Phaze Fantasies Volume 4 Read online

  Xavier reached over and snatched one, unwrapped it, and popped it in his mouth, tossing the balled up paper into the garbage barrel. “Do you still have the hots for Katerina?"

  Spoken like a nineteen-year-old.

  "I never had the hots for Katerina."

  "Then why did you have her followed all over and then make sure you were the one that tried to nab her? Derwold could have done it."

  "Because I only trust myself with the orchid. If anything happens to it there will be no precursor, and I can only blame myself."

  For Xavier's death, is what he left unspoken. But they both knew, Xavier most of all. That was why Doc could never blame him for getting out and having a life while he could.

  He didn't want Derwold to ever blame himself for Xavier's death, either. If anything ever happened to Xavier, the blame would lay solidly on Doc's shoulders.

  The boy slouched and rubbed his eyes. “I still think you have the hots for her."

  Doc turned and hung up an oilcloth apron so Xavier couldn't see his grin. “I'm too old to have the hots for anyone. Even you admit that thirty-nine is ancient."

  "Yeah, but Katerina is old, too."

  "I believe she's thirty-two."

  "Yeah, like I said, she's ancient. But you both are.” Xavier plucked another candy out of the bowl, the little sugar fiend. He'd put so much ascorbic acid in them Doc was surprised he wasn't puckered. “You two should hook up. Both of you being ancient and all.” He smiled, the candy puffing out his cheek like a chipmunk.

  Doc put the keys for the cage back on the post and folded up the blanket that covered the cage while Xavier was in spider form. Mathilde's chastisement was like being scolded, and now he needed to clean his room.

  The door burst open, this time Derwold ran in with his derby hat askew and his duster flapping behind him. Derwold's handlebar mustache, as always, was in perfect place.

  "Sir, it's time. She's been loading the plants."

  Adrenaline shot through Doc in a rush. Maybe tonight he would finally get the orchid.

  "You're sure she's got the right shipment?"

  "Derwold nodded. “Yes, sir."

  "Xavier, you will be here when I get back.” Doc demanded obedience this time, and he let the boy know. When he got back he would start the extraction on the orchid, and the last thing he needed was having Xavier traipsing around the city.

  "Yep."

  Derwold grinned. “That one's got spark, I tell you."

  Doc didn't respond. Derwold was right, and if Xavier wanted to stay alive, he needed all the spark he could get, but the responsibility of the Scorpicos still was all Doc's, no matter who had it. He was the one with all the antique medical texts that first gave him the idea of the precursor. Doc clapped Xavier on the shoulder as he walked past to get his coat.

  "She'll be there soon, sir."

  Doc grabbed his duster off the brass coat tree, put it on, and pulled his derby on his head. Maybe his excitement wasn't only about the orchid. He did want to see her again. Her perception entranced him. And he respected her work with her orphans.

  They both strode out the door and it slammed behind them, the stone walls of the hallway absorbing the sound of their feet as they ran to the tunnels.

  * * * *

  Katerina stood on the partially destroyed main platform of Grand Central Station checking the moss packed crates one by one. She couldn't afford to lose a single plant. So far they looked as if they would survive the transport well, but she wished the weather was warmer. She originally planned the transport for the first week of June, but once the city officials raised the bribe and threatened to take all thirteen of the children if she didn't pay it, she did the only thing possible. Move the plants early.

  She clutched her antique saint medallion and kissed it in hope that her misfit pack was safe. She had no idea what saint it was. The old religions had been abolished after the Sand Wars because they were said to cause extreme sectarianism, but it gave her a measure of hope that someone out there, some divine being, might help her. It also prevented her from being eaten with cynicism. Not really, but she hoped it would.

  The last crate, exploding with moss out of the hastily nailed slats, was stacked and anchored.

  She kissed the medal again. All in one piece, please.

  The engine gave a clang and the gears shifted, warning her that the steam engine would leave in moments. The tunnels were dark but for a few gas lamps that were scattered every few feet down. Still, not all of them were on and the flickering lights that partially lit the tunnels were eerie, casting long shadows. She couldn't help but look over her shoulder.

  The brake released and she jumped on the Pullman, her carpetbag in her hand and her canvas apron and duster slapping around her ankles. Her hair, fashioned in a heavy braid, thudded between her shoulder blades as she strode down the car looking for a seat that would afford her a view of all the doors. Just in case.

  She'd made sure no one knew of her shipment, but so many people wanted to get their hands on her orchids that she never knew if someone in her neighborhood sold her out, even though she helped feed them, too. They wouldn't dare, but everyone had a price, and the Fraternal Order of Sycophants, as she liked to call Mayor Grimsbee's cabinet, had a lot of power. She couldn't underestimate what they would do to get more money and her plants. Last time when she was four hours late they came close to sending the children to the Salt Mines. They'd wanted sexual favors in return for releasing them, but she was able to talk them into more money. She thanked the stars. An image flashed through her mind of little four-year-old Nathaniel, dressed in scraps and with his bottomless brown eyes, no shoes, mining buckets of salt and maybe getting one bowl of rice and fish gruel a day. Her stomach turned over.

  She kissed the medal again.

