Ms Blake.”
“Me?” Camila asked, “I don’t understand. I’m no scientist, I’m not even an engineer! I’ve never been to college, I don’t even have a GED.”
“Yes, precisely.” Jillian opened another folder. “Dropped out of high school at sixteen, despite extremely high marks in math and science, rose to be a leading figure in the maker community, and since the age of thirteen, you have filed a number of patents, some fifteen in all. Not to mention, OCS has several patents as well, all of which you have had a hand in.”
“Wait,” Ava had leaned forward, “you bought OCS just for Camila? It’d have been cheaper to hire her away from here.”
“I admit, that was plan A,” Jillian replied, “But when I heard Duretti was selling his share, I took it as a sign, so to speak.”
“I’m still not following,” Shannon said. “Why Camila?”
“I believe the phrase is ‘Never say something is impossible to the person who is currently doing it’. Put simply, there’s a certain rigidity in thought that comes with a college education. Intentionally or not, innovation is stifled, but if someone who was never exposed to that mindset tried, what could they do? What could they create?” She set down another photo. This one showed two formulas, one over the other.
Jillian pointed at the top one. “This is the electrochemical composition of Divinium.” She tapped the bottom one. “And this is some sort of power equation, but my engineers tell me that to get these numbers, I would have to hook a large scale nuclear reactor directly to the device itself and even then, it might not be enough.”
Camila pulled the photo closer to her, staring intently at it and then pulled out a sharpie and began drawing on it. Kristan opened his mouth, but was silenced with a curt gesture from Jillian.
“What’s going on?” Ava whispered.
“Camila’s drawing on the photo,” Beatrice told her. “I think she sees something we don’t.”
Camila finished drawing. She’d drawn a 3-D circle on its side sandwiched between a pair of rectangles, and a cube with a small sphere inside it. On the left side, perhaps two thirds down. was a half oval. She picked up the photo and held it her thumb on the half oval, with her other hand in the same position, as though holding a large book, her eyes darting rapidly over the page and an expression of disbelief on her face.
“I’ve seen this,” Camila said softly, setting the photo down as though it was breakable. “The power equation, I’ve seen it before.”
“Are you sure? Where?” Jillian asked, eyes bright, voice intent.
“I was like, eight. Grandma took me to this bookshop and I was wandering around. One of the books caught my eye because the red cover and the gold lettering. So I started flipping through it, looking at the drawings and stuff and the cube leapt out at me so I took a closer look, but a lot of the words were too big for me to read and I’d never seen math with letters and numbers before. I was going to take it to Grandma so she could explain it to me when this guy walks up, snatches the book right out of my hands, tells me I’m too stupid to read it and walks off. By the time I’d found Grandma and told her what happened, the guy had left.” Camila shook her head. “I haven’t thought about it in years, but I’m still mad about it. Is that weird?”
“Absolutely not,” Shannon assured her.
“And you’re sure it’s the same equation?” Jillian asked.
“Positive,” Camila replied.
Jillian nodded. “Well, at least that’s something. Thank you, Camila.”
“Ah,” Suzanne spoke up, “Jillian, with respect to your role as an owner, this puts you in the role of client, and represents a considerable undertaking on our part, even with your support. This is something we must discuss among ourselves and even then, we do have other clients. I am not saying no, but rather, we need to discuss this in house, as it were, before saying yes.”
Jillian smiled. “Of course, I’d have been concerned if you had said yes immediately.”
“Would you also mind if we kept the dagger for a bit?” Shannon asked. “No offense, but we’d like to run our own tests to confirm what you’ve said.”
Jillian nodded and opened her briefcase to take out some papers. “Not at all, but I do insist that you use a chain of custody document. Nothing burdensome, but it is Arq-Tech property and we must know where it is and who has it at all times.”
“Hold it.” Ava stuck her hand out, nearly clocking Beatrice in the face, and wiggling her fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. “All agreements and contracts go through me.”
“You can’t be serious!” Kristan exploded.
“I am serious,” Ava replied, face stony. “As legal counsel, it’s my job to keep this company from getting screwed over, and that includes our relationship with you.”
“We would never—”
“Not intentionally, maybe, but I went over the ownership papers, and buddy, just on those alone, lemme tell ya; I got notes.”
Jillian passed the document down to Ava, who handed it to Diego as she stuck an earbud in her ear. Diego inserted it into what looked like a portable fax machine, which chattered to life as Ava laid her hand on some sort of light up rectangle running her fingers on it, back and forth.
“Alright,” Ava said at last, taking the paper from Diego and passing it down to Yasmine. “It’ll do.”
“Excellent,” Jillian beamed. “Now then, I intend to take a hands off role. Chances are, you will rarely see me, but there will be one change. I’ve appointed Vincent as the Director of Operations. His job will be to handle procurement of supplies, managing client load, and, to a degree, HR. If you choose to take on the portal job, he will be able to help you get materials and components.”
“Does that mean we could get a supercomputer?" Camila asked. "Or two? Three?"
Jillian cocked an eyebrow. "What would you do with three supercomputers?"
Camila grinned, wild-eyed and slightly terrifying. "I have no idea."
“Write up a proposal and send it to me,” Jillian told her. “I will give it due consideration.”
Once again, Beatrice had the feeling that she meant it.
