Chaos Tryst (3 page)

“You know I can’t give you something that doesn’t belong to you. The sculpture has been repossessed, middleman. Let it go.” She watched him for acquiescence. There was none. “Please?”

Maks flexed and curled his fingers then released them to lay his palms on the table. “This statue was carved by my father from resin meant for the Amber Room. For him, it was a symbol of his affection for my mother. He used it to court and win her. Are you understanding?”

He paused and stood. His palms remained pressed to the table. “If it does not belong to me and my brothers it does not belong anywhere. You have stolen the heart of our family.”

Ari blinked up at him. She did not doubt his words. Could not. Something was very wrong with this job. Yet as much as she wanted to give the sculpture back, it did not belong to the Medved family anymore. Returner powers didn’t lie.

“Maks, I apologize. Something has happened. If it still belonged to you I couldn’t have taken it.”

He snarled, a decidedly ursine sound. Ari paused and cast him a sideways glance. “If you’re planning on fighting me I’d rather we skip it. Let’s just pretend we battled it out and I won.”

He looked askance. She seized the moment and held up her left wrist. The intricate glyphs of the Returner’s Creed were branded into the skin from the base of her hand to midforearm. The markings were delicate but crucial. A returner’s brand kept them honest, making it physically impossible for her to have taken an object from its rightful owner. The fact was incontrovertible. Maks had to know that.

She reached into her pack and pulled the honeycomb sculpture from it. Her markings became incandescent. Maks’s gaze went from her wrist to her face and back to his proclaimed family heirloom. The planes of his cheeks and jaw settled into lines of vexed confusion. “This cannot be. Your face reveals you believe the truth. This is my family’s treasure. How could it no longer be ours?”

Tightness spread beneath his eyes. From the stress he’d placed on certain words, Ari knew he needed her to acknowledge his honesty. Truth mattered to Maksim Medved. A lot. She’d doubted a Faeble with her bloodline could win him over. The realization hurt.

Still she nodded, affirming she believed him.

He dropped his chin in an abbreviated mirror gesture. Hidden emotion radiated from the man. Underneath ire and confusion Maks was hurt by the mystery and the loss. One wouldn’t have known it from his face. Yet Ari knew. She ached for him but quickly shoved the sculpture back into her pack before he tried to take it from her. “I have no idea why it’s not yours anymore but my client must know something.”

Maks eyed the bag. “We will go to them.”

“We won’t—”

He snarled again, his gaze narrowing on her.

“—be able to until later.” She continued, “This particular client is going to contact me with a drop-off location some time tonight. Until then you’ll have to wait and I have work to do.”

“You must sniff them out now.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Fox, thief, liar. There is no difference.”

“Wow. Really?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a thief either, Maksim.”

“Circumstances would disagree.”

She looked heavenward and headed for the door with an exasperated smile. She couldn’t be angry with him. First off, the loss of the sculpture troubled him. No one could blame him for that. Plus, being this close to him made her deliriously happy and a little manic. Her emotions didn’t have room for anger.

Maks quickstepped to catch up with her. “Do you run again?” he said, shouting over the escalating dust-up, which had grown to include the gnome, the ovoid, the corpulent male, the human female, the goblin bouncer, two pixies, plus four and twenty blackbirds.

Ari stopped in front of the ancient Greek’s table to shout back at Maks. “No, I do not run again. I told you I have work to do.” She resumed walking and said over a shoulder, “Go home, middleman.”
You’re a serious distraction and I may start humping your leg at any moment.
“I’ll call you once I hear from my client. Then we’ll straighten all this out.” She tossed him a backward wave. “Later.”

The Greek chuckled.

Maks grabbed Ari’s wrist, pulled it high over her head and twirled her back around. One waltz with a bear, one twirl with a dream, it was good to be prom queen. His forearm closed around her waist as Maks pinned her too him.
Nice.
Before she could shame herself by blushing, he informed her in very certain terms: “There is no goodbye. I will stay with you until your client calls. You are not for trusting.”

“Whatevs.” Ari gently pulled away and strode toward the door with Maks on her heels. When she glanced back at him swirls of rosy particles appeared, glimmering after each of their footfalls. Cripes.

Behind them the Greek shrieked as blood began to flow from her nose. Maks turned, took one look at the ancient Faeble, cursed, grabbed Ari by the upper arm and pulled her outside into the night.

***

TWO MINUTES PRIOR

The ancient Faeble didn’t want to see the arguing couple go. The tiff between the female with the golden dreadlocks and the Russian male caused a tingle of momentary excitement to fill her. She hadn’t been so thoroughly entertained in eons.

Eternity was a curse.

Nothing held any wonder after centuries had removed the shine. Same war different dynasty. Same crap different century. Always and on and on.

She craved an ending.

