The Lie Spinners (The Deception Dance)

The
Lie Spinners

book
two of

The
Deception Dance

By Rita Stradling

This book is a work
of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places are the product
of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events, locations, or real persons, living or
dead, is coincidental.

Copyright
© 2013 by Rita Stradling.

All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or
transmit this book in any form or by any means. For subsidiary rights
please contact the author.

Email:
[email protected]

Cover
art by Rita Stradling inspired by the photography of India Hobson
with permission from the photographer.

Edited
by Grace Marian MD

For
my mom.

A
lady never afraid to live.

A
lady never afraid to love.

Last night, once
more, I dreamt of you…

…
and
woke screaming.

I
used to have so many dreams.

I
find comfort in the unpredictable, when my mind is at rest.

The
inconsistency of dreams is what my mind knew consistently.

I
only have one dream now.

One
memory…

…
of
you…

…
from
it, I feel only terror.

The
Lie Spinners

About
a Year Ago

As
Copenhagen City Hall crumbles, its pillars tumbling to crater into
the marble floor, Andras pushes back to his feet. The burns have
crept up to his eyes, down to his fingernails and have encircled his
toes. The little bit left of his once giant wings still flicker with
flames.

“
You
told me, you would make a deal,” he coughs out.

“
Yeah,”
my voice is also choked and croaky, “That was before you
stabbed Stephen.”

He
slumps farther, almost toppling toward me, “You will, or you
will not?”

I
don’t have a choice, really. I nod. “I will. But these
are my terms: you can’t kill me and you have to not open the
gates of Hell!”

His
eyes, the only part of him beside his hair not blackened, fix on me,
“And for that, if I do what you say, you will not fall in...”
He coughs, “Fall in...”

“
Fall
in...Love,” I supply, knowing that he, as a demon, can’t
say the word ‘love’.

“
...with
anyone, until I return.” His voice, movements, everything about
him seems unsteady; he probably doesn’t have a minute left
until he will burn out entirely.

“
Alright!”
I nod, “If you leave me alive, do not open the gates of Hell,
break the seals of Solomon, or ascend in your demonic form I will not
fall in love with anyone until you have returned to earth.”

“
And
you will give me another chance. When I have a new body you will
spend a month with me...”

“
No.”
I say, pleading, “Maybe, a week...”

“
A
month. You will spend a month with me, I will not negotiate.”
His eyes blaze into me but his body teeters from side to side.

I
bite my lip and inhale, “Okay, it’s a deal.”

“
If
I do leave you here alive and do not open the gates of Hell, do not
fail me, Raven. If you do, I will ascend in my true form and the
first person I will murder is the man you care for." He grins;
his face is completely charred and webbed with fissures. His green
eyes stay fixed on me. “Don't even dare to hope that you will
ever escape me."

"That's
what you think," I say, “We’ll see. I will never
love you.”

Day
One

The
clouds above the Humboldt State University’s track bulge like
old, worn water bottles, begging to spring a leak. So far today there
hasn’t been so much as a drop; but I’m not fooled. I know
the sky just waits for the perfect opportunity to douse us poor
co-eds.

Sitting
at the lowest steps of Redwood Bowl stadium bleachers, I work at the
knot in one of my threadbare tennis shoe laces. Jeez, I need new
shoes. I can smell them from here. Thank you, Northern California
Mold, nothing like stinking like bad cheese to start the summer off
right. I keep at the knot while peering over the track.

No
sign of Albert. Again. That man seriously lags.

But,
I do see my nemesis, making another round around the track. Cassie.
Cassie just happens to be in all of my classes and sets the curve for
our every test. Not to mention the fact that she’s taller than
me, thinner than me, has flawless dark skin, and a model perfect
face. Oh, and she has more friends than God.

Or…
she would be my nemesis if I was even a blip on her radar.

I
have no friends. Nope, none at all. Unless you count my sister,
Linnie, but I think that’s cheating.

When
I finally manage the heroic task of tying my shoes, I consider
waiting for Cassie to finish her run before I start to warm up. Not
that I’m a vain person, but I really don’t want to look
like an ostrich trying to race a gazelle.

