The Night Shifters (8 page)

“I know you have!
But why?”

“
Camilla is
our boss,” said Two, and yawned. “She wants to talk to you alone,
without that ugly old Nostradamus around. This is her tree, you
know. Only invited guests can come up here. Only
attractive
guests.”

“Glad I made the
grade,” I said rather sarcastically.

“Of course you did.
With those wonderful freckles and that girly-boy hair.” One ran his
hand up the back of my neck and pulled his fingers through like a
comb.

“I’ve been thinking
of cutting my hair like hers,” he said to Two. “What do you
think?”

“I was thinking of
doing the same.”

“Hey you two,”
called another voice from higher up, “stop monopolizing the guest!
Bring her up here!”

I looked up through
the branches and caught my breath. There were tree houses up there
now, lovely oriental things with fireflies hovering in their
windows and blue stars resting on their eaves. More men like One
and Two climbed gracefully in and out of them, or sat on nearby
branches kicking their feet.

“Camilla has very
particular tastes in men,” I observed.

“Oh yes,” breathed
One. “Yes she does. But I think you’ll find –” he touched my hair
again, “– that her men have quite varied tastes in women.”

One and Two boosted
me through the branches toward the biggest tree house, and as I
rose, pale hands patted my cheek or ruffled my hair.

“Stay with us,”
they said. “Isn’t our tree beautiful?”

“The branches reach
to the very stars,” Two whispered in my ear. “You can climb forever
and never reach the end, but in one moment you can be back where
you started.”

“Amazing,” I
admitted.

“And from here,”
whispered One, “we have the most interesting view.” He pointed
downward, and I looked. Between the branches and the leaves I saw a
house. It was large, elegant, and rather peculiar. Stone sphinxes
guarded its front porch, and marble snakes climbed its columns. In
one of the upper windows a golden light glowed.

The Masked Man!
I
thought. But I had never seen his house, so why did I feel so
sure?

“
And
look
there
.” One pointed
somewhere else.

This time the
leaves framed a drab neighborhood of tract houses. Nostradamus
labored down the road, calling “Camilla! Camilla! Where the hell
have you gone? Are you in that damned tree again?”

One laughed softly,
then put his fingers to his lips.

“Believe it or
not,” whispered Two, “this new body of his is an improvement.”

I did find that
hard to believe, but I didn’t say so.

At last we rose to
the biggest tree house, and they set me down on a terrace. Two
large sliding doors opened to reveal the dimly lit interior of the
house.

“Go in,” coaxed
One. “She’s waiting.”

I’m going to regret this,
I told myself, but that’s what I had been saying all along.
And I still went in.

•

As soon as I walked
into Camilla’s room I was consumed with envy. The walls were lined
with closets and wardrobes, out of which spilled the most wonderful
assortment of clothing. She had a large vanity covered with an
alluring array of cosmetics and jewelry. She had two or three
full-length mirrors, and a window seat. An elaborate cobweb canopy
topped her bed. Everywhere I looked, my eye was caught by something
I wanted, and I was very embarrassed when I finally saw Camilla in
the shadows by the window seat, smiling softly as she watched my
hungry survey. She had changed into a french-cut black teddy, and
her hair was long again.

“Hello,” she
said.

My face felt hot,
and my “Hello” back to her sounded ridiculously casual.

“I like your
sweater,” she said.

“Thank you. It’s my
favorite.”

“I know.” She
winked. “It must be, because you’ve chosen it above all others to
wear on your adventure. But you shouldn’t limit yourself to one
outfit, my dear. I would be happy to loan you something. In fact, I
was hoping we could play dress-up!”

She jumped to her
feet and danced over to me, taking my hands in hers and drawing me
to the window seat. Standing, she was a little shorter than me,
which surprised me and also made me feel large and clumsy. Her
hands made my crystal heart tingle, but didn’t give me any
significant pain.

“Dress-up?” I said
shyly.

