Blood Engines(25)

 

“I’ve never been to a party like this before,” Rondeau said. “But I always knew they must be out there somewhere. I love this city.”

 

“We have parties like this in our city, too,” Marla said, sliding closer to the wall in order to let the crowd ebb and flow around her. “My old mentor, Artie, used to throw them. He loved having people over, fucking on his living room floor, while he sat and smoked a cigar and ate a ham sandwich and watched.”

 

“Some people have a strange sense of fun,” Rondeau said.

 

Marla snorted. “He didn’t do it for fun. He—”

 

But before she could finish, Zara appeared before them, smiling at Rondeau. Maybe her simpering look from earlier had been aimed at him in particular, then. She wore a wide leather collar, shiny black, with a silver ring in the front, and a black latex maid’s apron. Silver bars pierced her nipples horizontally, and she had a ring in her belly button. In one hand she carried a battered leather backpack—not unlike Marla’s—from which the handle of a whip protruded. The deeper contents of the bag clinked, metal on metal, when it shifted. To his credit, Rondeau didn’t stammer or drool—he smiled and nodded to her. “You look wonderful.”

 

She dropped an ironic little curtsy. “I’m going to walk around a bit and see who’s here, then I’ll be downstairs. You should look for me later.” She glanced at Marla, then lowered her eyes demurely. “If that’s all right with…everyone.”

 

Marla laughed. “He doesn’t belong to me, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

 

“Yeah,” Rondeau said. “I don’t belong to anybody.”

 

“I’ll see you, then,” Zara said, and slipped into the stream of people pouring deeper into the house.

 

“All is forgiven,” Rondeau said. “The way you took the window seat on the plane, the sightseeing tour that culminated in a parking-garage elevator, all of it. I think I’m going to like it here.”

 

Marla considered trying to restrain Rondeau, to make him focus on the serious work at hand, but what harm was there in letting him run off and play? He wouldn’t be much help in talking to Finch, and it might prove advantageous to have a secret ally in the house. “All right,” Marla said. “But check in with me in an hour or so. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. And if I’m not there, come looking for me, all right?”

 

“You’re a princess among peasants, Marla,” Rondeau said. He went to get a paper sack, then began to strip.

 

Marla sighed. It would be more conspicuous to walk around a party like this fully clothed, and she didn’t want to start any buzz or commotion—she just wanted to find Finch. She’d thought her days of walking around mostly naked before crowds of strangers had ended a long time ago, when she gave up waitressing in favor of sorcery. At least she wasn’t a novice at public nudity. She asked for a grocery sack and undressed, stripping down to boots, panties, and cloak. With the cloak closed around her, she looked as modest as a nun, though of course it slipped open with every step. Marla was a long way from prudish, but she had a chief sorcerer to parlay with tonight, and negotiation in the nude hardly seemed like bargaining from a position of strength.

 

She went deeper into the house, to look around, and to look for Finch.

 

Jared, the young man who’d leered at her in line outside, started following her right away, and no number of glares thrown over her shoulder seemed to discourage him.

 

 

 

 

 

5

 

 

 

B sat with a few people he didn’t know in the hot tub behind Finch’s house, pleased that so far no strangers had recognized him. He’d never been a superstar, but he’d had a certain flavor-of-the-month quality for a while, and had starred in one very high-profile, successful film; he thought of himself as the cinematic equivalent of a one-hit wonder. There had been a time when he’d craved attention, and loved being recognized, but these days he preferred obscurity and when he was recognized, it was sometimes all he could do to be graceful about it, especially since so many people started by saying “Didn’t you used to be…?” Though when cute guys like Rondeau knew who he was, and expressed appreciation, he wasn’t above basking a little.

 

B hadn’t intended to come to a sex party tonight, but when he’d gone to one of his old hangouts he’d run into Daniel, a friend from before B got into the movies. Daniel greeted him as if he’d seen B just last week instead of six years before, and suggested he come to the party.