Beastly Beautiful (8 page)

But then, as if to reassure her in her moment of wavering, snatches of the angry letter she had read from Dr. Green floated before her mind. Those hadn’t been the threats of a man content to let his anger go. They were the words of a man who meant business. One who might be willing to pay generously to see that business conducted.

She returned to her work.

By a strange twist of fate, I have come to be in a trusted position close to this man we both have cause to despise. I will be blunt. My financial circumstances are difficult. If you have some plan for avenging yourself of Mr. Rotham and if somehow my own efforts could benefit this plan, I am ready and eager to take part in it. For a price, I will do anything you ask, will provide any information on this man or his movements you want. If my offer interests you, if there’s any way we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement, you may respond to the below address.

She signed her name hastily, before she could change her mind, and printed the address of her new post office box at the bottom of the note. She had to buy a whole box of envelopes from the clerk before she could slip her letter into one, seal it, then scribble the address she had previously memorized across the front.

Back out on the sidewalk, she hunched her shoulders against the blast of the icy wind as she hurried away from what she imaginatively dubbed the scene off her crime. She shuddered to think what might happen if Sir were to find out what she had just done. But then, why should he, she asked herself. The man might be many things, but all seeing he wasn’t.

Despite the dreariness of the day around her and the faint unease she still felt at what she had done, another more sensible part of her was relieved. With this new direction she’d taken, she need no longer rely solely on the good graces of a man she had little cause to trust.

She stopped by her room just long enough to drop off her bags and change into some of her new clothing. She took the crinkled roll of cash out of her pocket and put some of it into the new purse she had bought, stuffing the rest under the edge of a loose floor tile. In a neighborhood like this you didn’t take chances, even if you were someone who appeared to have little to steal.

After that she was off again to purchase a whole avalanche of supplies. By the time her day had ended she had new sheets for the bed, new bathroom and kitchen necessities, and enough groceries to last her a week. She had even picked up a few personal supplies like a hairbrush and comb and a bottle of deodorant. She had no idea when she had last brushed her teeth, but she bought a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste too.

As she finally sat down to eat a macaroni dinner cooked in her new microwave, she thought to herself that at last she was set. She hadn’t been so organized in ages. Now if she could only keep her job long enough to stay that way.

* * * *

It was approaching dusk the next evening when Teagan stepped off the glass elevator and into the middle of Sir’s living room. She could see the last glow of the fiery sun sinking down behind the skyscrapers in the distance. A glance at a digital clock on a low table told her she was exactly on time. She had just a few minutes until seven-thirty—the hour she had been instructed to begin her routine.

Hanging her purse on the coatrack—it still felt strange carrying the unfamiliar accessory—she slipped off her new waist-length jacket and went into the den to retrieve the key from beneath the silver box. She was growing accustomed to the lavishness of these rooms now, and dressed in her new clothing, no longer felt as dirty and out of place as she once had.

Her hair felt light and loose swishing around her shoulders as she moved. It hadn’t been free of that waist-length braid in years. Earlier that afternoon she had visited a hair salon and had it cut and styled to a tidier length so it now fell in soft waves to just below her shoulder blades. She still couldn’t help glancing at it admiringly every time she passed a mirror. The little square mirror set up atop Sir’s desk in the den was no exception, and it was while studying her reflection she heard the pendulum clock on the mantel chime the half hour. There was no more time to be wasted.

It all felt familiar as she began the routine. Sir had left her a little note near the silver box with a list of instructions penned in what she thought was a rather ironic tone. She suspected he was mocking her rule against face-to-face meetings, but she didn’t care. As long as he paid her on time and kept far away from the apartment while she was here, he could say or do anything he pleased. The note detailed her tasks in much the same way she had performed them last.

