Chapter 6

A month after Pittsburgh, things ran like boring clockwork; up and ready by seven-thirty, home by eight. At present I was sitting in the limo with Cato and Saint being driven to the office. If the money and company weren’t so good I would have been tempted to go back to Grinitch. On second thought…no I wouldn’t. But still, at least in Grinitch I wasn’t bored out of my mind. There I could have preoccupied my thoughts with how to get rid of my most recent stalker, who I was scheduled to go on patrol with, and how best to stay out of everyone’s way while accomplishing all the above.

Here I was, an eighteen-year old Halfling Anguis, with a high school diploma and a couple of college classes under my belt. I wasn’t a Death God with a billion dollar business to run, or his snotty gay European secretary telling everyone what to do while simultaneously criticizing my lack of style. Nor was I a Dragon who seemed to suffer from severe P.M.S. whenever I happened to enter the room. I was just me. And as warped as my observation may have been, I could see that they all had one thing I didn’t when it came to the lifestyle I had recently moved into: years of experience and the knowledge that came with it.

They knew this world inside and out, whereas I had spent my entire life glancing through the window, without even the slightest clue as to how they managed it. But now I was inside, front and center, with a smidgen more information than I’d had before, and still I felt totally and utterly inept.

Cato had chosen me to become one of his Champions. Chosen you because of her, I reminded myself. It always left a bitter taste in my mouth to remember that. All my life I’d wanted to be someone who got noticed. I wanted to be that girl who walked into a room and had all the guys turning their heads. Now I was, but having their heads turn only served as a cold reminder that they weren’t looking at me because of me, but because of her. Just like Cato had. Just like everyone else would for the rest of my life.

Okay, enough with the friggen pity party. I’m here, I’m bored, and I’m being very well paid for it. I’ll live.

“You have a meeting with the board at eight-thirty, a ground breaking for the new museum you’re founding at eleven, and lunch with Cameal. Then a meeting with Draco at five,” Saint spoke, going over Cato’s schedule for the day, as was the normal routine for the ride to the office.

Draco? I thought with slight interest. Did he have a meeting with a group of Dragons or was it just a Sindian sporting their Clan’s name? It wasn’t uncommon for Sindians to use their Clan as a surname, a sort of proclamation to us Guardians so we didn’t insult them by calling them the wrong one. If Cato had a meeting with them, I wonder if I’d be in attendance, or simply wait outside like I did during his board meetings.

By twelve, I was so bored out of my mind I was beginning to wonder if there was even a reason for my being here at all. I wasn’t needed at the board meeting, or the ground-breaking ceremony; as a matter-of-fact, it seemed all I was doing was standing around looking pretty, or more ‘touch me and I keep your limb as a trophy’. Thank god we were going to lunch next, or I really might have been tempted to do just that.

We pulled up to a three story Chinese restaurant painted in gold, teal green, and lipstick red. Dragons in matching colors were wrapped around the top of the red and gold columns that stood at the entrance. They looked for all worlds as dazzling as they were deadly.

“Since when do Dracos from the Orient become willing decorations for a restaurant?” I asked, eyeing the Dracos from my tinted window.

“Since this restaurant doubles as a haven,” Saint spoke with a tone that all but screamed ‘isn’t that obvious’. And it was, the only problem was there were five havens in Manhattan and the one for Sindian’s from the Orient was an import -export business on the docks. Not a three-story restaurant right at the mouth of China town.

When the limo’s door opened and Cato got out, followed by Saint, I kicked off my heels and slid to the limo’s fuzzy black floor where I usually ate lunch. That is, until Saint turned back to the limo and motioned for me to come.

I didn’t want to go in. It wasn’t that I liked eating in the limo; it was just easier than going in and being gawked at. It was more peaceful to eat alone in here then it was out in public.

“Mr. Cato requests that you join us,” Saint explained at the sight of my puzzled expression as I stepped out of the limo, holding onto the roof as I slipped my heels back on. Damn whatever man invented heels. And you know it was a man, because only they would make something as uncomfortable as two-inch stiletto heels, knowing they’d never have to where the damn things.

“Why?” I asked, when I finally managed to wedge my foot back into the tiny shoe. Painful as they are, they do manage to do wonders to certain outfits.

