Page 38 of Gates of Tartarus

“Yes, you are, princess. And feeling sorry for yourself won’t fend off an attacker.” He smiles condescendingly at me, and I see red.

“Why, you! Ugh!” I rush him, trying to kick his balls into his throat, a move he sidesteps easily. “Uh, uh, uh. We haven’t learned that technique yet.” Then he circles me, coming in high and low, while I try to block his punches. I’m tired but hang grimly on, determined to show him that I can master self-defense. I must be getting better, because he speeds up, and all of a sudden, I miss one.

“Ow!” He’s been pulling his punches, but, as luck would have it, this one lands on a last, lingering bruise.

“You OK, Driscoll?” For once, he looks concerned.

“No!” I snap. “You’ll be glad to hear I’m not.”

“Alright, let’s see it.”

I push his hand away. “Bugger off!” It doesn’t really hurt any more, but I’m feeling teary and really want to get on the outside of that mint-chocolate-chip ice cream waiting for me at home.

He’s adamant, though, and pushes up my sleeve. When he sees the bruise, he glowers. “That where the bastard hit you?” I nod, barely holding back a sniffle, which makes me want to cry even more, so I bite my lip hard. “Just remember that he's dead.” He nods himself, face set in craggy lines. “OK, that’s enough for today. I’ll see you Monday in my office.”

I nod again and head out. I’m not going to change out of my work-out gear; I’m too tired. As I’m leaving the building, though, I realize that I’ve left my bag in the locker and turn around. When I get back to the gym, I stop, hovering on the threshold. Seef’s alone, sitting on a bench and wincing as he tries to put on his prosthetic. The stump must hurt, because he all of a sudden throws the prosthetic to one side, growling. Then he stalks to the heavy punching bag hanging in a corner of the room and begins to spin, slowly at first, then faster and faster, striking and kicking. It’s beautiful – his body a thing of grace and skill – and heart-breaking all at once. At last, he drops to his knees, chest heaving and slick. His face is haunted, a thousand shadows carving deep grooves down either side of that stern mouth, and his eyes are glittering. I watch quietly, peeping round the corner until I see him go into the changing room. Then I scurry in and grab my bag, trying to not even catch a breath.

Coffee Tours and Crashed Bikes

Friday, 9 November – Kailani

The weather’s cooperating more today, and I hop on my bike, revving it slightly. I’m not loving the look of the roads – still slick with rain, but the clouds have held off their downpour today, and after the day I’ve had I really feel I deserve a ten-minute break before having to meet Tennireef for what promises to be an absolutely miserable dinner. Relaxing slightly into the seat, I lift my boot to kick off when I hear Deo’s voice over the sound of the engine.

“Kai! Kailani!” The worry in his tone means he’s probably been calling me for awhile, but I didn’t hear, lost to my thoughts. Maddox and Jonah are behind him, all three like little ducks in a row.

“What’s up?” I ask, immediately on edge with the force of the cavalry coming out to meet me. The entire day today had been one guy or another telling me what to do, repeating warnings, cautions, admonitions. If I couldn’t feel their worry swirling around me like smoke, I would have lost my fucking mind. Four guys telling me shit every woman knows since thirteen – “don’t leave him alone at the table with your drinks” –uh, no shit, Sherlock. “Keep your phone on you in case of emergencies”, “don’t leave the restaurant with him”, “carry mace in your pocketbook”, “don’t get in a car or elevator alone with him”... but when Smith passed me money to tuck in “somewhere that isn’t your purse, just in case”, I had to leave and take a long, long run. In their own way they were trying to be sweet, but Christ in Heaven and all the angel babies, they were pissing me off.

“About dinner, we know we were going to be listening from the hotel room, but we think someone should be with you,” Jonah begins, and I groan.

“We’ve been through this a hundred times,” I say. “You can’t be in the–”

“We think someone should trail you to dinner,” Deo interrupts, and I look at him, willing to listen because... well, it’s Deo.

“I’m not saying ‘no’, but The Table’s a micro-restaurant. Only like fifteen two-tops, I think. Less if they have to combine any tables. None of you are going to be able to blend in there. And we want him to think this is an actual date.”

“We know. Which is why we made kind of a deal about you going alone. So he doesn’t suspect. But it’s not safe to go in completely alone. Not with us that far away anyway.”

The silence hangs between us as we think, then Jonah shrugs slightly and turns to Maddox, asking, “Maybe watching from the Starbucks across the street?”

“Isthere a Starbucks across the street?”

Deo and I answer in unison, “It’s Seattle,” as though it’s self-explanatory.

Maddox raises a brow, and Jonah interjects, “There are 133 Starbucks in Seattle, man. There’s going to be one near enough to watch the entrance of the restaurant.”

“Weird random knowledge,” I tease Jonah, and he smiles at me.

“I went on the coffee tour of Seattle a few weeks back,” he replies. “Three hours of random coffee knowledge firmly implanted in here.” He taps his head.

I take off my helmet to see him better. “What? Are you fucking with me right now? There’s an actualcoffeetour of Seattle?”

Grinning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin, black wallet with the outline of a raven on it and removes two tickets, which he passes to me. “Next tour is next month... I got you tickets. I thought you and your friend Gemma might want to go.”

Staring down at them, I feel a strange skipped beating in my heart. “You got me tickets?”

“You can change them to a different date, but the tour sells out quickly and there’s only one a month, so I thought I’d chance it.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “It was pretty cool. I wanted to try it before I sent you. You get to see the whole process, try different types from different growing regions, and try roasting a batch yourself. Like, a small batch, but it’s interesting.”

“Would you…” I begin slowly, pause, then try again, “... I mean, you’ve already gone, so you probably wouldn’t, but if you wanted, I mean, if you weren’t… but you’ve done it so…”

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