Vigil Page 12

  Burl whimpered. “Give them back. Give them back, now!”

  “Tell me where the legs are.”

  “Give them back!” Burl shrieked. He got up out of his chair and grabbed for the cards.

  Vigil held them out of Burl’s reach. “In a minute. Tell me where he keeps the legs, and you’ll have your cards back.”

  “Give them!” Burl began to beat his chest, letting out strange, loud screams.

  Across the room, one the orderlies was looking our way.

  “Um, Vigil, maybe you should give them back,” I said.

  The orderly started for us.

  “Shit,” said Vigil. He thrust the cards back at Burl.

  Burl took them, breathing hard, his face red. He began to go through the deck as if he was afraid that one of them would be missing.

  “What’s going on here?” said the orderly, looking Vigil up and down.

  “The spies are everywhere,” said Burl. “I couldn’t say. No, couldn’t say. All I might say, if you wanted to know, is Davy Jones.” He nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Yes. Yes, if you figure that out, you might find what you’re looking for. Might indeed. You might indeed.” He sifted through the cards.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Davy Jones,” said Vigil, shaking his head. We were in the alley behind my apartment building. The air was sticky and warm. Vigil was pacing in front of his motorcycle. “What does that even mean?”

  “The lead singer of The Monkees?” I said.

  He glared at me.

  “You know, little known fact, but David Bowie’s name is actually David Jones, too.”

  “I don’t think it has to do with classic rock,” he said.

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d call The Monkees classic rock,” I said. “I mean, they weren’t a real band exactly. They were just on this TV show, and—”

  “Cecily.”

  I bit my lip. “Sorry. It’s only that I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous I tend to get scattered.”

  “What are you nervous about?” he said. “We’re fine.”

  I shrugged. “I’m nervous we’re in over our head. I thought it would be easier to get to Burl.”

  “He’s not stable,” said Vigil.

  “If Barclay’s that messed up, I can’t believe they let him back on the street.”

  “Oh, Barclay’s not like that,” said Vigil. “Barclay’s different. Barclay’s worse.”

  He was right.

  He touched my cheek. “I need to do a quick sweep of the docks to make sure that there aren’t any girls in danger. I’d like to see you afterward.”

  I smiled shyly. “I’d like that too.”

  He kissed me quickly. “Leave your window open.”

  “No,” I said. “Not in my room. Airenne will hear and ask questions.”

  He sighed. “Your roommate is becoming really annoying, Cecily.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But in her defense, it’s not really her fault.”

  “Leave the window open anyway,” he said.

  “But—”

  “Don’t ask questions.” He got back on his motorcycle. “Just do it.”

  * * *

  I awoke to Vigil lifting me out of my bed. He pulled me tightly into his arms and kissed me thoroughly.

  I responded, my lips moving on his, my arms going around him.

  He pulled me out the window with him.

  My heartbeat sped up.

  We were swinging above the city on a narrow rope.

  “It’s okay,” his deep voice rumbled. “I’ve got you.”

  He pressed a button on his wrist, and we were moving upwards, the rope pulling us higher and higher.

  I looked down. I could see cars on the street below us, too tiny for dolls. My mouth was dry. I wrenched my gaze away, looking at his face instead.

  Vigil pulled me onto the roof of my building. It was cooler up here, away from the pavement and concrete and people. Once I was safe on solid ground and peering down over the city, I was glad he’d brought me up here. I gazed out at the glittering lights.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said to him.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  I could feel myself blushing. I liked it when he said things like that. I ran my hands over his chest, inspecting his hard muscles. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

  He grinned. He eased his hand under the hem of my pajama shirt, his gloved hand brushing my bare skin. “I miss the t-shirt you were wearing before.”

  I had on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt. “You mean you miss my lack of clothing.”

  He laughed. “You got me.” His fingers worked under the elastic of my pants, grazing my belly, moving lower. “At least we’ve got a general lack of panties going on here.”

  I sighed at his touch. “I refuse to wear underwear to bed. It’s not comfortable.”

  He put his other hand under the elastic band and eased the pajamas over my hips.

  My heart began to pound again, harder than it had when I’d been dangling in midair.

  He pushed them over my thighs, letting them pool around my ankles.

  I gasped, feeling the night breeze against my nakedness.

  He knelt in front of me. With one finger, he traced the outline of my mound.

  I shivered.

  His finger went lower, stroking my slit. “Cecily, you have the most perfect pussy.”

  I clenched all over at that. But I didn’t really believe it. “You don’t mean that. It’s… messy.”

  I wasn’t a big fan of female genitalia in general. It did the job okay, but, as sexual organs went, I thought it was kind of ugly. I thought it should look sort of sweet and pretty, like a butterfly or a flower. Instead it was this sort of musky place, full of flaps and layers. And, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the purpose of pubic hair was, except to be something that needed removed.

  “Messy?” There was amusement in his voice.

  “Guy parts are clean,” I said. “Straightforward. Much nicer to look at. Girl parts are just kind of gross.”

