Skin Deep
Page 13
“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t Thomas supposed to be in this morning?”
“Unfortunately,” Wilson said, “he is not coming to work today. Or ever, apparently, as per his message this morning.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”
“You do not recall explaining to him that you were a Satanist, Master Leeds?”
“Two percent Satanist,” I said. “And Xavier is very progressive for a devil-worshiper. He’s never made me sacrifice anything other than imaginary chickens.”
“Yes, well . . .”
I sighed. Another servant lost. “We can call in a driver for the day. We had a long night last night. You don’t need to do work this early.”
“I don’t mind,” Wilson said. “Somebody needs to look out for you, Master Leeds. Did you sleep at all?”
“Uh . . .”
“I see. And did you happen to eat anything at dinner last night before you ended up in the tabloids?”
“The story is out already, is it?”
“Written up in the Mag and posted on Squawker this morning—along with an exposé by Miss Bianca herself. You skipped dinner, and you skipped lunch yesterday as well, insisting that you didn’t want to spoil your appetite for the date.”
More like didn’t want to throw up from nervousness. “No wonder that breakfast tasted so good.” I reached for the door handle to the SUV.
Wilson rested his hand on my arm. “Do not become so preoccupied with saving the world, Master Leeds, that you forget to take care of yourself.” He patted my arm, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
My team waited inside, all but Audrey, who burst into the garage wearing a sweater and a scarf. No other aspect had appeared upon my reading the book; Audrey had gained the knowledge, as she’d expected. I was glad—each new aspect put a strain on me, and I’d rather have old ones learn new things. Though, having Audrey along on the mission could be its own special brand of difficult.
“Audrey,” I said as I opened the door for her, “it’s almost June. A scarf?”
“Well,” she said with a grin, “what good is being imaginary if you can’t ignore the weather?” She threw her scarf dramatically over one shoulder, then piled into the car, elbowing J.C. on her way past.
“If I shoot you, woman,” he growled at her, “it will hurt. My bullets can affect interdimensional matter.”
“Mine can go around corners,” she said. “And make flowers grow.” She settled in between Ivy and Tobias, and didn’t put on her seat belt.
This was going to be an interesting mission.
We pulled out onto the roadway. Morning was upon us, the day bright, and rush hour well under way. I watched out the window, lost in thought for a time, until I noticed J.C. fishing in Ivy’s purse.
“Uh . . .” I said.
“Don’t turn,” J.C. said, batting away Ivy’s hand as she tried to snatch the purse back. He came out with her compact makeup mirror and held it up to glance over his shoulder out the back window, not wanting to present his profile.
“Yeah,” he said, “someone’s probably following us.”
“Probably?” Ivy asked.
“Hard to say for certain,” J.C. said, shifting the mirror. “The car doesn’t have a front license plate.”
“You think it’s her?” I asked. “The assassin?”
“Again,” J.C. said, “no way to tell for certain.”
“Maybe there is a way,” Audrey said, tapping her head and the new knowledge inside of it. “Wanna try some hacking, Steve-O?”
“Hacking?” Ivy said. “As in computer hacking?”
“No, as in coughing,” Audrey said, rolling her eyes. “Here, I’m going to write some instructions for you.”
I watched with curiosity as she scribbled down a list of instructions, then handed them to me. It was imaginary paper—not that I could tell. I took it and read the instructions, then glanced at Audrey.
“Trust me,” Audrey said.
“I only read you one book.”
“It was enough.”
I studied her, then shrugged and got out my phone. Worth a try. Following her instructions, I called up F.I.G, the restaurant where I’d eaten—or, well, ordered food—last night. It rang, and fortunately the breakfast staff was already in. An unfamiliar voice answered, asking, “Hello?”
I followed Audrey’s instructions. “Yeah, hey,” I said. “My wife ate there last night—but we had a family emergency, and she had to run before finishing her food. In fact, she was in such a hurry, she used the business credit card to pay instead of our home one. I was wondering if I could swap the cards.”
“Okay,” the woman on the phone said. “What’s the name?”
“Carol Westminster,” I said, using the alias Zen had used for her reservation.
A few minutes passed. Hopefully the receipts from last night were still handy. Indeed, after shuffling about a moment, the woman came back on the phone. “Okay, what’s the new card name?”
“Which one did she use?”
“It’s a KeyTrust card,” the woman said, starting to sound suspicious. “Ends in 3409.”
“Oh!” I replied. “Well, that’s the right one after all. Thanks anyway.”
“Great, thanks.” The woman sounded annoyed as she hung up the phone. I wrote the number down in my pocket notebook.
“You call that hacking?” J.C. said. “What was the point?”
“Wait and see,” Audrey said.
I was already dialing the bank’s credit card fraud prevention number. We continued in the car, taking an exit onto the southbound highway as I listened to holding music. Beside me, J.C. kept an eye on our supposed tail with Ivy’s mirror. He nodded at me. They’d followed us onto the highway.
When I finally got through the menus, holding patterns, and warnings my call might be recorded, I ended up with a nice-sounding man with a Southern accent on the other side of the line. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I need to report a stolen credit card,” I said. “My wife’s purse got taken from our house last night.”