  The officials were pressing in harder. There wasn't a week that went by without them sending some caseworker to harass her, threatening to take the kids away, and now they'd increased the payoff. The fuckers. She wanted to hit someone. How was she supposed to feed and clothe the children if the stupid officials kept demanding more? She knew that was their intent, and that they took the money because they could, not because they wanted the children—the city was full of orphans. Maybe if she could find out what they were doing with her orchids she could get herself out of the situation. But right now, she was what historically would have once been called a drug runner. Plants were illegal; any plant since the United League of Nations took control of all the independent countries. The officials blackmailed her because they could. Her only other alternative was the underground sex trade. They had her. They knew it and so did she. She'd tried to think of ways out, but kicking out her children was not an option, and so she paid. But she never stopped searching for a way to end the bribery.

  Everything was controlled by the ULN. Clothes, food ... everything. Once the city teemed with small independent stores—bodegas, hardware, clothes, even coffee shops—but after the war they closed one by one, the owners driven out at the end of a gun. Now the only way to get food was to stand in line for eight to ten hours and hope that there were enough rations by the time you got to the counter.

  Too bad she wasn't adept at growing coffee. She didn't have the land for the plants so it was good her orchids grew in caves, but the illegal coffee trade was raking in more money than she was. What she would do for a cup right now. If she closed her eyes she could remember the smell of it in her parents’ kitchen, how the enamel blue percolator always sat at the back of the cast iron stove.

  She was exhausted. Was it wrong of her to want to quit? The only way you won was by getting up the next morning though, as her father told her.

  Her eyes burned. She missed her parents so much. How they loved her and took care of her. How they loved each other and drew strength from their marriage. It didn't make their life easier, but it made it bearable. And they lived through the Sand Wars.

  The train jerked and she felt the wheels turn under her. She let go he
r breath in a whoosh. Now it would be fine. No one had stopped her.

  Crouching down in the worn velvet cushion, she pulled the bag between her feet and covered it with her skirt. The one orchid that would pay the most was in a cloche-covered pot and tied with strips of material. She'd stuffed old newspapers around it and tucked it in the bag. The safest place for it was with her. She reached down and patted the bag just to make sure, and felt for the cloche knob.

  As she sat back, still slouched, the sliding door scraped open and two enormous men stood in the doorway, their features obscured by the glaring light from behind them.

  "Katerina Metrenko?” the man on the right said.

  The voice wasn't unfamiliar, but she couldn't place where she'd heard it. Still, she tightened her feet around the bag and remembered to breathe.

  "No."

  "Katerina."

  Again, the name that went with the voice was just on the edge of her recognition, but it rolled over her, all smooth and dark, making her even more afraid.

  "I said, you have the wrong woman.” She hoped they didn't hear the tremble in her voice.

  The one on the left took a step forward and the light from the window caught his face, making it look sharp and harsh. But it was a face she knew, and her stomach dropped.

  She'd have to find a new medal to kiss.

  "I hoped we could negotiate further for the orchid."

  She nodded. “Doctor Detweiller."

  She plastered herself to the back of the bench as he took a step forward.

  "You never responded to my previous offer."

  Why did he have to take up all of the room in the car? His gaze swept over her from head to toe making her stomach flop. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear and sat up. It would seem the good Doctor wasn't told no often.

  "That is because I had no counter offer. The orchid is not for sale."

  "It is for sale. Just not to me.” He crossed his arms. “And I doubled the amount the Mayor offered."

  If it were possible he looked even bigger when he crossed his arms. Thankfully he didn't scare her one iota. He was a doctor and an intellectual, not a pugilist. Didn't doctors still take the Hippocratic Oath?

  "You're a smart man. I hoped you would take my lack of response as being a no."

  "I am a smart man. I know large amounts of money make people change their minds."

  Kat crossed her arms. “I am not selling—nor will I sell—my orchids to you."

  He yanked his derby off and scrubbed at his hair. He'd cut his usual dark brown mop short, like Caesar, the Roman bust she saw in the library. She preferred it longer, like he had it, but the new cut didn't look bad. Actually, it showed the silver at his temples. It was growing on her as she watched him. Lines creased his forehead and he looked a bit confused, not an emotion he was used to, she was sure. Maybe it was Doc that was growing on her.

  "Why?” He finally spit out.

  "Because they're mine, and I get to choose what to do with them."

  She took a perverse pride at the look that crossed his face, like he held a mouthful of vinegar and sugar and he couldn't decided if he would swallow it or spew it out.

  "I don't understand. I was assured you would take my offer. I know you have all those children you take care of. I was told you needed the money."

  At his stress on the word told, and the way Derwold looked sheepish she guessed he was the one that gave Doc the wrong information.

  "I do need the money, but my shipments are precisely counted and expected. If I don't make them the Mayor Grimsbee's henchmen will not hesitate to send the children to the salt mines."

  "But why does the Mayor need the orchids?” His brows knit.

  "I have no idea. So, now, if you please? I have work to do.” She waved to the door. They didn't move.

  Damn, if this day wasn't bad enough. Although dealing with Doc was a pain in the ass, she knew he'd never hurt her. It wasn't in his character, and she knew for a fact that he and Derwold did their share of trying to help the street youth.