Wetness spread beneath her nose and between her parted lips. Tangy, salt and copper. She picked up a napkin and dabbed her nose and mouth. Redness flowered across the white paper. Could this be?

A pixie oscillated nearby, seemingly unable to decide which of the two quarrels were more entertaining. “Dear winged one, tell me what is happening to my face.”

The pixie drew closer and his mouth fell open. “Folderol, lady, you bleed. Yer like a bleedin’ faucet.”

She nodded and the winged one flew back to watch the Stardust bouncer put a human woman in a headlock.

Oh dear gods, yes. The ancient Faeble shrieked with joy. Golden-locks and the Russian turned to stare at her before the male, looking thoroughly disgusted, yanked the female outside into the night. She forgot them in her joy. To bleed was to live. To know at any moment it could all come crashing down and end.

She picked up a fork and cut into the chocolate mini-bundt cake on her plate. It had been tasteless before, simply a time pass, but now it sang with flavor. Rich, sweet and warm. She held a napkin to her nose as she noshed the cake. The bleeding gradually stemmed but she would not forget its flow. She yearned to know what else she could taste, how many ways she could bleed and know she lived.

The rows of blue ruffles rustled as she left Stardust Café in flurry of joie de vivre. The world awaited and she would relearn the answers to questions she hadn’t needed to ask in time without end. She would be reckless and wild and alive. And she would do it all under the risk of death because now she could bleed.

Maks glanced at the Grecian Faeble as she brushed past him and floated down the street. Surely the vixen’s and his chaos had caused her nose to bleed, yet he’d never seen someone with blood staining her blouse look so elated. All the women he’d met this night were odd.

Speaking of odd, he towed the vixen a few more feet away from the café entrance. Maks needed to keep things calm between them to avoid flares of chaos. At least until he could right what magick had transferred the ownership of the statue and end his association with the thief for good.

He stopped beneath a streetlight and released her, expecting a fight. She didn’t look angry. She looked…lovely, her buttery skin a shade lighter than true brown, and her hair spun into tawny locks. Since she’d left his home she’d re-styled her hair back from her face and to one side in a messy bun. The glossy coils mirrored the streetlight in golden flecks.
Lovely
vorovka. Her slightly slanted cognac-hued eyes were wide and reflected an openness one didn’t usually find in storied folk. She patiently stood before him. Perhaps waiting to hear him out when most females would have cast a spell. Or swung at him.

“What is your name?”

There was something familiar about her, something best left unremembered. Maks forced himself to remain in the now and trained his attention on more earthy matters. His stealthy gaze traveled her body, noting the snug fit of her cobalt blue jumpsuit, the soft curves of her breasts, flare of her hips and the way her pant legs disappeared into boots made for wrestling.

Russians excelled at wrestling.

“I’m Ariana Golde,” she said, extending her left hand. “Ari is fine.”

Maks took hold of her fingers. Recognition did not solidify but she elicited a flutter in the recesses of his memory. She was a study of neither nor: neither plump nor slender, neither pale nor dark, neither excessively tall nor petite. Just right. Ariana. Ari Golde was…

“This explains so much. You are the daughter of Inari and—”

“She’s just the returner we wanted to find. Didn’t we, Trajan?” A goblin wearing a driver’s cap low over his ears stepped into the circle of light. Another leaner, taller goblin followed.

“That’s right, Corbel, just the one we wanted,” he said in a voice akin to squeaky sneakers on waxed floors.

Ari turned from Maks and stepped forward. “Why would goblins need to engage a returner?”

The one called Corbel adjusted his cap to one side, allowing light to shine on his khaki face. His visage closely resembled a well-worn ballet slipper.

“We don’t need to hire one,” Corbel said. “We need to take something from one. That one’s you, if you know what I mean?”

“Ahh,” Ari said. She glanced back at Maks with a wink, evidently comfortable with the situation. He moved closer behind her anyway. They had business to attend to and she would not be harmed as long as he still needed her. Goblins could turn on you fast as rabid dogs.

“If that’s the way of it then I’ll have to accept it,” Ari said. “But would you mind telling me what you want and why?” She made a meek gesture, allowing her shoulders to droop. “If you’re agreeable.”

“I’ll tell her,” Trajan said, his voice an irritant. Unlike Corbel his features were sharp, his nose long and wedge shaped.

“Would you be so kind, Trajan?”

“Certainly I would, Corbel.” Then to Ari he said, “We’ve come for the necklace the Grand High Oni hired you to get for ’im.”

Maks’s attention piqued and he stepped around Ari to stand beside her. A flash of puzzlement crossed her expression. She concealed it quickly, but goblins were quick too.

Trajan did a little jig and chortled. “She’s confused as to how we knew about the necklace. Goblins is smarter than returners. Ain’t we, Corbel?”

“You’re a wise one, Trajan,” Corbel said to his buddy before holding out a hand to Ari. “Turn it over.”