“Would you like
that? Those silly men only think of fighting and chasing each other
around, but there are fun things to do here too. Think of it Hazel,
a place where a girl’s every whim can come true.”

“Sounds great. But
you and I aren’t the same size. Your clothes would never fit
me.”

“They fit whoever
is wearing them!” She spun around and pulled a black, wispy gown
out of a nearby wardrobe. “Try it and see!”

I may have
hesitated just a little bit, but probably not much. And even if I
had, Camilla wanted to help me along. She pulled my sweater off
over my head.

“You’re so lucky,”
she sighed as she gazed at my breasts. “You don’t need a bra.”

“Yeah, right.” I
gave her breasts an unhappy glance. They were large, firm, and
unsupported.

“But my dear,” she
said, “they’re like lovely little apples!”

“Size B
apples.”

“Here, get these
off and put on the dress. I’ll show you what I mean.” She tugged at
my jeans and the two of us toppled onto the floor when they got
stuck over my shoes. She giggled, and I laughed too, out of
embarrassment. I didn’t even have underwear on now. What if one of
the men came in while my clothing was stuck around my ankles? But
finally we got the whole mess off and I pulled the dress on as fast
as I could.

“Wait, first let me
fuss with your hair!” And she fluffed my hair up with her hands.
Then she pointed me at the full length mirror.

The gown cut down
to my navel, diverging between my breasts and miraculously skirting
my nipples. The skirt hung ingeniously and unevenly to show off my
thighs. I have nice thighs, lean but rounded in just the right
places. I wondered what the Masked Man would think if he could see
me dressed that way.

“You’re blushing!”
giggled Camilla. “But you like it, don’t you Hazel.”

“Yes, but where do
you wear a thing like this?”

“Shall we go out
and show my friends? I’ll put on something too, and we can have a
party among the branches.”

“I don’t know.
Wait.”

She cupped my chin
and made me look into her large, dark eyes. “You’re shy, aren’t you
Darling.”

I didn’t really
think that needed an answer.

“Come and sit with
me by the window, Hazel.” She drew me over to the window seat. “You
must be hungry by now. Would you like something to nibble?”

Actually I
was starving, but when I opened my mouth to say
yes
, my crystal heart gave me a nice, sharp jab. I guess I’m not
the fastest learner in the world.

“No.” I turned my
eyes away from her to stare out her window.

She sighed,
unhappily. “I want to correct your earlier impression of me. I know
I must have seemed rather predatory. But you see, I thought you
were Serena, and she is a dangerous woman.”

“And a tricky one.
She tricked you with that black manna stuff. What did you think it
would do for you?”

She traced a
rune on her window. “Make me more powerful. Teach me what
she
knows.”

“Tell me about
Serena,” I said, my eyes still averted.

“I don’t want to
talk about her.” I could have sworn there was a hint of sadness in
her voice. Her deep, husky voice. It made me a little sleepy.

I said,
“Everyone keeps mentioning her, and everyone thought
I
was her. I sure would like to know
why.”

“She made a date to
meet with us. You came instead. Now you know what I know, Hazel
AAA.”

I doubted that.
“Just Hazel. I don’t think that AAA part belongs on the end of my
name.”

“Once you’re named
here, the name sticks. But I’ll just call you Hazel, if you like.”
She touched my hand. After a moment, I pulled away from her. I felt
a little guilty for doing that, and wondered why.

“So you want to
make a deal too, is that it?” I said. “If you think I’m going to
have anything to do with Nostradamus, you have another think
coming.”

“Of course I don’t
think that,” she said reproachfully. “He is a nasty creature. I
wouldn’t let him near you.”

“
If he’s so
nasty, why do you let him near
you
?”

She sighed again,
and my feelings of guilt increased. I was really becoming quite
uncomfortable. “In the City of Night, it’s helpful if one has
allies, Hazel. And it’s especially helpful if one’s allies are easy
to manipulate.”

“Like me?”

Her voice came
closer, as if her mouth were next to my ear. “Not you. That’s not
what I want from you.”