————————————————————
Ava was deep in thought as she and Diego walked home. Deep enough that she was content to fold up her cane and let him lead her. Even though Diego knew that she wasn’t as nearly as helpless as she might seem, he was stilled awed that she trusted him like this. He knew Sister Frances had made him her guide just to be petty, but now, he couldn’t imagine things being any other way.
Home was on the top floor of a brownstone in the arts district. It was nothing special, most of it open space and steel girders, lit by large windows and skylights in the daytime. Boxes and bags were scattered around, remnants of a moving in that was still underway.
They were no sooner through the door than Ava hung her cane on the hook by the door and went immediately to her room, navigating unerringly around those same boxes and bags and emerging a few minutes later dressed in a sports top and shorts that showed her lean, hard muscled curves.
Moving to an empty space, she dropped to the floor and began moving and stretching, a combination yoga and core routine she’d had for the past twelve years.
“You’re going out tonight?” Diego asked as he started dinner.
Ava grunted in the affirmative.
“And are you going to tell me what has you thinking so loud I can hear it?”
Ava launched into push ups. “You notice anything weird about today?” Ava asked. She did push ups like a machine, moving up and down in a steady rhythm.
“Weird weird or specifically weird?”
“Both? The moment Schaefer said the word Divinium, Shannon, Suzanne, and Yasmine’s heartbeats went up. Once Suzanne and Shannon had custody of the dagger, all their heartbeats went down, but Yasmine’s was still increased somewhat.”
“They are Catholics,” Diego pointed out, “I mean, divine or not, that it’s like, holy artifact adjacent. Like you get when someone mentions Eddie Vedder of the warbling high notes.”
“Eddie Vedder has the voice of the divine so shut your whore mouth,” Ava shot back and Diego laughed. “Seriously, was anything weird?” She flipped onto her back and began doing sit-ups, the kind where you touched your elbow to the opposite knee.
“Maybe. That Vincent guy? When you showed Schaefer your eyes, he was the only one who didn’t react. Jillian looked intrigued, Shannon and Suzanne looked slightly grossed out, Yasmine was grossed out, but Vincent? Nada. Dude’s either the chillest ever, or something’s up.”
Ava frowned as she flowed to her feet and began going through her katas. How people reacted to seeing her eyes tended to be a good indicator of their character. The more horrified they were, the less she could trust them and she could count on one hand the number of people who’d turned out to be the exception to the rule.
“Remind me to give Dad a call,” Ava said, moving into cooldown, “I know Karen did background checks on OCS because Matt, but I think she needs to do another, deeper one, and add Vincent to the list.” She raised her head and then took out her nose plugs and sniffed. “Chicken Stir-Fry? Dude, you used too much garlic.”
“It’s garlic oil, thank you very much,” Diego replied loftily. “Some sense of smell you have.”
“It does smell better than your cologne, I’ll give you that,” Ava admitted as she tossed the plugs into the garbage before moving to get down the bowls.
“My cologne is the finest of fine colognes,” Diego snorted, “your olfactory palette is just unrefined.’
“Point to you for ‘olfactory palate’, Ava told him, “but your cologne still sucks.”
“Now see here, you half pint shyster,” Diego shook the chopsticks he was using to stir in her direction. “Just because I didn’t spend three years in a musty law library to the point where my favorite scent is dust, does not have any relevance upon my cologne or the suckiness thereof.”
They continued to cheerfully bicker as dinner was served and consumed.
————————————————————
Suzanne sat on her couch, her fingers rhythmically squeezing and then relaxing on the handle of her cane. Her expression was blank, mind whirling as she considered current plans, backup plans and new plans.
“It glowed,” Shannon reported as she came through the door of the apartment. “I was barely halfway across the room and it glowed.” She set the dagger on the coffee table and sat down across from Suzanne, elbows on her knees, hands clasped in front of her mouth.
Suzanne rested both hands on her cane and leaned forward, and for a time, they sat there, staring at the dagger.
“So, what do we do?” Shannon asked at last. “Do we run?”
“No,” Suzanne replied. “At least, not yet. I don’t think this is one of Francesco’s games. While I have no doubt he’s behind Alessandro’s sudden political aspirations, he’s not this subtle.”
“You know something.”
“I have heard things.” Suzanne rose abruptly and walked to the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. “Gregor is failing, perhaps six months left, a year at most. The vultures are already circling, jockeying for position, and Francesco is in the lead. If he wins, he will come for us. Crimson has already been recalled to Rome. The others will follow.”
Shannon looked horrified. “Crimson? Is he crazy?”
“No. Francesco’s weakness has always been that he’s almost as smart as he thinks he is. No doubt he intends to keep her on leash and set her loose as needed.”
“As if Crimson has ever done what she’s told unless you want her to hurt people.” Shannon rose and fetched down mugs, filling the infusers with tea leaves and setting them into the mugs. “You know, it might be worth staying if we can arrange for God and Crimson to have a nice long talk.”
When Suzanne didn’t rebuke her, Shannon looked over at her. She hadn’t been completely serious, but if Crimson went to meet God, Shannon knew neither of them would shed any tears. “Suzanne?”
“I . . . would like to stay. Here. In this life we have built.” Suzanne had her arms braced on either side of the stove, staring down at the kettle. “One that does not involve escape plans. Or the sword or . . .” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, but then, she didn’t need too. Shannon understood.
“Then we prepare to run,” Shannon said, “and pray to God that we don’t have to.”
“In this life or the next,” Suzanne whispered.
Shannon laid a hand on her shoulder. “In this life or the next,” she agreed.