K. R. Treadway
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Blood and Lace: Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2024-01-21 15:17:46 +0000 UTC
The cop was stout, his face unreadable behind a thick mustache.
Della would have to use the Compulsion. The officer’s unusual arrival—out of a different apartment—was already unnerving her, and she could sense more humans behind him. Best to be aggressive. She would make him turn around and plow into his friends. After that escape would be trivial.
She glanced at the door she’d just opened. Nicholas would be implicated. Unfortunate, but he can manage. A thread of worry made her hesitate. After she fled they would question him…perhaps even search his apartment. What if he possessed some cache of hunter weapons she hadn’t seen? And Lord Layne had eyes throughout city government. If there was a report then the Libertines might come for him…
Maybe I’ll return to check on him, she thought doubtfully.
“Ma’am?”
Gods take us both! She put on the Mask so fast there was a moment of disorientation. “Oh! Sorry. You startled me.” The decision had been pure impulse, but there was no time to second-guess it. “Hang on…let me set these bags down.”
Della placed them inside the doorway, letting the Mask settle fully. Her posture became looser but still confident. She became a woman in her early twenties, perfectly matching her apparent age. When she straightened she offered the policeman an innocent smile.
“Ma’am, we’re responding to a report of a noise disturbance.” His eyes flicked over her shoulder. “It came from this apartment earlier tonight.”
“Noise?” Della bit her lip and looked uncertain. “What does that mean?”
“It was a scream.” The new voice was female, hoarse from a lifetime of smoking. A woman in flip-flops, shorts, and a spaghetti-strap top emerged from the other apartment. She stopped only when the officer held out a hand. “A woman’s scream,” the stranger clarified, combing unkempt gray-brown hair away from her eyes. She jabbed a lit cigarette towards Della. “It wasn't fearful, neither. Just angry. Real angry.” She took a deep drag.
Mustache cop turned back to her. “Ma’am, do you know anything about that?”
Della licked her lips. Suddenly she felt warmth flooding her cheeks, a perfectly human blush. “I…it was me,” she stammered. “Am I in trouble?”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “It was you? That sound?” She turned to the cop. “It was a crazy-person noise, Officer. Sounded like bloody murder.”
Laying it on thick, aren't we? Then again, Della couldn't dispute it's basic accuracy.
“So I started watching,” the woman continued, warming to her performance, “through the peephole. I called the cops as soon as this one left.”
The police officer gave Della an appraising look. He was still neutral, but a vague suspicion was simmering there. “Ms. Laruso was quite agitated, ma’am. To be honest, we were getting ready to get the property owner when we heard you open the door—”
“Where is he?” Ms. Laruso interrupted with another accusatory cigarette jab. “Where’s Nicky? What did you do to him?”
Della gasped. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. He’s inside, probably asleep.” She turned to the officer, letting a palpable fear of jail radiate off her. “I screamed because Nick played a trick on me after I came here to help him. He was sick after working late last night. I checked on him, made sure he was comfortable, and he repays me by pulling a dumbass prank. I was scared—and yeah I was pissed.” She shot an annoyed look at the neighbor. “But it was hardly ‘murderous.’ ”
“What’s your relationship to Nicholas, ma’am?”
“We’re dating.” Annoyance flashed through her. Why did the Mask—
No, of course. It made the most sense based on their seeming ages, and it was less risky than “sister” or “work friend.” But it would complicate this farce if it dragged on.
Mustache cop—Della noted his nameplate read “Gardner”—glanced back over his shoulder. “Shanice?”
Another officer, a black woman, stepped calmly out of the door. “Right here.” She took up a position to the side of her partner. Now Della was hemmed in on three sides.
“I’m afraid we’ll need to talk to the resident, ma’am. Nicholas Howell?”
Della nodded nervously. To try and protest would only make it worse. “Of course. I hope…” She turned back and looked embarrassed. “…I hope he’s decent.” She pushed open the door and led them past the bags she’d set down earlier. Della nudged them to make space—and position them fully in front of the fist-sized hole in the wall near the floor.
“At least he keeps it clean!” She said a bit too loudly to Officer Gardner as she walked to the short hallway—it seemed the others were going to wait outside. Had Nicholas heard the near-shout? You’re a smart little rabbit, she thought, time to act like it.
She tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door. “Nick, sweetie? Are you awake?” Behind her the police officer stepped into the hallway, filling it. She tapped again. Rustling sheets and incoherent man sounds. “I think he’s getting up,” she said with a note of apology.
Della took a deep breath, ready to use the Compulsion to buy them some time. I’ll make him hand me his gun then lock the front door. I’ll keep him paralyzed, grab Nicholas, and we’ll go out the window—she blinked. She couldn’t go on the run with Nicholas. The Mask was mixing her up.