  “Nothing about it is gross,” he said. “Nothing about you is gross.” He planted a kiss on the top of my mound. “You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself.”

  I shrugged. “It’s just what I think.”

  “Well, I think it’s perfect.” His voice had gone breathy. He kissed me there again, and his tongue darted out, easing between my lips, tickling the edge of my clit.

  I gasped. I started to tell him to stop that, not to bother. I didn’t much like it, because I thought it was kind of disgusting. Plus, guys didn’t seem to be able to understand the pressure aspect properly. I either couldn’t feel them at all or it was full on too much. Neither was much fun.

  But his tongue found me, and it was perfect.

  He grazed my clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure.

  I moaned, low in my throat.

  He chuckled, his breath tickling me in my most sensitive place, turning me on even harder. “I want to make you make that noise again,” he murmured.

  His tongue moved again, dragging over my clit, lapping at it.

  My legs felt weak. Delight radiated through me. My body clenched.

  I moaned again.

  “Very good,” he whispered.

  I clutched his shoulders. It was suddenly hard to hold myself up. “Where did you come from?” I gasped. “You’re too good to be true.” No guy had ever been able to do this to me, to awaken me with his mouth and tongue.

  His tongue moved in circles. In figure eights.

  I cried out, digging my fingers into his shoulders. That felt better than anything I could even imagine. The pressure of his mouth—the slick friction—sent jolts of ecstasy through me.

  He pulled back for a second, looking up at me with his pale, glittering eyes. “I’m not good, Cecily. I’m anything but good.”

  Maybe he was telling me the truth.

  But the orgasm
he brought me to was better than good. It was earth shattering.

  And he made love to me afterward, on top of the building, both of us staring down at the lights in the darkness. While we heaved and panted against each other.

  I came two more times.

  He was too good to be true. He was some kind of sex god. I’d lucked into him, and I wasn’t ever letting him go.

  * * *

  I got home late the next day because I had to rework my latest Vigil article to Henry’s liking. He felt that the stories were getting stale. It was the same-old, same-old, or so he claimed. Vigil saved someone. I asked him about it. There were pictures.

  “This isn’t going to be news for much longer,” he told me. “People want change. They want excitement. You have to come up with something else.”

  But I didn’t have anything else. The hell of it was that new things were happening. Vigil and I were investigating where The Phantom kept his trophies, but I didn’t think I could write about that, because it would give away too much. I couldn’t let the world know that The Phantom was Hayden Barclay. Also, I couldn’t let people know about our clues. After all, Barclay could read the paper and know how close we were to finding him. That might make him panic.

  Henry had some ideas, but they meant substantial rewrites, and they kept me at the office until late.

  When I got home, I was dragging a bag of Chinese takeout with me, because I didn’t have it in me to prepare any kind of food for myself. I couldn’t even stomach the idea of assembling a sandwich.

  Airenne was in the living room, the TV blaring.

  I brought my takeout in there. We didn’t have a kitchen table, so we usually ate in the living room. I could have taken my food to my bedroom, but that seemed rude. I still felt kind of guilty about “stealing” Callum Rutherford from Airenne, and I thought that I needed to play nice.

  She sat straight up when she saw me. “Oh my god, Cecily, you’re back. You will not believe what I saw on the news. I recorded it. I’ll play it back for you.” She began hitting buttons on the remote control, and the screen changed.

  “The news?” I said. “Is it about Vigil?” Had the stupid TV stations scooped us again?

  “No, it’s not about Vigil,” she said, as if I’d had the stupidest idea ever. “It’s about Callum.”

  If only she knew that the two of them were one and the same. I sat forward in my chair. “What about Callum?”

  “You told me you two were officially together, right? That you’re his girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “So?”

  “So,” she said, “then why was he out tonight at a society function with his usual group of bimbos?” She pressed a button on the remote, and the TV displayed an image of Callum walking into a building with a girl on each arm, and an additional girl on one of the girl’s arms. I guessed two girls weren’t enough for him.

  “You sure that’s tonight?” I said. “Maybe it’s old footage that they shot a long time ago.”

  “It’s tonight,” said Cecily. “Watch, they talk to him.”

  I watched.

  A reporter shoved a microphone in Callum’s face. He asked him questions about the charity benefit that they were attending.

  “Well,” Callum said, grinning widely, “as you know, I love to share.” He kissed one of the blondes. Then the other. Then the third.

  The girls all giggled.

  I felt sick.

  I wasn’t entirely sure why. I still had this strange feeling that Callum Rutherford was a different person than Vigil. But the fact was that they shared a body. And if that body was making love to me, then I didn’t think I wanted it kissing other girls.

  Girls he hired.

  It was disgusting. It was sordid.

  And none of it made a bit of sense. Why did he have to hire his dates? Why did he insist on hiring so many of them? Did he really have to have three girlfriends?

  I got up out of my chair, backing out of the living room.

  “Sorry,” said Airenne. “But I thought you’d want to know.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” I headed for my room.

