A Risky Proposition (18 page)

I was about to give in and hang up, but just as my finger was over the button I heard a muffled, “Hello?”

I quickly pulled the phone back up to my ear, butterflies winging around my stomach.  “Ophelia Jameson?”

Silence greeted me on the other end.  “Uh, hi.  My name is Sydney.  Balthus suggested I contact you…”

“The Master?” a breathless voice responded.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”
 
The Master?  What kind of crap was that?

“You have spoken to Master?” she crooned.  “Is he alright?  Has he a message for me?”  Her tone held something approaching rapture.

“Well, I saw Balthus yesterday…”

“You lie!” she interrupted, sounding enraged.  The transformation was so startling that I wondered if a different person had grabbed the phone.  “The Master has been falsely imprisoned!  He would have come to me if he had been released!”

“He hasn’t been released,” I explained in the soothing voice of someone trying to calm a cornered animal.  “I was allowed a brief interview with him inside his prison cell.  He told me how to get in touch with you because he thought you might be able to answer some of my questions.”

“You saw Master?” she breathed on a sigh.  “Who are you?” she asked, her tone sharpening again.

“My name is Sydney…Corrigan,” I answered.  I was still trying to get used to using my maiden name.  “I live upstairs from you in the 10
^th
floor penthouse.”

“You!” she accused.

“Uh, me?” I responded in confusion.

“You are the mortal whom Master covets, and for whom he broke our last date before he was betrayed and wrongfully arrested!  I have been Master’s favorite for over two centuries—you will not usurp my place in his affections!” she informed me angrily.

“Whoa—I have no intention of usurping Master’s, I mean
Balthus’
affections.  As a matter of fact, I have no intention of having any further contact with him at all.  That’s kind of why I need to talk to you.  I was hoping you had some information that could help me…break my ties with Balthus, so to speak.”

She was silent for a moment.  “I will not be fooled by your tricks,” she warned, her voice turning childish.  “Master is powerful and much desired by many.  But he prizes me above the others.  Only I have been able to perfect the art of pleasing him.”

“And he’s all yours,” I agreed.  “I’d just like to meet with you for a few minutes, if I could.  You’re welcome to come up here if you like, or I could come to you.”

I waited.  She gave no response.

“The Master did suggest this meeting himself,” I urged with a silent grimace at my tactics.

She huffed.  “Fine.  You will come here.  You must give me one hour to prepare.”

The line went dead and I stared dubiously at the receiver.

“What did she say?” Sunny demanded, tapping her foot in impatience.

“She said I should come over, but she needs an hour to ‘prepare’.”

“What does that mean?”  Sunny frowned.

I shook my head slowly.  “Damned if I know.  Hopefully all it means is that she has to get dressed and tidy up for visitors.  Although, she seems to have gotten it into her head that I’m some sort of threat to her relationship with Balthus.  And she sounds like she’s the psychotically jealous type.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sunny stated flatly.

I snorted.  “Damned right, you are.”

 
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

An hour later I called Ophelia again.  After about the twelfth ring she picked up and churlishly agreed to grant me access to her elevator stop.  I didn’t mention that I was bringing Sunny—I figured I’d deal with that when we got there.  Ophelia’s moods seemed to be unusually volatile, and I didn’t want to jeopardize her reluctant agreement to meet with me.

Sunny and I stepped off the elevator into an outer foyer blooming with fresh cut flowers—roses of every color, combined with lavender and white daisies, and some type of delicate purple-blue blossom.  Fresh herbs had been used for the accenting greenery—soft licorice traces of fennel mingled with something light and citrusy.

The door to the penthouse slid open in front of us, and there stood a petite brunette in a clinging, floor-length dressing gown of gleaming copper silk.  Everything about her had a strange, artificial perfection—from her artfully tousled curls, to her flawless makeup, to her freshly manicured fingers and toes.  Her placid smile faltered for a moment when she realized there were two of us, but she quickly pasted it back into place.

