Page 19 of The Salt-Black Tree
Even if they didn’t know quite what they were looking for, a single glimpse would suffice. Long honey hair with more than a hint of curl, big dark trusting eyes, lucent skin, that baggy blue wool coat of hers, that battered black backpack and those heavy graceless boots—the instant one of them saw her or caught a thread of out-of-season jasmine, a warm breeze where none should be, a forgiving comfort… he would know.
Finally, Dima slid from his perch and stretched, each joint cracking like a distant shotgun blast. The car roused, the driver’s door banged shut with an ill-tempered bark, and he revved the engine, his hands wrapping loosely around the yoke’s two butterfly-halves.
“California,” he murmured, and smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile, and hiszaikamight well cower if she saw it.
Dima liked the golden state of opportunity. He liked the workers in the fields, dreaming backsore and bruise-fingered. Then there were the greedy cities with their asphalt veins, the richalong the craggy coast, the movie stars and Candy’s starlet-harlots in Los Angeles. There was Frisco to the north with its wide-open bars a good pickpocket could fleece at will; further northwards there were the extremists, the Humboldt uncles and nephews who served him well, and the penny-ante players. Everywhere, there were the chickens ripe for plucking and fucking. The entire state was hustle, from the fields to the boardrooms, and though the honest might sometimes outnumber his kind, there was plenty for everyone concerned.
If, that is, you had the balls to take it.
Yes, he liked California plenty, and it had been a while since he’d visited. One of his other faces handled most of the business on this coast. He supposed he should thank his quicksilverzaikafor the vacation.
There was nowhere she could hide from him. The black car gave a chortle as his mood lifted. His chariot rolled into motion, slipping into the thiefways with a tearing sound, and as dawn strengthened over Utah the secret bootlegger’s roads of the entire continent gave out a single stinging, singing pulse.
The Dead God was on the hunt.
ANY BAGGAGE
The Beverly Hills Elysium’s lobby accepted her without a sigh, and though the outside was a little different the interior was the same right down to the large central fireplace, the darkened bar behind its smoked glass panels, and the front desk with its carving of reeds and river so detailed she expected it to move. Hushed expectancy hung over every surface, from marble floor to thick red carpet to lovingly polished tables and deep comfortable furniture. Fresh flowers quivered in tasteful vases, and Nat felt very small, not to mention extremely disheveled.
Even the ebon, gleaming-bald man behind the main desk was familiar, and his smile was warm and pleased. “Welcome to the Elysium, mademoiselle. It’s wonderful to see you again.” A young man and a girl, both in the ubiquitous scarlet uniform, flanked Mr. Priest and smiled encouragingly as well. The girl’s hair was cropped short; the boy’s was shaven close just like his boss’s.
Maybe Priest was a divinity. He didn’t carry the blurring, buzzing sense of power Dmitri did, but he certainly looked moretherethan regular people.
Rubes,Dima’s voice whispered, and she shook her head.
“Hi.” It was an entirely inadequate greeting, Nat realized.Oh hell, how do I ask how to pay?“It’s, uh, nice to be back.”
“We are a refuge for the weary, and proud to be so.” His smiledidn’t alter; he hadn’t beamed at Dima like this. “It’s Priest, mademoiselle. Your regular room, I presume?”
“I…”Oh, what the hell.The worst it could cause was a little embarrassment. “I don’t have any money.”
The girl to Priest’s right inhaled sharply, almost as if Nat had cursed.
But Mr. Priest’s urbane grin never faltered. “Would you care for some, then? We can make a delivery; simply let us know the amount required. Do you have any baggage, mademoiselle?”
That is not the response I expected.“No more than the next girl, I suppose.” She almost clapped her hand over her mouth; this wasn’t the time for jokes, no matter how relieved she was. Her mouth had a mind of its own these days, though, and merrily bolted onward like a big black horse with carnivore teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m really new at this.”
“Everyone learns, mademoiselle.” He leaned forward slightly, managing to give the impression of a confidential whisper without altering his ramrod verticality by more than a degree or two. “Including divinities, powers, and principalities. Sixth floor, as usual? Was the suite to your taste last time?”
“Oh yes. Very.” Nat restrained the urge to bob a curtsy. Suddenly, she felt greasy all over, and longed for a hot shower, not to mention a decent bed. “Oh, and if Mr. Konets comes by, can you… can you not tell him…”
“We are very discreet, mademoiselle.” Mr. Priest’s handsome face turned grave, all merriment vanishing. His shoulders stiffened slightly. “Your privacy will not be intruded upon here.”
Oh, thank God.She winced—breaking the habit of casual blasphemy was going to take a while, especially inside her own head. “Thank you.”
“But of course. I must remind mademoiselle that this is a place of rest. All feuds or battles are left outside the doors; while inside these walls all are welcome, and all are held to the same standards. Nonconsensual violence towards another guest or anemployee is strictly forbidden and will result in banishment; all formal Ring matches are, of course, exempt. All amenities are included in your stay; whatever is required will be found.” The bald man in his sharply creased deep-indigo suit took a deep breath; the speech rolled from his tongue with the smooth cadence of a trained actor’s Shakespearean soliloquy. “The bar is open to all; we do ask for some slight moderation in imbibing though we understand it might not be possible in all cases. Meals are served in the restaurant at usual times or in the Ring; if you wish privacy while consuming, simply pick up the phone in your room and we shall be happy to deliver. The boutiques upon the second floor are ready to assist any guest; the pools are open at all hours though we do ask that strict silence be observed in the sauna. The rooftop garden here is open; Mademoiselle’s elder sister graciously consented to its upkeep, for which we thank her.”
Elder sister? What?Nat’s jaw threatened to drop. “Oh. I didn’t… sister?”
“If you like, we may notify her of your advent?” Priest’s hazel eyes were warm and forgiving. His hands rested on the bare countertop, nails buffed to a mellow shine. “She would be very eager to see you.”
The sense of the world slipping away underfoot was sadly familiar by now. “Okay,” Nat said, through the rushing in her ears.Sister. I have a sister? Of course Mom wouldn’t tell me. But why didn’t Mom try eating her?“I might as well. Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure.” He said it just as sincerely as he had the first time and made a small movement. “George, please show Mademoiselle Drozdova to her suite. Enjoy your stay, mademoiselle.”
The shaved, scarlet-clad boy gave her an encouraging smile, slipped through a swinging gate on the far side of the massive counter, and beckoned encouragingly.
There was nothing else to do, so Nat followed.