“That is his business,” Saint replied, sounding a tad bitter, and giving me the strong impression that he didn’t know why Cato wanted me along either.

“So you don’t know,” I breathed, looking him directly in the eyes as I did.

Saint didn’t like me, which was fine, considering I didn’t like him much either. We had a good respect for each other’s capabilities, but a better dislike of each other’s personalities. He thought I was an uncouth brat with absolutely no respect for the world I’d been pushed into, and I thought he was a pompous fairy with way too many clothes. So far, we’d proved neither wrong.

And for a brief moment (because of my dislike for him), I enjoyed how irked he was, and followed Cato with Saint in tow behind me.

It appeared Saint disliked the backseat, since I could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my skull as we walked in. I couldn’t help but smile. For some reason pissing off Saint felt as good as if I was doing it to Mica. Though, somewhere in my head, there was a little voice begging me to stop.

The second we got through the double-doors, the hostess dressed in the standard white blouse and black skirt uniform greeted us with a waist-deep bow, and led us to a private elevator at the back of the restaurant. Stepping inside after the rest of us, she pressed the button for the third floor and we went up.

I hate elevators. Not because I’m claustrophobic. It’s just the minute the thing starts to move it feels like my brain is being slammed against my skull and I’m going to throw up. It also doesn’t help that I can hear the echo of the hollow chamber we’re moving through, which sounds something along the lines of a chainsaw mixed with nails on the chalkboard; metal nails. Not fingernails.

The third floor, unlike the ground, which looked like just about every Chinese restaurant I’d ever been in, was set up like a traditional Japanese teahouse with individual rooms separated by thin paper walls and bamboo reed flooring.

This was certainly a change.

The hostess led us down the hall to the very last room. She slid the door open and bowed as she waited for us to enter. I followed Cato’s lead, taking off my shoes outside and placing them next to his before going in. The interior of the room kept with its exterior Japanese theme, a dark, low wooden table placed in the middle of the room, large flat cushions set around it, a tea pot in the center of the table with three small glazed cups sitting next to it, with a small black vase holding three twigs of light purple orchids.

I didn’t get it. What was a Japanese tearoom doing in a Chinese restaurant? I wasn’t really cultured or anything, but on occasion I did watch the history channel, and from what I knew, the Chinese and the Japanese mixed about as well as oil and vinegar.

“The owner is Chinese-Japanese, Chazara,” Cato explained. My brow wrinkled at his comment, until I figured out he’d been listening to my thoughts. I hated it when he did that and he damn well knew it. There hadn’t been a time yet where he’d read my thoughts and I wasn’t swearing up a storm in mental response after I’d figured it out. “How did you know this was a traditional tearoom?” he asked as he sat down at the table.

“History channel,” I shrugged as I took the room in. “And Carlee liked to watch Sailor Moon. She’d tell me what was exaggerated and what was true. Guess she was Japanese in another life,” I shrugged again as I sat to Cato’s left, Saint taking the empty spot to his right.

I may like annoying Saint, but that didn’t mean I was bitch enough or stupid enough to place myself on the boss’s right, when I wasn’t the right hand Saint was.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Cato nodded in agreement. “She’s very powerful.” No kidding on that one. Unlike most Guardians who obtained their powers either shortly before or during puberty, Carlee had hers straight out of the womb. Or so she’d told me, and given how powerful the runt was, I had no problem believing it, or with keeping that information to myself.

“It’s very polite of your friend to educate you on the truth of my people, rather than judge us by what is portrayed on T.V. or read in those dreadful manga. It is also very rude to listen in on other people’s thoughts, Lucius,” came a woman’s voice from behind the paper door we’d entered from.

“Good afternoon, Cameal,” Cato smiled, giving the voice a small bow of his head that seemed more mannerly then it was necessary. Slowly, she slid the door open.

The voice’s owner was the very essence of Asian beauty, powder white skin, long raven-black hair and dark brown eyes. She wore a kimono of pale pink and green with cherry blossoms decorating the pattern. In tiny but hasty steps, she made her way to the table we were occupying, setting herself down opposite Cato with me and Saint, acting as a separation between the two.

“You have a new face with you,” she spoke as she poured a glass of tea. “One could think you didn’t trust me,” she added, offering the glass to Cato.