“What do you want
from me?” My voice shook.

“Look at me Hazel.
Look at me.”

I resisted.

“Look at me.
Look.”

She touched my
collarbone with the tips of her fingers. “Do you have any idea how
lovely your throat is when your head is turned that way? How sweet
your profile?”

It was
getting very difficult to breathe. And when I was finally able to
catch my breath, tears began to flow down my cheeks. The Car King
had assured me Camilla had lost some of her powers by exposing
herself to the black manna. Well, if this was an example of
her
diminished
powers...
?

“You’re shaking,”
she whispered. “Don’t be afraid my sweet. My little shy one.”

“I need some air.”
I pushed at one of the window panes. It swung outward, and I leaned
into the night. I saw One smiling at me from a nearby branch. Or
maybe it was Two.

“I’m trying to be
patient with you.” Camilla rested a hand on my shoulder. “You have
something of Sir John’s, don’t you? Something inside you. And I can
guess what the Car King tried to give you.”

“
Don’t do
that.” I had meant
don’t touch me
, but
maybe she thought I meant
don’t guess
.
Her hand tightened on my shoulder.

“My poor Hazel. I
won’t let him near you either.”

A glow ignited
through the leaves of the tree, and I looked down on the mysterious
house with its golden window. It tantalized me as I felt my freedom
slipping away.

“I have something
for you too,” Camilla said. “Something of mine.” Her hand withdrew
from my shoulder, and I heard a little gasp of pain from her. Then
her hand returned and hovered near my mouth. Her palm was
bleeding.

“Drink,” she said.
“Take my gift.”

The golden window
seemed farther away every moment. Just how many windows had I
jumped/crawled/been dragged through in one night? Or one Night.
Surely I could do it one more time.

“Drink Hazel. You
and I will be special friends, and none of the men with ever be
able to intrude.”

I drew my legs up
under me. “Just let me get into a better position,” I said, and her
hand wavered. In that moment, I leaped out the window.

“Hazel!” she
screamed mournfully, and I actually felt a little sorry for her as
I fell past the branches, past One and Two and the others, who
reached for me but missed, past stars and glowing fireflies, and at
last into the little golden window.

I landed in the
middle of a Persian rug. A fire burned on the hearth of a big
fireplace. A figure sat in a massive chair, nearby.

“Masked Man?” I
asked.

He stood, but my
dazzled eyes only saw a dark shape, backlit by the fire – lean and
broad-shouldered. He threw his arms up, and the golden light
exploded. I covered my face.

“Hey, I just – “ I
uncovered my face, but he was gone.

Or rather, I was. I
lay in a damp, dimly lit room. Huge holes gaped in the wall on the
far side from me. These led into other dark, damp rooms.

Instead of
the comfortable den, I had earned a basement. In fact, I even
knew
which
basement. Behind me I found a
staircase, and as I climbed the steps I knew what I would see at
ground level. I poked my head up into a storeroom full of
books.

“Oh hell.”

I had finally
arrived at work.

* * * * *

This was a memory I
could have done without. But the Night had coughed it up for me
anyway: my job at Bookshelves, Inc.

It’s not that I
didn’t like books. I loved them. But I hated my boss, Mr. Quail. I
hated the way he snapped questions at me, then interrupted me when
I was trying to answer – the way he manufactured busy work for me
while everyone else in the store sat idle, the way he denigrated me
when I dared to express an opinion, and the way he hadn’t given me
a raise in two years. And I suppose I hated most of all the fact
that I still worked there, despite everything. Dropping out of
college hadn’t saved me from getting a crummy job. I still had to
earn a living.

My old life had
caught up with me, even here.

Several boxes
towered over the work table, the latest delivery of sale books. The
sale books were my special responsibility. They represented about a
third of the stock of the entire store, and no way in hell would
anyone else unpack them. I went over to see what had come in.

Art books crammed
every box. There’s a rule in the publishing business: No Art Book
Shall Weigh Less Than Thirty Pounds.