A
guy finishes his run about ten yards from where I’m sitting and
walks toward me, holding his sides while visible droplets of sweat
spray around him. He makes eye contact with me and I’m locked
in a moment of panic. I’m about to dash for the track so there
can be no possible way the guy can start up a conversation with me
when the guy calls over, “Hey.”

I’m
stuck between being completely rude by just running off or staying
put and risking the very possible dire consequences.

I
inhale, and say, “Hey…?”

“
Do
you got the time?” he asks, breathily.

“
You’re
asking me for the time,” I say loudly, and not as a question.

“
Yeah…?”

I
lift up my arm to look at my watch, “It’s—”

A
tall, burly (yet kind of pretty), African American guy steps between
me and the poor runner who just wants to know the time. “Hey
babe, you okay?” says the guy that I’ve seen a hundred
times but never spoken to in my
life
.
“Can I help you?” he asks the runner.

The
runner lifts both his hand in conciliatory gesture, “Just
asking for the time, bro.”

“
Three-forty,
bro
.
Now, move along.” The guy keeps his body between me and the
runner the entire time. “And,
bro
,
don’t talk to my girl again.”

And
this, Ladies and Gentlemen, is why I have no friends.

At
least no one got tackled this time. As the runner sprints away, the
guy who’s always around, but I don’t even know the name
of, takes a seat a row behind me, looking to all the world like the
run-of-the-mill psycho over-bearing boyfriend. If only I was so
lucky. I consider saying something to the guy, like, ‘boy, did
we scare the pants off that guy. Let’s see if we can make the
track team pee themselves.’ but I know better. I’m more
likely to get conversation from the bleachers I’m sitting on
than one of Albert’s cronies.

I
was planning on stretching on the field, preferably away from anyone
to spare them from the rank odor emitting from my shoes. But ya’know,
here’s as good a place as any to stretch. I back up on the
bleachers, stretching out my leg toward the crony, maybe bumping him
once or twice with my shoes. The crony only gives one sideward glance
toward my feet, but otherwise doesn’t change his stoic,
watchful expression.

“
Raven!”
I hear from the field. I was concentrating so much on stretching; I
didn’t even notice Albert approach. “Why aren’t you
running laps?” he yells. The sight of Albert should be
terrifying, he’s about twice as wide as a person should be, and
looks like Thor the Thunder God (Norse, not Hollywood). But this
isn’t the first time I’ve seen Albert pissed at me, it
isn’t even the first time today he’s been pissed at me.
To be perfectly fair, Albert pretty much lives in a constant state
of: Pissed. At. Me.

I
want to shout, ‘Yes, drill master!’ but don’t.
Instead, I just jump up and away from the bleachers (and the crony).
I don’t give Albert excuses (like shoelaces or stinky shoe
revenge), as Albert likes excuses even less than he likes training
me. I just sprint for the track and try to catch up to, and maybe
even pass Cassie.

As
my body goes through its rhythmic, automatic motions my thoughts
arrange themselves. I just took my last Art History final and I am
officially on summer break. Everyone else who’s finished is
celebrating (emphasis on ‘everyone else’). At least when
school is in session I can pretend like I’m normal. I could
have taken summer school, I was going to take summer school, but when
I mentioned it to Albert our conversation went like this:

“
No.”

I
said, “But…”

“
No.”

So,
yeah
.

I’d
say he has power over me only because I give him power over me, but
no-- he has power over me because he has an unknown number of highly
trained soldiers at his beck-and-call (and pretty much diplomatic
immunity). So I’m on a 24/7 training schedule until school is
nice enough to start its fall semester.

In
most ways, it’s what I want. I asked to be trained. Need to be
trained. Andras is coming back for me. That is pretty much the only
certainty I have in this life. Andras will always come back for me.

Even
though I’m starting to sweat from my run, my thoughts send
chills to burrow deep into my core. I didn’t even notice that I
passed Cassie until she catches up; unless she’s lapping me,
which would
so
suck.

“
One
more lap,” Albert yells as I pass. “Up your speed, people
are lapping you.”

That
would be Cassie.
Crap
.

I
sprint the last lap, racing Cassie. It’s only a little less
satisfying when I beat her, as it’s obvious she has no idea
she’s in the race (but still satisfying).