Something Wanton (Mystics & Mayhem) (37 page)

“Sleep now,” I whispered, leaning down to pull the covers over my friend, tucking her in so that she would be nice and warm.  “Sleep, honey.  When you wake up, you’re going to feel a lot better.”

“Better,” she repeated, her eyelids already getting too heavy for her to fight.  “Love you, Emmy.”

“Love you, too, Kimmy.”

It was as she was snuggling into the pillow that I saw the brand on her neck.  I reached out to touch it, feeling sick to my stomach.  What else had they done to my friend in the hours they had her?  What other scars would she carry, scars I couldn’t take away with a little celestial blood? 

Afraid that if I stayed with her I might burn up my robe the way I had my sheet, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head before turning away. 
I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped through the curtain to find the others had left me and Kim alone.  It was going to be pretty obvious what I had done when Kim woke up better than new, but I didn’t want anyone messing with my plan.  If they found out I was giving Kim angel blood, it was all over for me.

I let myself out of the room as silently as one of my ghosts—and then
came close to
becoming
one of my ghosts from cardiac arrest when I turned around and came nose-to-chin with Skippy.

“That was a very kind thing you just did,” he said quietly, his eyes gentle.  “Someone as beautiful as that young lady should not have to live with scars such as those.”

“No, she shouldn’t,” I agreed, lowering my eyes.  “She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Skippy.  Not just on the outside, but on the inside, too.  I couldn’t let her suffer for being my friend.  It wouldn’t have been right.”

“You are a rare creature, Ember
, to love as you do.”  I looked away, embarrassed, and he took my arm and pulled it through his.  I gave him a questioning look and he smiled.  “I believe I promised to find you some clothes before our guests arrived.  Though that robe is much better than your previous attire, I believe you would be more comfortable in something else.”

He had that right.  I looked down at the fuzzy pink robe I was wrapped in with a grimace.  The bunnies, on the other hand…yeah, he wasn’t getting those back.

Skippy's ‘closet’ turned out to be a warehouse the size of a small airplane hangar located behind his home.  I balked at first, hesitating to go in.  Nathan had told me not to go anywhere alone with Skippy, but there I was, traipsing around in the snow in nothing more than a robe and bunny slippers, doing exactly that.  My brightest move?  No, probably not.  But my reluctance about going into the warehouse crumbled like a soggy Oreo when Skippy threw open the doors to reveal racks and racks of clothing as far as the eye could see.  I might not like to shop, but I
am
a girl, and the lure of all those clothes was just too much to resist.

“Where did all of this come from?” I asked, idly running my hand along a rack of tops with price tags dangling from the sleeves.

“I own several fashionable boutiques, both in Europe and here in the States,” Skippy said, waving his hand distractedly toward the racks as he marched toward a stack of boxes.  “What you see here is all overstock or damaged items. There may even be a few samples from some of the better designers stored around here somewhere.  Once or twice a year I have it picked up and donated to charity.”

I looked a little closer at a few of the tags and my mouth went dry. 
I glimpsed Prada, Michael Kors, Gucci, and Dolce & Gabbana, just to name a few.  Kim would think she had died and gone to heaven if she could just spend five minutes with all those designer names.  There had to have been at least a million dollars worth of clothes alone, and he donated them to
charity
?

“It is an excellent tax write off,” Skippy said, interpreting my shocked expression correctly, opening boxes with phenomenal speed and then tossing them aside when they didn't contain what he was looking for.  “Take
whatever you like.  I think we should bring everyone out and let them shop.  Most of the poor unfortunates inside lost everything in last evening’s attack.  It will save me having to call for another pick up next month.”

“
You
pay taxes?”  I asked, laughing.

“But of course,” he huffed, shooting an exasperated glance in my direction. “Doesn't everyone?”

A criminal kingpin who actually paid his taxes?  Too weird.  Before I could voice my curiosity about it, he was back to digging through his boxes.  Since he had given me permission to select a new wardrobe, I decided to take him up on it.

I went from a girl who hates to shop to a fashion freak in about ten seconds.  Everything from coats to boots ended up in a pile by the door that soon grew into a miniature mountain. Prada, Gucci, Diesel, Boss.  Then Abercrombie, Hollister, Adidas and Nike.  It all just drew me in and whispered, “Please take me home.”  How could I possibly refuse the pleading of such poor, neglected, homeless treasures?