“Merely a curtsey. I thought you would like to be the first to formally meet her,” Cato replied pleasantly. I couldn’t understand it. Was this woman an ally of his or a civil enemy. The tension in the delicate room was getting so tight I was surprised the paper walls hadn’t been blown to bits from the sheer force of it.

On the outside, it looked like polite formality, but I could feel power bouncing between them, lashing out and pulling back, only to lash out again. I’d never felt anything like it. It was exhilarating and at the same time utterly terrifying. Mainly because what I was feeling wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg.

“So this is she,” the woman commented, sounding slightly interested and showing not even the slightest wear from the power she was throwing at and receiving in turn from Cato. “May I have the pleasure of her name?” she asked as she poured another glass and gave it to Saint.

She didn’t even look at me as she asked, nor did she offer me any tea when she filled the last glass. I was getting the distinct impression that this Asian doll didn’t like me much.

And there were a number of guesses I could make as to why. I was Anguis, I was a Halfing, I was human, I’d sent a loved one; the list went on.

“Chazara Reahdiva,” Saint said out of the blue. The woman paused a moment before finally looking to me with complete and utter contempt in her eyes. I wonder if it can be considered sad when you come to expect hostility from total strangers.

“By any chance you don’t happen to know her, do you?” I asked her just in case she wasn’t a total stranger. If she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be the first Sindian in this world to want me dead because of her.

“Why would I know a Fire element?” she replied, watching her as closely as I was. There were two types of Sindians. Animal, what I was, and Elemental what madam Geisha was.

Great, so her hatred wasn’t spawned from some eons-old grudge, at least none that we knew of. That only left about a dozen or so other reasons to want me dead.

“The Ice King,” she seethed, barely able to control the rage welling up inside her. Hmph, first time I’d provoked this kind of reaction without really having to say or do anything first.

“The one and only,” Saint added pleasantly. All of a sudden, I was beginning to wonder if Saint’s telling her who and what I was was his way of getting back at me. I really wouldn’t put it past him?

“You’ve killed many of my kind,” she said, locking her eyes on me like a torpedo waiting to be launched.

“It’s what I do,” I replied without apology. What was she expecting? That I’d shrivel up and start crying at the sheer sight of her hatred towards me? Hello, I’d spent two years living in a town where every Guardian wanted me dead, and even a few Sindians were willing to help. A few killing glares from her weren’t going to have me wailing for mommy.

Like a sudden gust of wind, her heated anger turned into a pleasant smile as she gazed at me with amusement and delight. “So young to be Death’s Champion, and the only female as well,” she remarked, her smile widening as she continued to speak. “If you apologize for killing them I will forgive you and we shall be friends. You will not be alone then,” she finished, her beauty deepening, and at the same time taking on an eerier evil, so sweet, yet it made my soul sick to even be near her.

And to top it all off, she wanted an apology for what I’d done in exchange for her friendship. That wasn’t even remotely tempting. Other than being an Elemental Sindian of an opposing element, there was something severely wrong with this woman. She wasn’t warped or twisted; more like fractured, and the poor fool who’d thought they could put her back together had gotten the pieces mixed up or even lost a few in the process.

“I’ll manage,” I replied, making the underlying statement of ‘not a chance in hell’ unmistakable. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m sure I’ll lose a lot of sleep over the loss of your friendship,” I stated, keeping my eyes locked with hers. Oh, why did I have to open my big mouth and say that? I groaned inwardly.

“Be careful, little girl. You are not the first of your sex to rank among the Death God’s chosen. It is only for now that you are the only one. Only for now,” she sneered, raking her eyes over me as she did.

What, did she think I was his slut? Had she and Cato been an item at some point in time? That would certainly make her hatred of me more understandable. Sadly, that would even make it more tolerable. I could forgive a woman’s hatred if her man had left her for (this is not my vanity talking) me.

“I don’t really care if I am, or if he made all his Champions women. I don’t get jealous over things I have no interest or right to be jealous of,” I replied. And it was true, I didn’t. I understood jealousy, but had yet to actually experience the emotion; at least the way she was, anyway.

“You are a fool to provoke what you have no understanding of,” she hissed, and that wrongness I had felt in her moments ago ran up to her eyes, making her look like a wild animal thirsting for the taste of blood, for the thrill of the kill. It didn’t matter what the prey was; young, old, weak, strong, so long as there was blood and a scream of terrified pain at the end.