“All right. Name on the card?”
“Unfortunately,” Wilson said, “he is not coming to work today. Or ever, apparently, as per his message this morning.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “What happened?”
“You do not recall explaining to him that you were a Satanist, Master Leeds?”
“Two percent Satanist,” I said. “And Xavier is very progressive for a devil-worshiper. He’s never made me sacrifice anything other than imaginary chickens.”
“Yes, well . . .”
I sighed. Another servant lost. “We can call in a driver for the day. We had a long night last night. You don’t need to do work this early.”
“I don’t mind,” Wilson said. “Somebody needs to look out for you, Master Leeds. Did you sleep at all?”
“Uh . . .”
“I see. And did you happen to eat anything at dinner last night before you ended up in the tabloids?”
“The story is out already, is it?”
“Written up in the Mag and posted on Squawker this morning—along with an exposé by Miss Bianca herself. You skipped dinner, and you skipped lunch yesterday as well, insisting that you didn’t want to spoil your appetite for the date.”
More like didn’t want to throw up from nervousness. “No wonder that breakfast tasted so good.” I reached for the door handle to the SUV.
Wilson rested his hand on my arm. “Do not become so preoccupied with saving the world, Master Leeds, that you forget to take care of yourself.” He patted my arm, then climbed into the driver’s seat.
My team waited inside, all but Audrey, who burst into the garage wearing a sweater and a scarf. No other aspect had appeared upon my reading the book; Audrey had gained the knowledge, as she’d expected. I was glad—each new aspect put a strain on me, and I’d rather have old ones learn new things. Though, having Audrey along on the mission could be its own special brand of difficult.
“Audrey,” I said as I opened the door for her, “it’s almost June. A scarf?”
“Well,” she said with a grin, “what good is being imaginary if you can’t ignore the weather?” She threw her scarf dramatically over one shoulder, then piled into the car, elbowing J.C. on her way past.
“If I shoot you, woman,” he growled at her, “it will hurt. My bullets can affect interdimensional matter.”
“Mine can go around corners,” she said. “And make flowers grow.” She settled in between Ivy and Tobias, and didn’t put on her seat belt.
This was going to be an interesting mission.
We pulled out onto the roadway. Morning was upon us, the day bright, and rush hour well under way. I watched out the window, lost in thought for a time, until I noticed J.C. fishing in Ivy’s purse.
“Uh . . .” I said.
“Don’t turn,” J.C. said, batting away Ivy’s hand as she tried to snatch the purse back. He came out with her compact makeup mirror and held it up to glance over his shoulder out the back window, not wanting to present his profile.
“Yeah,” he said, “someone’s probably following us.”
“Probably?” Ivy asked.
“Hard to say for certain,” J.C. said, shifting the mirror. “The car doesn’t have a front license plate.”
“You think it’s her?” I asked. “The assassin?”
“Again,” J.C. said, “no way to tell for certain.”
“Maybe there is a way,” Audrey said, tapping her head and the new knowledge inside of it. “Wanna try some hacking, Steve-O?”
“Hacking?” Ivy said. “As in computer hacking?”
“No, as in coughing,” Audrey said, rolling her eyes. “Here, I’m going to write some instructions for you.”
I watched with curiosity as she scribbled down a list of instructions, then handed them to me. It was imaginary paper—not that I could tell. I took it and read the instructions, then glanced at Audrey.
“Trust me,” Audrey said.
“I only read you one book.”
“It was enough.”
I studied her, then shrugged and got out my phone. Worth a try. Following her instructions, I called up F.I.G, the restaurant where I’d eaten—or, well, ordered food—last night. It rang, and fortunately the breakfast staff was already in. An unfamiliar voice answered, asking, “Hello?”
I followed Audrey’s instructions. “Yeah, hey,” I said. “My wife ate there last night—but we had a family emergency, and she had to run before finishing her food. In fact, she was in such a hurry, she used the business credit card to pay instead of our home one. I was wondering if I could swap the cards.”
“Okay,” the woman on the phone said. “What’s the name?”
“Carol Westminster,” I said, using the alias Zen had used for her reservation.
A few minutes passed. Hopefully the receipts from last night were still handy. Indeed, after shuffling about a moment, the woman came back on the phone. “Okay, what’s the new card name?”
“Which one did she use?”
“It’s a KeyTrust card,” the woman said, starting to sound suspicious. “Ends in 3409.”
“Oh!” I replied. “Well, that’s the right one after all. Thanks anyway.”
“Great, thanks.” The woman sounded annoyed as she hung up the phone. I wrote the number down in my pocket notebook.
“You call that hacking?” J.C. said. “What was the point?”
“Wait and see,” Audrey said.
I was already dialing the bank’s credit card fraud prevention number. We continued in the car, taking an exit onto the southbound highway as I listened to holding music. Beside me, J.C. kept an eye on our supposed tail with Ivy’s mirror. He nodded at me. They’d followed us onto the highway.
When I finally got through the menus, holding patterns, and warnings my call might be recorded, I ended up with a nice-sounding man with a Southern accent on the other side of the line. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I need to report a stolen credit card,” I said. “My wife’s purse got taken from our house last night.”
“All right. Name on the card?”
