Shouldn’t do this, Jillian, whispered a little voice in the back of her head. It probably isn’t safe…
She had read once that humans are the only animals on Earth that ignore their gut intuition and do things they instinctively feel are wrong or dangerous. Later—much later—she would remember those words and wonder why in the world she hadn’t listened to that little voice.
But at the moment, all Jillian wanted to do was get the ion-scoop and go home and she thought the only thing standing between her and her trip back to the Mother Ship was a cup of tea with the unpleasant Yonnite Mistress.
She had never been more wrong in her life…
5
The ion-scoop looked like a tiny, miniaturized melon-baller with a silver, grape-sized cup at one end and a switch on the handle that hummed ominously when she turned it on.
“For pity’s sake, don’t turn it on until you need to use it!” the Mistress exclaimed, when Jillian flipped on the switch. “It’s absolutely lethal—it will cut through anything. That’s why it’s so useful for the thaelite.”
“Sorry—I didn’t know.” Fishing in her pocket, Jillian pulled out a spare plastic shopping bag she’d brought in case she got any really stinky produce, and carefully wrapped the ion-scoop, making very certain that the switch was in the “off” position. Then she stowed it securely in her jeans pocket, beside her poison-checker.
She would have been more comfortable putting it in her tote, but it had a hole in it now and besides, she’d left it in the shuttle back when they’d deposited the thaelite. So her pocket was the only place to put it. She just hoped she didn’t accidentally flip it on and gouge a chunk out of her leg, but she didn’t think it would be a problem—she had wrapped it really well.
“All right now—where’s the door to your secret club?” she asked, frowning. As far as she could tell, the back of the Yonnite’s stall was just filled with stacks and piles of merchandise—most of it still in boxes and bags and barrels. There was no door in sight in the small, crowded space.
“I don’t leave it out in the open, of course!” The Mistress sounded offended. “How could I keep it secret like that? Kalis, move the stack of yarbedeen music boxes and reveal the door,” she commanded the huge Kindred.
He frowned, crossing his arms over his broad, bare chest.
“Afraid I can’t do that, since you’re no longer my true owner, Mistress Douchenbag.”
“Wait—is that her real name? Douche bag?” Jillian lifted her eyebrows.
“Douche-en-bag. Twyla Douchenbag. It’s my family name, passed to me from my dear mother,” the other woman said primly. “And you are? Since we are to have tea together, I suppose we ought to be better acquainted.”
“Jillian Marks,” Jillian said.
Mistress Douchenbag sniffed.
“What a very strange and unattractive name. But no matter.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Mistress Jillian, you must instruct your bodyslave to move the music boxes and reveal the door. He won’t do it for me.”
Jillian sighed and looked at Kalis.
“Kalis, would you please—as a favor to me and not because I own you—move the boxes so we can open the door and get this teatime over with?”
Kalis nodded gravely.
“As my Mistress wishes.”
He walked to the back wall of the crowded stall where there was a tall stack of extremely heavy-looking carved wooden boxes. Squatting low, the big Kindred scooped up the entire stack—which was higher than Jillian’s head—and moved them three feet to the right. Then he stepped back, revealing what looked like a drawing of a door on the back wall, done in white chalk outlines.
“What’s that? It’s just a chalk drawing of a door!” Jillian protested. “How are we supposed to go through there?”
“Like this.” Stepping up to the drawing, Mistress Douchenbag twisted a large ruby ring off her middle finger and pressed the glittering ruby against the door’s keyhole.
Jillian heard a soft click.
Just like a real key turning in a lock, she thought. And then, suddenly, the chalk drawing began to firm and fill itself in and become…
“Oh, it’s a real door,” Jillian breathed, staring at the ornately carved brown wooden door with a brass doorknob which had been just a drawing only a moment ago.
“Of course it’s a real door,” Mistress Douchenbag sniffed. “And a very exclusive one at that. Come—we must hurry before the molecules shift again and it’s nothing but a drawing once more.”
She opened the door, which led into a kind of dimly lighted passageway, and went into it without a moment’s hesitation.
Jillian did hesitate—but only for a moment. Once she made up her mind to do something, she generally followed through with it and she had promised to at least have tea with the Yonnite Mistress and hear her out before refusing to take Kalis as her bodyslave. A promise was a promise.