“I’m getting an idea,” I said calmly as I continued to study her varied responses. For a Fire element, she was very erratic, something that wasn’t common among her kind. Wind was the unpredictable one, changing like the breeze, but Fire, Fire grew as its fuel source allowed. And by the way she was acting, it was almost as if someone was shoveling coal into her furnace even as we spoke.

I didn’t like it. It felt too much like a junkie getting high.

“You haven’t the slightest clue!” she yelled, knocking her cup across the table. The steaming green liquid flew from its small ceramic container as it spun about. Raising my hand, I turned the liquid away from Cato, back to her. Not out of spite or malice, but simply because my mental reflex was to get the scalding water away from Cato, and the opposite direction was the quickest and easiest way to accomplish that. The fact that she was sitting in that direction hadn’t even crossed my mind until it landed on her, that and the shrill scream she gave after, though I was fairly certain her scream had more to do with my possibly ruining her dress than the tea actually having burned her.

With her hatred relit, her eyes locked with mine just before her hands, eyes and hair turned to fire and she lunged for me.

“Yukiko!” a man’s voice thundered through the room, a voice that hadn’t originated from either of the two powerful men I was sitting with.

Like a dog fearing a beating from its master, Yukiko dropped to the floor and spun around to face the paper wall I had mistaken for just a lovely mural of high misty mountains, elegant black-necked cranes, and slender bamboo reeds.

“I ask you to entertain my guests, and instead you attack them,” the voice growled through the paper, definitely displeased with his minion’s treatment of his guests. “Leave. I will tend to you after my meeting,” he ordered.

As quickly as her outfit would allow, the now docile Yukiko gathered herself from the floor and scurried out with her tail tucked tightly between her legs.

“What do you think of her, Cameal?” Cato asked, appearing quite pleased with himself.

“She has no fear?” the voice stated as the paper wall slid open, admitting a man about Cato’s height with short dark brown hair, tawny skin, and a jet-black suit with a crimson silk shirt underneath it. At least, I assume it was silk, but then what do I know? I dressed for mobility and comfort, not style. Which up till a little over a month ago was anything I could find at Goodwill. And out of some deranged whim I’d decided to where heels rather then my usual flats.

He wasn’t as good-looking as Cato, or Shateal. But still it was hard to call him anything other than beautiful, at the very least beautiful. Where the hell did the Powers hunt up these guys, ‘Deadly and Devastating R us’? Like Cato, he possessed an aura of being far older then he looked, which at the moment was about twenty-seven or so.

“You didn’t even flinch,” Cameal remarked, looking directly at me.

I didn’t reply. I was too caught up in his hazel-yellow eyes, trying to place from which Order he had got the vertical pupils.

“Draco?” I asked.

“Anguis, actually, like you.” He smiled as he pulled back his sleeve and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt to reveal the markings that decorated his forearm. The same markings adorned mine, but unlike mine, his were golden-red in color, and you could see the scales within, as well as the faint ridge where a razor sharp fin would rise if needed in battle or swimming. I couldn’t help but think that if I lived as long as him, would that happen to me to?

“It’s a willing choice, Chazara. Nothing to do with time,” Cato said, pulling me from the thoughts of how I would look ten, twenty, a hundred years from now with her still a part of me. Looking back to Cameal, I looked him up and down. Other than the more defined scales and his eyes, he didn’t look any different than me.

“Am I here to be shown off?” I asked directly when I looked back to Cato, reverting to the cold, hard nature that had won me my name. If his reason for bringing me was merely to show me off to another Anguis, to parade me around in front of him as if to say ‘lookie what I got’, I was going to be seriously pissed. Not that I wasn’t getting there already. Yukiko’s insinuation that I was Cato’s call girl had pretty much started me down that path, but if I was indeed here to be tossed around like some power prize, that would finish it.

“Is that what you think?” Cato replied easily, that all-knowing look clouding his face as he took a sip of his tea.

“You never bothered to stay out of my head before, Cato. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your ways now,” I remarked sharply, accusing him in all fullness of not minding his own business.

I watched as a small smile graced his lips as his eyes rose to Cameal’s, now standing that the head of the table where Yukiko had sat.