I had forgotten all about Skippy until I heard a very un-Skippy-like whoop of triumph from the center of a box canyon and something pink and lacy flew out of the void and straight into my hands.  I held the scrap of lace up and rolled my eyes, a wry smile tugging at my lips.

Skippy was such a guy.  While I’d been drooling over Prada, he had been looking for Victoria's Secret.

“You do not care for the color?” Skippy asked, his face appearing between two boxes.  For a second, he looked like a floating head. 

“The color’s fine,” I told him, laughing and shooting the bra back at him like a rubber band.  “It's the size I have a problem with.  I haven't been a B cup since sixth grade.”

When it seemed like he was having a little too much fun lingerie shopping for me, I took over the task.  Then, mountain of clothes ready and waiting, we erected a dressing screen out of four Vera Wang wedding gowns and his mountain of boxes and I started trying things on.

“So tell me about
you, Skippy,” I called out from behind my wall of satin and lace.

I really was interested, but mostly I wanted him thinking about something other than the fact that I was undressing mere feet from him.  I was uncomfortable enough with the arrangement as it was. I peeked through the gowns and found him sitting on an overturned wooden crate with his back to me, his eyes fastened on the door and the falling snow.

What a little gentleman!

“What would you like to know?” he called back.

“Let's play a game,” I suggested, finally comfortable enough to strip out of my robe since it looked like Skippy was going to behave.

I pulled on a pair of hipster panties and the matching bra Skippy had picked out—which I had traded for one in my size—and then started putting together an outfit at random.  It was actually kind of fun, like playing dress up when Kim and I were little.  I decided then and there to go shopping with Kim every chance I got from then on.

“What game were you thinking of?”

“Twenty questions, of course,” I said, sticking my head through a gap in the wedding gown wall and grinning at him.  “You can even go first.”

“Ah, she finally develops some respect,” he sighed happily, nodding his approval.

“Nah.”  I giggled when his face fell.  “But, you know, age before beauty and all that crap.”

Laughing again, I ducked back inside my fortress just as something hit one of the voluminous skirts shielding me from view.  Still giggling, I waited for him to ask his first question.  I should have known what he was going to ask, but somehow I was still surprised.

“Tell me about your friends,” he called out, the words echoing through the warehouse. 

“Which ones?” I asked, rolling my eyes.  “There’s the live ones and the dead ones and the not-quite-dead ones.”

“You see the dead?” he asked excitedly.  “Tell me about them.”

It took four wardrobe changes to tell him about my dearly departed comrades.  The part about my ghosts teaming up to protect me from Bastian seemed particularly fascinating to him.  He asked question after question about them, firing them at me so fast I could barely keep up.

“My turn!” I sang out when I couldn’t stand any more questions about my still-missing earthbound companions.

Before he could protest or think of another question that he just
had
to have an answer to, I ran back to my dressing area and pulled the gowns closed.  I thought about what I wanted to know as I stripped again.  I wanted to know everything, obviously, but I wasn't sure where to start.  In the end, I started simple. 

At least
I
thought it was simple.

“How old are you, Skippy?”

Silence. 

I peeked around the gowns and saw him chewing his lip like he wasn't sure if he should answer or not.  If I hadn't been watching him so closely, I would have missed it when he sighed sadly.  Then his gaze flickered to my dressing room and his features hardened into a defiant expression.

“I am seven hundred and seventy-three years old.  I was born in Greece in the year 1240.”

My mouth fell open and I nearly collapsed into the pile of clothes next to me.  He was almost a thousand years
old!  He had lived for most of a millennium trapped in the body of a
preteen
?  That must have been
awful
for him!

I peeked out at him again and saw he was staring intently at the gowns hiding me.  It took me a second to realize he was waiting for me to freak.  My poor Skippy.  How many people had he confided his age to only to have them reject him or make fun of him because of it?  We were really going to have to get him some real friends.  I was even willing to share mine.

And, how had we gone from thinking about killing each other to me claiming him as my own, you might ask.  What can I say?  I’m a sucker for freckles.

“I bet you've seen some crazy awesome stuff in seven centuries, huh?”  I was proud of how completely normal I sounded,
and I gave myself a pat on the back when Skippy's face lit up with a brilliant smile and his shoulders relaxed.