  Amy, her sixteen-year-old, recently told her of a rumor that Doc had one of the insect people in his cellars. Katerina had seen their bodies dead on the streets, everyone had. Some desperate homeless even ate the remains, but no one she knew had ever seen a living one. And if Doc had found a way to save one, she knew beyond a doubt that he'd never hurt her. Although they were at odds about the orchids, they were on the same side. Saving people any way they knew how.

  Doc hadn't spoken for a few minutes and she started to pull at the hem of her apron. She didn't remember how heavy lidded his eyes were or him smelling so good before. Like a pine forest. And being so ... present.

  She wished she could give him the orchid. But in the contest of who needed it more, her kids would win every time. That's what she was there for.

  "What if we got married?"

  For a minute there she thought he asked about getting married.

  "Katerina? What if we got married?"

  She stopped thinking for a moment.

  "Katerina?"

  He reached out and felt her forehead.

  "Did you say that we should marry?” She blinked rapidly.

  "Yes, it would solve a multitude of problems. Combined we could provide a more secure living arrangement for the children, put an end to the blackmailing, and arrange a more lucrative partnership for our business—you growing the orchids for me. The marriage would take away the excuse they use to extort money."

  When the roar in her ears subsided she realized it was a pretty good assessment. But she needed a better understanding of some points. “Define benefit number three: a more lucrative partnership.” She crossed her arms.

  "I need the orchids, you grow them. I would make sure that the children wanted for nothing and in turn you would provide me as many orchids as you could."

  So. He was seeing this only as a business transaction. She would ask about the sleeping arrangements after the deed was done. That way he couldn't get out of it. Not having to worry about how she would find a meal—not paying for it, actually finding the food—would be an enormous burden off her shoulders.

  "That would be perfect."

  "Derwold will go now, get the children, and get them to the manor so there are no repercussions on their persons from the Mayor or his men. While he is there he can gather the immature orchids and bring them back, too. I could help you make this last shipment and stop at the licensing office on the way back to have the marriage license sealed."

  "I want to get married in a church.” Not that she had a lot of room to demand anything, but if this was the way she would be married, with no love or affection like her parents, then she at the least wanted it in a church.

  He looked shocked. “There are no churches left. All of the priests were executed, you know that."

  "I know, but I want to get married in a church anyway. We could stop by the ruins later and at least say a few words."

  An awkward moment passed and for some reason her request made her feel vulnerable, as if his denial would be a personal judgment against her.

  "I never thought you a believer. I'm not, but if it would make you feel better I'm not entirely opposed."

  "I appreciate that. Thank you.” She was sincere, and she hoped he knew that.

  She reached behind her neck and unclasped her saint medallion and pressed it into Derwold's hand. “Give this to Amy so she knows I sent you."

  Chapter Two

  "How much further?” Doc snuck a glance at Katerina from his dirt-filmed goggles. The truck's barrel front clip shimmied, and the jerking of the panels sent up clouds of dust onto the both of them as they made their way to the drop-off point. That's what you got when you soldered scrap pieces of automobiles.

  They'd taken the train back to the station and offloaded the orchids onto Doc's trailer once she'd agreed on his impromptu arrangement.

  "Not much now."

  The crates of orchids were stacked high on the trailer, and the
chains of the hitch dragged on the road, clanging and giving him a headache. Or it could have been the tension in his neck from the whole day. And now she was sitting so close to him. The hem of her coat touched his, but he couldn't drive and get any closer to the door. Or lack of a door, as was the case.

  He'd recite what he knew of the Shen Nong Ben Cao Jing pharmacopoeia—anything to keep his mind off of the fact that in a few hours he would marry her. It was the only solution he could come up with at the time, and still was. Some might see the move as altruistic, he knew it was selfish. He needed those orchids. Xavier's life and countless others depended on it. Knowing it was the only way to solve both their problems didn't make it any easier. He never planned on getting married.

  He shifted and pulled around the turn. “What is it, this place we're going?"

  "It's an abandoned meat processing plant.” She shuddered.

  "Cold? I'm sorry, I should have put the roof on."

  "No. I'm a vegetarian."

  "Oh. Well, I suppose that won't present that much of a problem for Mathilde. May I ask why? We have a very reputable butcher that supplies our household. In return I give his family any medical attention they need. Rations can't keep a rat healthy, and you could use the protein."

  She pulled her scarf back over her head from where it had blown off, and he realized her hair was nut brown. Which surprised him. Maybe it was her personality that made him previously think it was red.

  "I found out the government was scavenging the bodies of the dead Scorpicos and...” She pinched her nose and blew out the air in her cheeks.

  He didn't want to make her sick all over the car. “What are the directives?"

  She shot him a look of extreme gratitude.

  "We—” She coughed from the dust that went into her mouth as she spoke.

  He handed her a candy out of his pocket, and after opening it she popped it into her mouth.

  "Thank you.” Her eyes widened a bit and he knew the flavor must have hit.

  She reached into the same pocket he produced that one from and pulled out another, opened it, and brought it to his lips.