Page 21 of Saint of the Shadows

“Stop by my lab, anytime. If I need to twist your arm, I’m sure I could get Marisol to come along. Make it a date.” Annie snorted with laughter.

Marisol struggled to maneuver Annie through the party, but she gathered their belongings in the foyer and dragged her drunken companion inside the car home.

And safe from Vincent Varian.

Interlude

You strike out. The beautiful woman in the silver dress leaves the party, and your young blue-haired date snuggles up to the floppy-haired DJ. Shouldn’t you go lick your wounds in booze and drugs like any other poor little rich kid?

Maybe you are high, though. You say you want more control. All this time, you’ve stepped away from your responsibilities. You’ve cried about living in the shadow of two dead men, father and grandfather. What shadow? I was in charge of your most successful year. Reined in your wasteful spending. It should be my name on that hospital. Bloodsucker would look great in lights.

It doesn’t have to be this way. If you opened up about your secret project, we could build an empire. We could be the richest men on earth. I shouldn’t have to coax desperate doctors to tell me your secrets. I want to stay on the straight path, but you keep stepping on me.

The world needs your secret project and the goofy little doctor at the center of it. If you only cared about your future the way you care about gaining the attention of beautiful women.

And you say, “Since I do care about my future, perhaps I enjoy beautiful women more than I enjoy money. Live a little.”

Sooner than later, you’ll wish you hadn’t easily dismissed me. Do you know what’s coming? A big sandpaper dick from Manila to fuck everyone. I’m bringing it, of course, but I could also end it. And that secret side project sounds like the perfect ending. See how I bring out everyone’s best?

8

Chemical Reactions

Marisol pulled Annie out of the car. “Wait twenty minutes,” she said to the empty driver’s seat.

“Your driver aims to please,” the computerized voice replied.

She hobbled inside, bolstering a barely conscious Annie. Safe in the apartment, Marisol flopped Annie onto her bed, leaving her in her evening gown. She helped take off her shoes, filled a glass of water, and set it and two capsules of ibuprofen on Annie’s nightstand.

She sat next to the bed and flipped open a gossip magazine she found. Marisol pored over an article about Vincent buying an overripe banana duct taped to a wall at an art auction for over a hundred grand. She twisted her face. The idiot in this article didn’t remotely resemble the man at the ball tonight.

Annie’s breath became steady and deep. She would make it through the night but hate her morning. Marisol put on her worn, oversized coat and headed outside to an empty street. She checked the time on her phone. She’d been twenty-two minutes. Artificially intelligent drivers were excruciatingly literal.

According to the app on her phone, a hired car would be awhile. She could make the walk four times while she waited. As long as she kept to the main street, she’d have an uneventful and brief walk home.

Outside, the streetlight flickered on and off again to her annoyance. Interludes of darkness quickened her pace. Her high heels clicked louder.

She toyed with her phone in the pocket of her coat. She should call Tobias. Maybe he’d invite her over, but she’d keep the dress on. If he saw her in it, he’d flip.

Even the next streetlight went light, dark, light, dark, light, dark.

A gangly man emerged from the shadows. His hood draped over his face and a handkerchief over his mouth. “Gimme the purse.”

She scoffed but handed over the tiny purse she used just for that night. It only held her lipstick and a twenty. The guy wasn’t going to make out with a lot.

“And your coat.”

“This old thing?” Or actually the phone in her pocket?

“The coat!” He pointed at her with an object. The strobing streetlight reflected off the edge of a knife.

As if she were the artificial intelligence, she immediately unbuttoned her coat. The night’s cold grew sharp against her exposed skin, and in that dress, she exposed a lot of skin. Her coat felt like armor, and she would not lose her dignity any more than she already had. She unbuttoned the penultimate button and shifted her body weight lower and swung her right fist, landing a hook in the man’s jaw. As he reeled back, she started to run. Her delicate heels and hugging dress painfully reminded her they could not handle her typical gazelle-like strides.

She stopped to undo the strap of her heel. Bare feet might fare better on cold, uneven concrete. Before she freed the strap from the tiny buckle, she felt a strong tug at her coat and ripped herself free, thanks to those loose buttons. The coat flew behind her. Marisol didn’t enjoy a long enough of an escape before rough hands grabbed the back of her neck and squeezed the breath from her throat. Marisol gasped for oxygen. The man swung Marisol’s body into a brick wall of a building, slamming her head against the bricks.

She staggered back in pain and reached to touch her head. But something stabbed into her neck. She reflexively grabbed at the object. Themugger pulled at her abuelita’s necklace. With another yank, the strand broke. Her vision grew fuzzier and fuzzier. Blood trickled into her eyes. Her legs turned into jelly, and she hit the ground.

A dark blur jumped on top of the mugger.

---