Of Daggers and Dreamers

1 The crease between Kai's brows deepened as he scrolled down the Profit and Loss spreadsheet. One lamp in the corner and the computer screen were all that lit his office. Downstairs, the heavy thump from the club's music vibrated the walls and the floor but was ignored as once again the $6,660 appeared in the left column. “What the hell?” Kai muttered. Pushing back from his desk, he rose to pace the nearly bare office. Though he'd opened Club Inside eight years ago, he didn't see the reason for keeping more than he needed or collecting clutter. Everything was digital, from employee records to invoices, so the desk, his chair, and two other black conference chairs were the only furniture. A red rug covered most of the dark-stained wood floor. Two of the walls were painted a smoky gray and decorated with paintings and wall sculptures from local artisans. The third and fourth walls were made of one-way glass through which he could see nearly every corner of the two-story club. The corners he couldn't see had security cameras linked to his computer. But Kai didn't need the feeds to know what went on. His gift told him. Shoving his fingers through black hair that fell past his shoulders, he paused, his eyes on a metal sculpture hanging from the wall depicting Venus rising from the ocean on a seashell. He released his hands as his mind flipped through the list of employees. None of the new hires had access to the P&L or were trusted with deposits at the end of the night. He didn’t want to consider that one of his long-time employees was playing him. So, who was skimming the six large from his business account every week? At times like this, he wished his gift offered more. Cursing, he returned to his desk and signed out of his computer. Taking his black leather jacket from the back of his chair, he locked his office door and decided a long ride home would clear his head. He jogged down the steps to the bottom floor of the club. It took only a moment before Maya Swift, his head bartender and assistant manager, made her way to him from the other end of the bar. “Heading out, Kai?” she asked, leaning in close to be heard over the music and voices. Tonight, she wore a snug white T-shirt under a red leather vest. Her painted-on jeans and knee-high boots added height to her petite stature. Long black hair was tied back in its customary ponytail, showing off the row of alternating gold hoop and diamond stud earrings on the outer edge her left ear. Her heavily outlined dark eyes noticed a lot that went on in the club that her red lips commented on with sarcasm. Kai nodded. “You good with making the deposit?” “No problem,” she said and smiled. He swept his gaze over the crowd and noted the placement of each employee. Wait staff who carried full or empty trays, the bouncers at the front door, and the security personnel, even though half of them posed as patrons. He turned and left through the side door. Just outside in the alley was his Harley Softail. After the door closed behind him, he took a breath and used his gift. He was alone in the alley. No one had tampered with his bike. Sliding his helmet on, he pulled his keys from his pocket and swung a denim-clad leg over the seat. The roar of the engine wouldn't be heard inside. An easy ten-minute ride would bring him to his loft condominium, but he decided to take the long way home along the Columbia River. The cool, humid air was what he needed to clear and organize his thoughts regarding his business bank account. Thirty minutes later, he parked in the underground garage, nodded a greeting to the security guard at the desk in the lobby, and rode the elevator to the twelfth floor. The scent of something familiar and unpleasant tickled his nose before the doors opened. He pocketed his keys, so he had the use of both hands if needed. The doors slid open. No one was in the hall that he shared with three other owners. His loft overlooked the river and the edge of Vancouver to the east. Walking carefully to his door, he stopped when he noticed his missing tell, and the door was ajar. He used his boot toe to nudge it open. Here, the strong odor burned his nostrils. And now he could identify it. Sulfur mixed with something metallic. “Lights on,” he said as he entered the loft. Sporadic soft glows around the open space showed whoever had been there was now gone. Closing the door behind him, he glanced to his left at the kitchen area, then continued to the spare bedroom and second bathroom on the far side of the large space. Searching the room, closet, and bathroom, he realized nothing had been taken or disturbed, so he returned to the only other interior wall, which separated his bedroom area from the walls of windows. Here he found the disturbance. He looked around, noting that nothing seemed to be missing, then approached his bed. With a flick of his wrist, he jerked back the covers. An inverted pentagram made from the blood of the chicken on his pillow marked his