“Let me guess,” she purred, “you must be Sydney.”  She indicated me with a delicate lift of her chin.

“That’s right,” I said, trying to appear friendly and non-threatening.

She arched her back in a sultry movement that thrust her obviously enhanced breasts forward, widening the vee at the neck of her robe.  Then she leaned casually into the door frame and gave me haughty smile.  “The Master is very predictable.  He always chooses the same type of mortal for his brief dalliances.  I have seen him go through countless women like you over the years.  Although, I must say his taste is slipping a bit.”  Her disdainful gaze traveled over my t-shirt and jeans. 

I forced myself not to rise to her bait.

“And who is your friend?  I hope you don’t think to gain The Master’s favor as well.  You are most definitely not his type,” she informed Sunny arrogantly.

“This is my friend, Sunny,” I interjected in haste, glancing at Sunny’s tell-tale raised eyebrows and pursed lips, and trying to avoid the verbal onslaught I knew was coming.  “She’s staying with me, so I brought her along. 
Neither
of us have any interest in Balthus.  I only want to talk to you.”

Ophelia tipped her head into her raised shoulder.  “Fine.  Come in, then.”  She turned and glided deeper into her den.

Heavy burgundy curtains were drawn over the sliding glass doors to block out the sunlight, and a multitude of tiny flames from a host of candles and glass oil lamps cast a warm glow over the room.  Flower arrangements similar to those in the outer foyer were scattered throughout the space, but the warm smell of baking pastries overpowered their scent.

Sunny and I followed Ophelia into a sitting room inhabited by deep velvet couches in a rich claret that complimented the drapes.  Ophelia indicated we should have a seat, waiting for us to take our places on one couch before she lowered herself onto the other.  Then she reached toward the coffee table and a formal silver tea service, with a set of antique china teacups and saucers in a delicate rose pattern.

“Your place is beautiful, Ophelia.  And that’s a lovely tea service,” I commented, hoping to appeal to her pleasant side—assuming she had one.

“It is so seldom that I have visitors,” she confided, nibbling her lower lip with a shy smile.  “I wanted everything to be perfect.  How do you take your tea?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I began.  I hastily reconsidered at the lightning flash of anger that flickered across Ophelia’s face.  “Actually, some tea would be very nice.  Two lumps of sugar and a splash of milk, please.”

Ophelia fixed my tea as I requested and carefully handed it to me, her shy smile returning as quickly as it had gone.  She looked questioningly at Sunny.

“Uh, the same for me, thanks.”  Sunny glanced at me, pursing her lips in a silent whistle that questioned the sanity of our hostess.  She didn’t drink tea, being of the opinion that it was a pointless waste of water that could have been used to brew coffee instead, but she was perceptive enough to realize that raining on Ophelia’s little tea party would be a bad idea.

Ophelia hummed a toneless melody as she handed Sunny her cup and then fixed one for herself.  I was relieved to see that she added both milk and sugar to hers as well, the possibility of her trying to poison us with something from the gleaming silver tray not having escaped my attention.

Her humming faded to silence as she raised her cup and smiled at us brightly in toast.  “Now, what shall we talk about ladies?”

I waited for Ophelia to swallow before I took a sip.  I had the strong suspicion that Sunny faked her accompanying sip and murmur of approval.

“Well, Ophelia, I wanted to ask you about something that happened several weeks ago.  As a matter of fact, it has to do with the reason Balthus was arrested.  He told me that you were with him recently when he won a soul from a goblin during some sort of bet?”  My voice faltered as I watched Ophelia’s hands begin to tremble.  A look of pain passed across her face.

“Are you alright?” I asked, casting a worried glance toward Sunny.

“What?  I’m fine,” Ophelia snapped, seeming to recover from her brief reaction.  “You ask me about a goblin?  I do not associate with such creatures.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that they can be rather unpleasant,” I replied.  “But nonetheless, I need to find this one.  He gave Balthus the illegal soul that got him arrested.  And Balthus says you were there when it happened.”