  Her voice floated after me. “Maybe he’s not as serious about you as you thought.”

  I clenched my teeth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “No. I don’t want you hurt, Cecily.” She sounded shocked.

  Whatever. I slammed myself into my room.

  It was quiet.

  I’d planned on spending the evening doing some research on Davy Jones. I was going to google every possible combination of the words and Barclay’s name until I figured out what the connection was. I thought that Vigil and I needed to make some progress on that front.

  But I couldn’t think about it now.

  I felt betrayed.

  And, on top of that, it made our cover story to Airenne suspect. Now it looked like we weren’t dating. How could he have done that to me? Didn’t he know that his being out with other girls would be embarrassing to me? Publicly embarrassing? Was he an insensitive jerk or simply an idiot?

  I didn’t have a way to get in touch with Callum, per se.

  I had a phone number that Vigil had given me, but it was for newspaper business.

  Still, since that was the only way I knew to get in contact with him, it would have to do.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed.

  It rang. Of course, he wouldn’t answer. He never answered this phone. I left messages on it, and Vigil got back with me later.

  I waited until the bland voicemail voice picked up.

  After the beep, I said, “I need to talk to you.”

  And then I hung up.

  Airenne knocked on my door. “Cecily?”

  “What?” I snapped.

  “You never touched your Chinese food.”

  I sighed.

  * * *

  Hours passed, and he didn’t get in touch with me. He didn’t crawl through my window. He didn’t call me back. He didn’t send me a text.

  I ate my Chinese food in the living room with Airenne, grilling her about this charity event he was attending. How long would it last? When would he leave?

  She was surprised he hadn’t told me about it. “What do you guys talk about?”

  “We don’t talk a lot,” I muttered.

  I managed to eat all of the Chinese food, which is quite a feat, because the portion sizes are huge. Usually, I had half of it leftover for lunch the next day. But I was too upset to stop eating, so I ate it all.

  And then I felt pretty gross.

  The time came for the charity event to be over.

  I waited.

  Still no word.

  Hadn’t he gotten my message? Or was he spending time with his hired girls? Jewel had told me that he sometimes slept with them. What if he was doing that right now? What if he was having an orgy with all of those blondes?

  I thought about him kissing all of them again.

  It made me want to throw up.

  Airenne went to bed eventually, because it was late.

  I knew that I needed to do the same.

  But I couldn’t go to sleep. I lay awake in bed, waiting for my window to open, for my phone to ring.

  Around one in the morning, my phone beeped, letting me know I had a text message.

  Frantically, I grabbed it.

  The message was from Vigil. It said, “Sorry, I won’t be able to make it tonight. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  Wouldn’t be able to make it? What? Was that because he was busy with those girls?

  Well, I wasn’t going to let this slide. If he wanted to fuck me, there were rules. I wasn’t some pushover girl who fell over onto her back when some hot guy in a costume tried to stick his dick in her.

  Well, okay, it could really appear that way. I hadn’t exactly demanded anything from him before letting him screw me. We hadn’t had a talk about boundaries. I hadn’t ever heard him promise to me that we were exclusive. But he had said that we were together.


  Very together.

  That was how he had put it, I thought.

  So, maybe I was crazy to think that meant that we weren’t going to see other people. I guessed I should have made sure to communicate to him that I wanted him not to kiss anyone except me anymore.

  So, I would. I’d tell him.

  Unless…

  Unless he didn’t want to be together anymore. Maybe he’d decided that I wasn’t nearly as exciting as three big-breasted bimbos at once. How could I compete with that, anyway?

  Of course, he was paying those girls. Paying them. Why?

  I barely slept. I kept turning it all over in my mind, wondering what he was thinking, practicing what I was going to say to him when I saw him. Eventually, late at night, I managed to fall into something like sleep. It was shallow and easily disturbed.

  When I woke up the next morning, I felt gross because I’d eaten too much Chinese food the night before, and exhausted and cranky because of my lack of sleep.

  Somehow, I was going to have to wait until Vigil got in touch with me to resolve this. I didn’t know when that would be, and the thought of waiting interminably tied my stomach in knots.

  I needed to talk to him. Now.

  I didn’t have anything pressing going on first thing in the morning at The Sun-Times. And as long as I got my stories done on time, it would be okay if I didn’t show up at 9:00 AM sharp.

  The Rutherford Enterprises building was only a few blocks from the newspaper offices anyway.

  I knew that Callum at least put in an appearance there. After all, he was technically the CEO of the company. We hadn’t talked about it, but I’d always assumed that a playboy like Callum was in charge in name only and that someone else actually ran things. But now that I knew him, I wondered.

  I bet he was there.

  I bet I could go see him at work.

  He couldn’t brush me off if I showed up in his face. He’d have to listen to me.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rutherford Enterprises was housed in an enormous skyscraper that had the company’s name and logo emblazoned on the side of the building. It gleamed in the early morning sunlight, silver against the sky.

  I climbed up the concrete stairs to the front door.

  The entire front of the building was encased in glass—sleek and modern.