He told me about some of the things he’d seen as I changed into one ensemble after another.  Viewing history through the eyes of someone who had been there rather than reading it in a book gave it a whole new kind of depth.  Of course, it didn’t hurt that Skippy didn’t mind gossiping a little.  He seemed to take particular delight in giving me the details of the scandalous behaviors of this king or that queen.

“So, how did you become a vampire?” I asked, changing into what I hoped would be my last outfit of the afternoon.  We had been out there for quite a while.  I was sure Nathan and Grams were starting to worry.

“I fell in love with a vampire,” he said, his voice low and sad.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” I told him quickly, stepping out to model for him one last time.

Instead of giving me the thumbs up—or down—he stared off into the warehouse.  I could see by the look in his
eyes that he wasn't really there with me anymore.  He was somewhere far away, lost in his memories.  They couldn't have been very
nice
memories, though, because the agony etched on his features took my breath away.

Wanting to comfort him somehow, I sat down beside him and laid my hand over his where it rested on his knee.  My touch seemed to bring him out of his memories and he looked down at our hands and then back up at me.  I saw indecision in his eyes and gave him a gentle smile.

“You really don't have to tell me,” I told him again, squeezing his hand.

“I find that I want to tell you,” he said softly, not looking away.  “Only, I do not believe now is the time for that sad tale.  But, I
do
feel compelled to share my story with you someday.  I believe you, of all people, might understand.  Do you find that odd?”

He started to turn away and finally caught sight of the sunshine yellow Chanel dress I was wearing.  His eyes widened comically and his face twisted in distaste.  I found his expression hilarious.

“Dear God!  What
are
you wearing, Ember?”

“Chanel,” I told him, grinning and jumping up to twirl around in front of him like a ballerina.  “What? Don't you like it?”

“It's hideous! With your hair lying against it like that you look like a shredded honey bee!”  I laughed and his lips twitched despite his horrified expression.  “I refuse to talk to you while you're wearing that.  Off with you!”

“Oh,
sure
,” I drawled, already headed for my dressing room, “this coming from a guy who looks like he just climbed out of his own coffin.  You know, Skippy, a makeover would do wonders for your outlook on life.”

“Perhaps another time,” he muttered, shuddering.  Typical guy reaction.  “You should hurry.  I doubt Nathan will allow me to keep you to myself much longer.  If you were my mate, I would have retrieved you already.”

“You know, I’m actually kind of disappointed that you had all these great clothes lying around,” I told him as I bounced back to my makeshift dressing room—and I really kind of
was
.  “Now I have to stop calling you ‘Skippy’.”

“No!” Skippy said quickly.  I turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched, and he dropped his eyes in the only genuine sign of embarrassment I’d seen from the little crime lord.  “If you prefer to call me Skippy, I will afford you that privilege.  But, and I feel I should make this very clear, I will extend that privilege only to
you.  I admit I do not find it as offensive when it is
you
calling me such a childish name.”

“Aw, Skippy!” I exclaimed, clasping my hands over my heart.  “That’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

“I very much doubt that,” he said with a chuckle.  “Now, off with you.  We must get back and I will not be seen with you in that dress.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” I chirped, saluting him with a grin.  “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

As it turns out, all the designer labels in the world couldn’t change what I really liked.  I ended up wearing a comfortable pair of yoga pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of Nikes.  Kim would have had a stroke over my trading designer fashion for workout clothes, but Skippy didn't seem to mind.

“I should be appalled that this is what you choose to wear in my presence, but somehow I find myself quite taken with it,” he said when I pushed back the wedding dress curtains for the last time and struck a pose.  “It is just so very…you, Ember.”

“Thanks—I think,” I told him shrugging.  “I dress like this most of the time.  I'm comfortable in it.”

“Ah, to be comfortable in one's own skin.  What I wouldn't give for such peace.”

I smiled slightly, but didn’t comment.  I had finally found something we had in common besides a fondness for music and literature.  I had never felt comfortable in my own skin.  Even before I became a darkling I’d had a self-image problem.  It was yet another character flaw I would have to work on.

“Are you certain you are ready for this, Ember?” Skippy asked when I propped my foot on the crate next to him to lace up my shoe.

“Ready for what?”

“To take on
men like Hamilton and those who follow him,” he said, softly, watching my expression.  “It will not end well, my dear."