Ophelia dropped her teacup, the pale liquid spilling out onto the buff-colored carpet at her feet.  She clutched her middle and moaned, sweat breaking out across her forehead.

“Bad cramps?” Sunny asked sympathetically.

“The Master,” Ophelia whimpered, “I need The Master.”  Her eyelids fell shut as she grimaced in pain and began rocking back and forth.

I knelt to retrieve her cup and mopped at the spilled tea with a napkin, looking up at her in concern.  “Can I get you anything?”

“Why does Master not come to me?” she whispered pleadingly.

“Ophelia, is it getting bad again, honey?  Here let me help,” offered a kindly voice.

I started at the sudden appearance of a sprite hovering above Ophelia.  Her color-shifting dress was a study in muddy browns and grays.  Her wings looked tattered and her violet eyes were dull in her sallow face.  She sprinkled a silvery dust over Ophelia, who slowly straightened and sighed in relief as her eyelids fluttered open.

“Who are you?” demanded the sprite, taking notice of Sunny and me.

“Interlopers!” cried Ophelia, seeming to have returned to her former unpleasant self.  “This is the woman who has led Master astray with her wicked wiles!  He promised me I could have the 10
^th
floor penthouse as soon as it became available—yet he gave it to
her
.  This companion of hers no doubt harbors hopes of worming her way into Master’s affections as well.”  She pointed at Sunny.

A buzzer sounded from the kitchen.  “Ooh!  Scones!” Ophelia exclaimed in delight, jumping up and skipping into the other room, accusations against us forgotten.

“Wow,” Sunny commented, raising her eyebrows at me.  She twirled her finger beside her ear in the universal signal indicating that someone had flown over the cuckoo’s nest.

“Who are you?” the sprite insisted, her hands on her hips as she hovered before us, tattered wings giving off a sad buzz of agitation.

“Sorry.  I’m Sydney, and this is my friend, Sunny.”

“And why are you here?  It’s been hard enough to keep Ophelia calm without Balthus’ groupies coming by to rile her up!” she said angrily.

“Whoa, hold on sister.  We are
not
Balthus’ groupies,” Sunny said, affronted.

The sprite looked peevishly from Sunny back to me, weariness radiating from her entire being.

“We had no intention of upsetting Ophelia, and we certainly don’t want anything more to do with Balthus than is necessary,” I said quickly.  “Balthus did give me the 10
^th
floor penthouse—it was my second wish.  I haven’t made a third, and I’m trying to figure out how to get out of his contract.  That’s why we’re here.  We need some information from Ophelia.”

The sprite grated out a weak laugh.  “Ophelia’s the last person who’d be able to help you get out of your contract.  She entered into hers quite willingly.”

“She was with Balthus the night he won the unaligned soul that got him arrested,” I explained.

“Or so he claims,” Sunny said dryly.

“He says he got the soul from a goblin,” I continued.  “I need to find that goblin, and Ophelia may have seen him.”

“And how will that help you?” the sprite asked, settling tiredly onto the polished metal edge of the coffee table.

I gazed at her steadily for a moment before answering.  “If I can prove that he knew the soul was illegal, my contract may be deemed unlawful as well.  I want it cancelled.  And the goblin is my only lead.”

“Sounds like a long shot, honey,” the sprite sighed.

“It’s the only shot I have.”  I smiled at her, but I couldn’t keep the desperation from my voice.

“You realize that Ophelia’s memory is fragmented.  She’s half mad with the loss of her soul,” the sprite said, her expression pained.

“Is that what’s making her act so…uh…erratically?” Sunny asked.

“That, and the withdrawal,” the sprite answered, gazing toward the sound of humming spilling from the kitchen.

“Wait, losing her soul made her start to lose her mind?” I interrupted.  “I thought the death djinn contract made you immortal and impervious to sickness and all that.”