They certainly enjoyed the sounds of their own names, these goblins. Apparently the two misshapen henchmen had no time to inquire Maks’s name or even acknowledge him. The pair should at least be wary. Maks stood six foot two and possessed a daunting build he thanked boxing for. Mayhap they thought he was in Ari’s employ—believing him a henchmen, like themselves. Otherwise he couldn’t explain why he’d gone ignored.

“Is it wise to take from the Grand High Oni?” Maks asked. “He takes pleasure in tormenting your lady.”

Both Corbel and Trajan glared but kept their attention on Ari. Maks may as well have remained silent. He looked down at himself. He was formidable, truly. Not as frightening as Dmitri but stomping goblins was easy and, at the moment, appealing.

“Maks is right,” Ari said. “Stealing the necklace would just invite more antagonizing from the Grand High Oni. Hasn’t your lady been through enough?”

“Now, now,” Trajan said. “We don’t hold with
stealing
. We’re born to appropriate.”

Ari blew out a breath in exasperation. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“If you must know, nosy returner, our lady has had quite enough of the Grand High Horse’s Ass. He got hold of her latest fiancé and told the fellow she has the nasty goblin’s disease. That was too much for the lady. I mean, Corbel’s got the stinging itchies but she don’t.”

“That’s right, Trajan. Tell ’em everyone’s troubles while you’re blathering.”

“You know I will, Corbel,” said the oblivious Trajan. “Our lady figures to give The Ogre a bit of his own trouble back.”

“You’re fond of your own names,” Maks said dryly. The goblins said nothing.

“Yeah, you do use your names a lot.” Ari assessed the duo. She seemed equally confused by their refusal to acknowledge Maks.

“Why wouldn’t we? Our names is loverly,” Corbel said. “Names is the most precious thing a goblin possesses.”

“Time was we didn’t have names. We didn’t like that, did we, Corbel?” Trajan’s voice hitched up an octave as he slapped his companion on the back.

Maks made a sound in his throat, hoping Ari would take the signal and wrap up her conversation with the squat pair. He wanted her done with the night’s work when her client called. There didn’t seem to be any threat from the henchmen and his patience stretched thinner the longer they delayed with them.

Ari didn’t look at him but nodded in understanding. To the goblins she said, “Don’t tell me you steal—pardon me, take possession of your names along with everything else you acquire?” She buried her disdain beneath sweet tones.

Maks couldn’t understand her contempt. As though she had the right to look down on the goblins when retrieving and appropriating weren’t so different. At least the goblins were honest. Retrieving may have been Ari’s career but lying was in her blood. He exhaled. His thoughts were unfair. Returners were an honored part of Faebled society. It was just that the three of them annoyed him to no end. Moreover, he had no tolerance for thieves or liars.

“’Course we do,” Trajan answered Ari. He shook his head at Corbel, pointing at her as though she’d spent the afternoon sniffing Freon. “Everything we’ve got we appropriated. It’s the goblin creed. What is we, heathens that don’t steal nothing?”

Maks opened his mouth to point out their earlier censure of the word
steal
, but since they’d only ignore him he refrained.

“I’ve heard the grapevines say anything you claim belongs to you. Is that true?” Ari continued to play the role of an agreeable participant. Maks knew from her staunch refusal to give him his heirloom back she had no intention of turning the necklace over to the goblins. What was she up too? Conceivably nosiness had taken over. Or possibly she was buying time to plan a peaceful end to the confrontation.

“Right you are,” Corbel said.

“Well, obviously not people.” Ari’s remark was more to herself than directed at her two antagonists. What had made her say this? The smattering of rosy particles now haloing Ari answered the question. Chaos.

Corbel got a look in his eye. Something devious had suddenly popped into his head. He lunged at Ari, his teeth bared in a kind of grimace-come-poisoned smile. Both she and Maks reacted. She executed a quick backbend, having caught on a second before the goblin made his move. Before she’d thrown her hands back Corbel’s teeth had clicked closed, barely taking skin from her bared forearm but drawing a small bit of blood. Maks thumped the goblin in the forehead with a flicker of his pointer finger. Corbel staggered backward.

“What was that?” Maks asked Ari. She had pulled her staff from her bag and stood at the ready. Impressive.

“The little buzzard got the idea he could claim me by taking my blood.”

Maks was one step beyond annoyed. To attack a lady in the presence of a Medved, as though she didn’t have an escort, was a slight he wouldn’t have let pass. But to bite her…His lip curled. A lesson needed to be taught. He shuddered all over and his teeth elongated.

Corbel, who’d been rubbing his forehead, finally took a good look at Maks. The energy of imminent damage would be difficult to ignore. Even for goblins and their single-minded attentions.

“I think we made a miscalculation, Trajan.”

“I’d be for agreeing, Corbel. I thought he was a gentleman. And as such we needn’t pay ’im no mind”

I am no gentleman.