Gardner took a step closer. “Ma’am, why don’t you back up to the window while I took a look?”
Just as Della took half-a-step back the door opened. Nicholas was standing in sleep shorts, pale as a sheet and sweating. A note of genuine concern bubbled up inside her, but the mask never slipped.
“Aw, hun, you look awful. Do you feel any better?”
A ripple of confusion at her tone and words, then even more confusion when he took in her clothes. Confusion and…appraisal. Now? Even half-dead the man was oggling her. Humans. She cut her eyes to the cop as a reminder. His mouth worked uselessly for a moment, then he turned to Gardner.
“What’s going on?”
“Your neighbor across the hall called the cops, Nick,” Della said quietly, crossing her arms.
“Are you all right, sir?” Gardner was looking at him carefully.
Nicholas rubbed his eyes. “No…I’m sick. Think it’s food poisoning. Ms. Laruso called you?”
“It was because of my scream.”
She saw alarm in his eyes. He was too tired, and her Mask was throwing him off. He wasn't getting the message. “The scream?” he echoed uneasily.
“Don’t play dumb.” She glared at him. Look at my face, Nicholas. It’s your fault, get it? I can’t coach you. Figure it out.
He stared at her like she was a stranger.
“Sir, why don't you tell me about it?” Gardner had lowered his voice, slipping into a practiced it’s-okay-to-say-what-really-happened tone. His attention was almost entirely on Della now.
Della ignored him, keeping her gaze steadily on Nicholas. He met it, almost shyly, then looked at the ground. One hand came up to scratch absently at his shoulder.
“Yeah…well…” He looked up at the officer with an embarrassed grin. “It was my fault.”
“Okay,” the other man said evenly. “What happened?”
“I guess…I freaked her out.”
“You guess?” Della covered her eyes. “Nick, she called the cops. I’m so embarrassed.”
“It was…just a gag, officer. See, my girlfriend came over—”
“—to take care of you.” Della’s voice had gone exasperated. “Let’s remember that.” So I'm his girlfriend now. Guess we’re past dating. If this goes on much longer the police will be invited to the wedding.
“I know. And I'm sorry.” Nicholas coughed, and glanced at Officer Gardner. “See, she has this thing about blood.” He paused. “She can't stand the sight of it.”
A flare of real amusement cracked the Mask. Della felt her lip twitch into a smile for just an instant before the look of mortified anger returned. Fortunately the officer was focused on him. That was too clever, little rabbit.
“So I bought a bunch of fake blood from the Halloween store and used it in the shower. You know, like in Psycho? I thought it would be funny.” His eyes cut over to her. “She, uh, flipped out.”
“Understatement of the year, Nick.” Della felt herself shudder. “First I was terrified, then I was furious. So…Ms. Laruso was right to be freaked, I guess. I screamed a lot, mostly out of frustration. It had been building for a while.”
“Sort of our first big fight,” Nicholas added.
“I left to get some air, but…decided to come back.” Della took a step closer to him, suddenly looking contrite. “I mean…he’s still real weak. And I guess he wasn't thinking straight.”
Gardner looked back and forth between them. Nicholas and Della stared at each other, then back at him, the picture of abashed nervousness. The seconds dragged on. Finally, his massive chest rose and fell once in some kind of law-enforcement version of a sigh. He walked back into the living room and gestured for the others to come inside.
“Nicky?” The nosy neighbor had evidently finished her cigarette. She leaned into the hallway with her nicotine-stained fingers laced together.
“Hey, Ms. Laruso.” Nicholas gave a bashful smile and partially ducked back behind the bedroom doorway, giving her a wave.
“I was so worried…” She seemed mystified to find him alive.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Della suspected that wasn't an act; he seemed genuinely concerned he’d upset her.
Compassionate to a fault. She wanted to be irritated by Nicholas, but couldn't quite manage it. “I’m sorry, too,” the Mask said, and she shifted her face easily into a distraught expression.
Ms. Laruso glared at Della, her eyes roving as they sought to tease out the falsehood. But after a moment her mouth relaxed. “You sounded awful,” she murmured.
“Please don’t blame her,” Nicholas replied, “I played a nasty trick with fake blood. Triggered her phobia. I was an idiot.” He chuckled. Only Della could hear how his breath wheezed. He needs to sleep.
“Mr. Howell…” Mustache cop’s voice had the full weight of legal authority behind it. “What you did was stupid as hell. You made your neighbor think you were in danger and terrified this young woman at the same time. Do you know how bad this might have gone if we’d suspected violence? Serious injury and jail time have occurred with less cause. You got lucky.”
Nicholas visibly gulped and nodded. “Yes sir, I realize that now.”