“He is your Master, girl,” Cameal growled,

“Funny. Didn’t you say you were like me?” I asked, looking to Cameal, distain coating my words. “Or have you been a servant so long you’ve forgotten what it is to be Anguis,” I finished, watching his eyes narrow in barely concealed rage. I could feel her purring with satisfaction in my mind, taking pride in the way I had reminded him that we were Anguis, the Gods of the Reptile Order, the fears of any other. We, who were meager in number, yet could still bring down hundreds if we so felt the need.

“I have been Anguis since before even your line was forged, Reahdiva,” he hissed.

“Goody for you,” I shook my head in a very valley girl way. “But I’m still Anguis. And he’s still not my Master.” I explained in the same ‘duh’ manner. “Now if you don’t mind, I saw some beef and broccoli at the buffet downstairs, and I don’t know what you guys do for lunch, but I generally eat,” I stated as I rose to leave, hiding the fact that the utterly stunned expression on Cameal’s face was certainly making up for my thus far shitty day.

Taking a step for the door, Cameal grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks as I felt the power that had been battling Cato’s earlier run up through me- kicking every ounce of power I had to its highest point, as well as putting her on full kill mode. It was a struggle to keep them both from visibly showing while he was doing his damnedest to make them.

“Let go,” I said in warning, locking my eyes in his.

“You won’t win,” he replied with a smug smile.

“But you’ll still bleed,” I smiled back.

Releasing when Saint had cleared his throat, creating a save for the both of us. For Cameal, so he wouldn’t lose face backing down from a fight, and me so I wouldn’t have to start one.

“I’m beginning to understand why there are so few Anguis males,” I told her as I left the room, grabbing my shoes outside the door and proceeding for the elevator, pressing the button.

I could hear her laughter ring through my head as she settled back down. If I’d stayed connected to Cameal a moment longer, I would have lost her.

Placing a hand on the frame of the elevator, I slipped my shoes back on. Could that have gone any worse? I wondered, resting my head against my wrist as I waited for the elevator to surface. When it did, and the doors opened with a ding, I immediately wished it hadn’t, and seriously thought about taking the stairs instead.

With my struggle for control over power and my primeval pest only moments behind me, I in no way had the strength to play civil with Shateal, who was presently standing in the middle of the elevator leaning against the wall, wearing a black leather riding jacket, faded black jeans and riding boots, the right half of his face still covered by that be-damnable chunk of perfect hair.

Staring, or rather glaring at Shateal, I debated on which route I should use to reach the bottom floor. Take the stairs, or brave the elevator with the Dragon who lives to piss me off.

“Ah, fuck it,” I sighed, pushing off the metal frame and heading back down the hall to the door marked Fire Exit. I was exhausted, but I’d rather waste my energy trying to get down three flights of stairs than get into a verbal war with Shateal.

I reached for the doorknob and Shateal’s hand appeared before mine, grasping it first. Dropping my hand, I stared at the door, fighting the urge to kick it, and then kick him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sounding both tired and highly annoyed.

“You want to set off the fire alarm, Highness,” he replied, his tone equal with my present aggravation.

Another sigh escaped my lips as I looked past Shateal to the elevator. Blaring alarms or hollow shrieking. One would last until I reached the bottom floor; the other most likely until the fire department showed up. For a moment, I entertained the idea of using the stairs, if for no other reason than to spite Cameal for trying to overpower me. Which I’m more than certain he would have if Saint hadn’t developed a sudden dryness of throat.

I’d have to thank him for that.

Trudging back to the elevator, I hit the button once more, glaring up at the ceiling as I felt Shateal’s eyes hovering on me.

“You’re doing it again,” I bit, folding my arms over my chest as I waited.

“You’re making it hard not to again,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“What the hell do you find so interesting that you have to stare at me?” I practically yelled as I turned back to face him. He was still standing by the fire exit, poised in kind of a stay-go position. “What?” I snapped looking down at myself, arms open as I tried to spy what obviously had him so engrossed.

Then the elevator dinged and with a roll of my eyes I got in, sinking down to the floor, covering my ears in a pathetic attempt to block out the impending noise.

I felt the elevator jerk, and the momentary need to throw up assailed my stomach. But there was no noise.

Blinking, I released my ears and looked up to find Shateal crouched down before me, his hand hovering over my knee, barely even touching it. His eyes…or rather, eye, closed.

“What are you doing?” I asked before I could even think.