“He ain’t nothing nice. You thinking about running?”

“Uh huh.”

“What a coincidence. Me too.”

The pair tucked, tumbled and ran. Corbel moved so fast his heels struck him in the hind end as he sped away. Maks, or more appropriately Bear, caught Trajan first and knocked him into a wall. He hit the bricks head on and crumpled like a beer can. Corbel looked back with an “eep” and moved even faster. Not fast enough. Bear passed him, spun about and reared on hind legs to block the goblin’s path.

Corbel skittered to a stop just as a paw came down across his cap and face, splitting both into as many pieces as Bear had claws. The goblin touched the slices in his face in shock. “That’s gonna scar—” he looked down at his button-down shirt, and pulling the garment from his chest he stared at the bloody drips on it, “—and stain.” Bear bopped him on the head and Corbel dropped, taking a concussion nap.

Ari ran up. “I am too stupid for words tonight.” She yawned and grinned. “I don’t know why I said what I did. Aghh, I need a couple days off.”

Maks returned to his Faeble form and checked his clothes for splatter.
Blood on your fur, blood on your attire.
This time there was none. Good. “We must go,” he said to Ari and strode off. The ogre side of Fanaweigh wasn’t far and delivering the necklace the goblin pair spoke of would draw him closer to getting his parents’ statue back.

Instead of following him, Ari went over to Trajan’s prone figure and picked him up. His neck flopped as though his head were held on by skin alone. Ari’s eyes widened at Maks in regards to the damage he’d done. “They bit you,” he said by means of explanation, and returned to stand beneath the streetlight.

She nodded, stuffing the goblin into her open shoulder pack. The act shouldn’t have worked. The pack was half Trajan’s size. Ah, so it held enchantment. Good to know. Maks took a moment to contemplate her reasoning for collecting her attackers. When nothing rational came to mind he asked, suspecting she was mad and wouldn’t have an answer. She had an answer and she’d gone mad.

“We can’t leave them on street. They might be killed before they heal. There are a lot of ogres out and about.”

Maks took a breath and released it. “I remain strangely unconcerned.”

Ari chuckled as she bent to retrieve the other goblin. “You would be.” Then to the henchman she said, “Up you go.”

Before she touched him Corbel rose in the jerky manner of a reanimated corpse. Ari hopped back. Maks moved to knock him out again but the goblin’s eyes remained closed, his head lolling. Still unconscious.

“That’s unexpected,” Ari said.

Unexpected indeed. Maks flashed her a wicked look. “Tell him to dance.”

“Dance,” came Ari’s command. Corbel did just that. His body mimicked a decapitated chicken, erratic and ridiculous, completely independent from his lolling head.

“Yeesh.” Ari shook in disgust. “Be still.” The goblin went limp and fell. Ari caught him and lifted him into her pack. She zipped and secured the bag on her shoulder, jiggling…
Do it again
…a bit until she appeared comfortable. She looked to Maks. “I’m ready.”

Maks avoided looking anywhere below her neck. Her jiggling had been…invigorating. “You do not wish to examine why the goblin bends to your will?”

Her expression became stricken before morphing to nonchalance.
Odd.
Ari waved him off and started walking. “Not really. I’m sure the answer will come in time.”

Maks admired her pretense of Zen but didn’t buy it. Ariana Golde did not wish to think on how she’d gained control over the Lady Goblin-kin’s henchman. Maks dismissed his contemplation. It didn’t matter. Her troubles were not his problem.

“Do we go to see Wend—the Grand High Oni now?”

“Nope. We’re going to drop these annoying little pukes off on the goblin side of Fanaweigh.”

“Is this wise?”

“Probably not, but we’ll be quick. I can’t leave them out here to be killed. Okay?”

Maks nodded. “Should we take my car?”

“No. Fanaweigh is so close I’d rather walk. Plus, if I get into a car right now I’ll be lulled to sleep…and good luck waking me after that,” she said.

Maks swept out an arm in a gesture for her to precede him. Ari bowed her head in thanks and they set off.

The edifice known as Fanaweigh’s Scar rose before them. Not far now. Maks and Ari walked along the sidewalk, approaching the Scar from the outer edge, parallel to ogre territory. From their vantage point the wall wound back into the horizon—a grotesque stone and steel caterpillar slowly eating away at Fanaweigh. The ogre fence had been constructed of boulders and mortar with artful chunks missing to allow in sun or moonlight. The fence ran perpendicular to the Scar but was shorter by twenty feet or more.

Maks avoided Fanaweigh’s Scar as best he could. He did not like the aura of the thing. It reminded him of the accursed stained glass window hanging over his and his brothers’ home. In the same manner the crows of legend loomed over battlefields, the window had loomed over the Meveds until he’d come in contact with the returner. At least she’d done something helpful.