Setting it down, she slid the silver box aside and retrieved the hidden key. At least she felt no temptation this time to crack the ornate silver lid. She had been through that adventure before. Proceeding to the living room, she inserted the key in the latch of the study door, turned it, and slid it back out. She hardly even felt a twinge of curiosity this time about what lay on the other side of the door. After her good fortune in gaining this job it seemed foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Returning the key to its usual hiding place, she started the CD player, which had already been cued, and moved on to the kitchen. The wine was stored in the same part of the refrigerator she remembered and everything she needed for the table’s place setting was where it should be. It was only a matter of a few minutes to finish the arrangements and then she stood back studying her work. She wondered what all of this meant. Sir wasn’t here to enjoy a meal, even had there been any food on his plate. No one but her was listening to the music blaring deafeningly out over the speakers. There wasn’t even anyone here to know whether or not she had locked the study door. Was Sir really expecting some sort of late night guest to drop by, and if so who?

It occurred to her he might have a girlfriend. He had never spoken of one and she hadn’t come across any photos of a woman during the time she had spent in his room yesterday, but then she hadn’t exactly been looking for that sort of thing. For that matter, where did he go on these evening outings? He hadn’t been here when she had arrived and, if his word held good, didn’t meant to be here when she returned to undo all her work of tonight. Didn’t he have to work in the mornings? Surely even a man with all his money and apparent appreciation for alcohol couldn’t party all night long every night. Yes, the more she thought about it the more likely the idea of his having a girlfriend seemed. He was rich, powerful… What man in his position couldn’t have any woman he wanted?

She gave her head a shake. It wasn’t like his personal life was any interest of hers. So long as he kept the money coming in and stuck to the rules of their bargain she wouldn’t pry. Retrieving her purse and slipping back into her jacket, she gave the room a final glance. She didn’t think she’d forgotten anything. Certainly she didn’t want to risk another scene like the last one by failing to follow every one of Sir’s orders to the letter.

But no, everything seemed in place. The CD player was repeating the same eerie classical piece for its third time through. She wondered how much he paid the management around here to turn a deaf ear to his late-night racket. The study door stood closed and at the far side of the room a single tidy place setting and full goblet of wine waited for whoever would be the next person to enter this room. Teagan had the unsettling feeling the next human visitor would be her and then thrust aside the thought. What scenario was her imagination concocting now? Ghosts?

Sir’s voice came back to her, reminding her of how he had called her over-imaginative and immature. The peeved mood that put her in helped her forget any notions of inhuman visitors and bizarre rituals. Stepping into the elevator, she hit the button and was carried down to the first floor. She would have to get straight to bed when she got home if she was to return here early the next morning.

Chapter 11

That night was a long and restless one. Head cradled atop a soft pillow and body curled up in a real bed for the first time in a long time, she ought to have slept like the dead. Instead she tossed and turned, unaccustomed for so long to the feel of a squishy mattress beneath her and a warm blanket drawn up to her chin. This new life was going to take some getting used to. At some point after midnight she finally dropped off for a few hours only to be tortured by wild nightmares about fanged beasts chasing her through the shadows and invisible guests sitting at lonely tables draining goblets of red wine. More disturbing than any of the rest was the sense of Sir, hovering as a vague presence in the background. She felt his accusing eyes following her every movement, and she knew in his hands he held something…a letter with her signature at the bottom.

On waking from that nightmare, she didn’t try to fall back asleep. It seemed best to stay up and fill her mind with ordinary everyday things until the after-effects of the bad dreams faded away. At times like this, she thought, sitting up in bed and staring at a stained bit of wallpaper on the far wall, it would be nice to have a TV. That at least might help her mind escape this weird rut in which it couldn’t seem to think about anything not involving the mysterious Sir, even in her sleep.

Unfortunately she had no television and didn’t even own so much as a book or a magazine. Maybe tomorrow she’d go out early and get a paper from one of those machines outside the nearest coffee shop. She couldn’t afford their coffee but a paper she could splurge on. Yawning, she propped her pillow behind her back and let her eyes trace the maze of faded, scrolling designs flowing down the old wallpaper.

