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The door, that is, because I’d have to pay to fix it and funds were limited enough as it was. Marissa could deal with any fallout from any damaged equipment. It was her fault I was involved in this mess.
As I took the steps up to street level two at a time, I glanced at my watch. Twenty-four minutes to go. I could make it in twenty minutes easy without all this extra baggage weighing me down.
Downtown D.C. during springtime was a busy place. Add in the hulking massage table thrown over my shoulder and I was a walking wrecking ball. The damn thing thumped against my back and legs the whole way, sure to give me more than a few bruises.
Thanks a lot, Riss.
Most people scurried out of my way as soon as they saw me coming. Those who didn’t move yelled at me after I knocked into them. I ignored them like any other respectable D.C. citizen would do. These were the hazards of living in a city.
When I was forced to stop at a busy red light, a prickling sensation crawled across the back of my neck. It had become more common in recent days, making me feel like I was being watched.
I mean, lots of people were around who might be looking my way, but this was a more direct feeling. Almost sinister.
I glanced over my shoulder, but, just like all the other times, no one out of the ordinary stood out. You would think that the longer we were away from home, the less I would worry about our father finding us, dragging us back, and selling us off like prized cattle.
Unfortunately, my nerves had only gotten worse over the past ten years. Our luck had to be running out by now.
As soon as the light turned green, I hustled across the street and followed my phone’s map directions to the building in question. I squinted up at the sign. This was one of the nicest condo buildings in the city. Maybe the nicest for all I knew. I wasn’t rich anymore and never on land, so clamshells if I knew.
I yanked open the glass door and nearly ran into a nicely dressed couple about to exit. They stepped back as I struggled through the door. Except sudden resistance wrenched me back and threatened to dislodge my shoulder—the table had gotten stuck in the frame.
Muttering a few colorful obscenities I’d learned over the years at the gym, I turned the massage table so it could fit through the door. The couple exchanged a knowing, condescending look before exiting.
No, no, please don’t worry about me, I thought with an eye roll. I wouldn’t want you to break a nail or something by helping the help.
I ran up to the check-in counter completely out of breath.
A white-haired woman with leathery, tanned skin stared down her nose at me and raised an equally white eyebrow. “May I help you?”
“Br—Marissa Johnson… Here…for appointment… Number 2015. Nine o’clock,” I said in gulping puffs.
Of course, Johnson was just a fake last name we’d chosen years ago. Our kind didn’t need more than one name but paperwork on land demanded it.
Her shrewd gaze flicked to the computer screen and then back to me. “You’re ten minutes late.”
You know what? I changed my mind. Punching babies was for the weak. I wanted to brawl with a shark or a dragon, something that could fight back.
I pointed to the three elevators. “So, should I just go up then?”
The receptionist held up a bony finger and pressed a button on the computer. After a moment, she said, “Ms. Johnson is here for an appointment.”
No one else was around, so I assumed—and hoped—she had on earbuds I couldn’t see.
“Yes, sir.” She pursed her lips, then typed something into the computer. One of the elevator doors dinged and opened. “He’s waiting for you.”
As much as I tried to understand human world technology, I just couldn’t wrap my brain around it all. How did a little machine make an elevator work like magic? Their wires didn’t even connect anywhere.
By the time I clambered into the lift, I was a sweaty, swampy mess. The shiny steel walls reflected my face as well as a mirror, and I muttered at my flushed skin and the dark red frizz refusing to obey the hair spray around my hairline.
It was early spring, which meant snow was still possible despite the increasing warmth. Yet here I was, drenched in sweat, heading to one of Marissa’s VIP clients.
Fabulous.
The receptionist’s voice called out as the elevator door started to close, “I wouldn’t recommend being late again. He doesn’t appreciate having to wait.”
Rolling my eyes for the second time in less than five minutes, which might have been a new record for me, I glanced at the rows of buttons. No one appreciated waiting, myself included. I realized I didn’t know where I was headed. “What floor?”
The button for the penthouse was already lit.