“The only reason I'm not charging you with ‘endangerment’ is that I think you’re too damn sick to be in your right mind. Go to bed. And pray that your girlfriend is kind enough to be here when you wake up.”
“Yes, sir.” Nicholas nodded again, quickly looking at her. To Della he now seemed to be leaning against the doorway for supprt as much as to hide. “I’m sorry again, Ms. Laruso.”
“Listen to him, Nicholas. You get to sleep. We’ll get out of your way.” She hesitated, then glanced at Della. “Sorry I jumped to conclusions.”
“You were just trying to help, and I don't blame you. I know how bad it sounded.” Della gave her a regretful smile.
Ms. Laruso nodded. “He’s a good boy…when he’s not making bone-headed decisions.”
“He’s made some doozies,” she agreed.
Officer Gardner wished them a pleasant evening. They all cleared out, to their next call or—in Ms. Laruso’s case—cigarette. Della quietly locked the door and walked back to the hall. Nicholas was still slumped against the bedroom doorway.
“That’s…a neat trick,” he said. “Some kind of social hacking, right?”
She gave him a delightful smile. “You did so good, sweetie.”
Nicholas actually flinched and looked down. “Could you…not do that? It’s…creepy.”
Della let the Mask fall. Her body stilled and she could feel her face settle into an impassive expression. The jittery feeling that always came with copying humans was replaced by a cool calm; it was like being submerged in a mountain lake and she savored it.
“You prefer me like this?”
He looked up and nearly sagged with relief. “Yes. Thank God. Real Della over…whatever that was.”
Silly sheep. Real Della almost ate you. She gripped him around the elbow and gently tugged. He followed her into the kitchen. She pointed to his small breakfast table. “You don’t know me, Nicholas. It would be a mistake to think otherwise.”
He tugged a chair out and all but collapsed into it. “I know what I like,” he mumbled.
She ignored the comment and walked over to search through the shopping bags. She returned with the energy drink to find Nicholas resting his head on his arm. His eyes were open, looking at her. An idea suddenly occurred. An opportunity. She could prove to this strange hunter how little he understood.
Della put on the Mask.
Nicholas may have been disturbed a moment ago, but he hadn't been the target. It had been for the police, for appearing innocent. This time she focused on him, willing herself down a path the opposite of innocence. She would become…alluring, a polished mirror reflecting his own desire.
“Nicholas…” Della studied him intently, absorbing every detail of his expression and letting her instincts build the illusion. She would beguile his young male brain as easy as flipping a switch, and once he was panting she would drop the Mask and plunge him into cold reality. Lesson learned.
Nicholas stirred at the obvious attention. He raised his head and rested it on his hand with a flicker of curiosity. “Yeah?”
Nothing.
There were no moves. No words. Not a single motion came to her, no head tilt with a curve of inviting mouth, no hip sway, not even a suggestive remark. For an instant she trembled, limbs awaiting an instinctual response that wasn’t coming, and then the Mask just…came apart. She stumbled as it happened, completely bemused. That wasn't possible. Mirroring a human’s desires was second-nature. Unless…
He straightened, concern clearing some of the cloudiness behind his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Della stood in front of him, hands by her sides. Just…her. His true desire. She glanced into his too-deep brown eyes. The warmth of his gaze was as unsettling as its intensity. Just like the first time she’d seen it. She shook her head and glowered at the floor.
“I’m still recovering from before,” she muttered, “and you’re in even worse shape. Here—drink this.” Della set the sports drink down. She still couldn't look at him.
“You bought this for me? Thank you.”
“You need electrolytes.” The words came out snippy, as if he had argued with her. But Nicholas was already unscrewing the cap. He drank deeply, until half the bottle was empty, then sighed.
“Oh God, I had no idea how thirsty I was.” He took another swallow, glancing at her. She saw his gaze sweep down before he quickly averted his eyes. “The clothes are a major improvement.”
“They’re cheap.”
“Not the way you wear them.”
She rolled her eyes. “Very smooth, Nicholas.” The antagonism of her responses made her feel better, more in charge.
If you were in charge you wouldn't avoid looking at him.
Della suppressed a sigh, and forced herself to scrutinize him. Nicholas had returned to propping his head up, keeping it angled just enough to sip. She felt twinges of concern and guilt seeing his half-lidded eyes and white pallor, but nothing too…overwhelming. He was just a strange hunter who had cared and carried her. She was still reeling in the aftermath of everything. Emotionally susceptible.
He gave her a tired smile and a fierce little spark ignited in her chest.
I’ve sunk so low I'm basking in this human’s attention.
She pulled out the chair opposite him and sat. “Nicholas…it’s time for me to leave.”