Of their own accord, her thoughts worked their way back to Sir. She played with a new theory that had struck her sometime yesterday evening as she completed his list of chores. It was just a suspicion and she wasn’t sure how much sense it made, but it was an idea she couldn’t quite get out of her head. Suppose Sir’s weird ritual was all just an act—a pretense to hide something much bigger? What if all those weird tasks he had set her were just decoys, invented to distract her from whatever his real purpose was? She tried to work out what motivation he could have for coming up with a lot of weird, useless nonsense for her to carry out.

Then discarding her original idea, she thought, maybe the ritual was important. Maybe parts of it did have a purpose. Could it be one part—just one—of his eerie ritual had some secret significance? And if it did, and if he didn’t want her to invest too much energy into guessing at what it was, wouldn’t it have been a natural stroke of brilliance on his part to concoct an entire odd routine for her to act out. By doing so, he would be disguising the importance of the one part of the ritual that might otherwise stand out, distracting her from the area she should be concentrating on the most.

Teagan shivered, at once excited and frightened by the idea. What secret could Sir be hiding that was any stranger than the odd behavior he had already demonstrated? She ran her mind over each of the tasks she had performed that night from the list. Which one was the one—the real task for which all the others were just screens of smoke? But try as she might, she couldn’t separate one particular part of the routine that seemed any more mysterious or significant than the others.

Maybe all her exhausted mind needed was a little peaceful sleep and in the morning, the answer would come to her, she thought, sinking drowsily back into her bed. If nothing else, perhaps she would stumble onto some clue to the mystery when she returned to Sir’s apartment at dawn. For now, her eyes had grown heavy and she found she was, after all, able to slip down again into a light slumber.

* * * *

The next morning Teagan’s eyes felt achy and grainy as she locked the door to her room and left the apartment house behind. Forget buying a paper. She was too tired just now to focus on it. Besides, she was running behind. It was a gray, chilly day out and the last of the snow still blanketed the ground in muddy, melting heaps along the edges of the streets.

The sidewalks at least had been cleared and sprinkled with salt so Teagan didn’t have to watch her step as she hurried off on her way to Sir’s. Taxis were too expensive, and she couldn’t afford to let them eat up her money taking her someplace her legs were perfectly capable of carrying her. She’d just remember to start out earlier in the future, she told herself. Sir’s apartment complex wasn’t anywhere near her neighborhood.

She made it past the doorman without any trouble this time. She didn’t know if Sir had given him instructions to always let her pass unquestioned or if he had merely given up trying to keep her out. Then again, her new, cleaner look probably didn’t hurt her cause any either. The elevator was beginning to feel like her second home as it carried her up to the penthouse. Give her a reclining chair and a pillow, she thought, and she could live here as comfortably as her new apartment. More so maybe. The elevator had lulling music and a clean smell.

Stepping out into Sir’s living room she was unsurprised to find the entire place exactly as she had left it. The wine was still in its goblet, untouched. The CD player still blared and the study door remained closed and locked. Only one thing was different, she noticed as she moved to turn off the CD player. Rounding the couches, she saw what hadn’t been visible to her before. A low table near the center of the room had been knocked over and there was a small rip in the carpet near the sunken part of the living room. She couldn’t say for sure about the torn carpet but she knew she hadn’t left the table that way. A small figurine had fallen from the tipped table and shattered across the floor. A pile of magazines had also slid off. That was all. Not such a big deal.

And yet its implication hit Teagan hard. Someone had been here since she left. An intruder maybe? Had they taken anything? But all the priceless artwork along the walls seemed to be in place. The entertainment system wasn’t stolen, and thieves surely would have been drawn to that. She checked her first panicked thought of calling the police. This was Sir’s apartment. Best to let him deal with it. Besides, who was to say it hadn’t been Sir himself returning during the night to make this mess? Maybe it was even his mysterious guest, showing up after all.