sheets. “What the hell?” he said again. Kai had no steady girlfriend in his life, and he made a point to end each relationship, more of a dating partnership, as gently as he could. Women knew from the beginning that he had no interest in anything long-term or serious. Some thought they could change his mind. They were the ones he didn’t have s*x with, or at least not more than once. None of the women he’d been with recently came to mind as someone capable of this. To desecrate his bed, where a man slept and was most vulnerable, made it personal. The blood of the chicken, he knew, was used by some religious sects for rituals. He considered the orientation of the pentagram. Anyone who practiced an earth religion would be familiar with the symbol. It took him a moment to realize that the inversion of the symbol meant an entirely different message. To mark the pentagram in salt, ash, dirt, or water would be more benevolent. The fact that it was created from the blood of an animal, a sacrifice, and inverted, told him the practitioner was serious both about their religion and about hurting him. Using his gift, he searched his entire loft. Nothing was out of place or missing. Nothing else was left behind. He pulled up his pant leg enough to reach inside his boot and remove the knife he always kept there. With his other hand held six inches above the sheet, he used his gift to read the vibrations. Female. Calculated. Cold. Fury. The information came to him in waves through his skin, feelings that he interpreted. Jerking his hand away, he looked at his reddened palm. He added skilled to the list of characteristics the perpetrator possessed. Taking a moment to blow a cool breath across his palm, knowing that if another had tried what he just did, there would be blisters instead of temporary redness. He went into the kitchen and from under the sink Kai pulled a garbage bag from the box. Considering what he needed to take with him, he pulled out a second bag. Moving to the fridge, he took a bottle of beer from the near empty space, closed the door, then set everything on the counter. Bracing both palms on the edge of the slab of granite, he leaned forward and briefly closed his eyes. What he needed to do, where he needed to go, who he needed to call became clear. Twisting off the bottle cap, he took a long pull. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, ignoring the scrape of two days’ worth of beard growth on his recently burned palm, then took another swallow of the brew. He grabbed another beer, opened it, and carried everything back into the bedroom. Setting the beer bottles on the nightstand, he shook out the garbage bags. In one, he stuffed the pillows and the comforter, tied the top, then set it aside. Taking both bottles of beer, he poured them over the symbol. He wasn’t surprised when tiny whips of black smoke floated up from the sheets. Placing the bottles inside the second bag, he pulled the bottom sheet free from the mattress, balled it up with the body of the chicken in the middle, and shoved it into the bag. The top sheet followed. A muted symbol, now soaked through with beer, remained on the mattress. Sighing, he took his knife, sliced through the material of the mattress, and removed the entire top. This, too, was shoved into the garbage bag. He replaced the knife in his boot, then crouched to pull open the bottom drawer of his dresser by pressing a hidden panel. Inside the drawer was a metal box, like one would keep petty cash in under the counter in a retail store. But there was no cash in Kai’s box. Instead, he rolled the numbers to the correct combination, then he removed a .9mm handgun and an extra magazine. He checked to make sure a round was loaded in the chamber, slid the gun inside its worn leather holster, and clipped it to his belt at his right hip. The extra rounds went inside his jacket pocket. Then he removed a key ring with three keys on it and tucked it inside his other jacket pocket. The last item was a small leather pouch attached to a leather cord. Holding it, he stroked his thumb over the engraved design. He would never forget the last time he wore it, or who had made it for him. Slipping the cord over his neck, he tucked the pouch inside his shirt, shut the box and spun the numbers, then closed the drawer before standing. Taking both trash bags with him, he headed for the door. Were the missing funds and the destruction of his bed related? The amount stolen each week and the blood sacrifice leaned toward the affirmative. A few of his employees knew his address, but he couldn’t imagine one of them doing this. In fact, no one immediately came to mind who would have cause to vandalize his home. Growling in frustration, he dropped the bags in the hall outside his door. He seemed to be in the middle of some drama created by someone, or someones, who wanted his… attention? Money? Business? But he didn’t have enough information to stop the bleeding of his account, or the damn farm animal. Replacing his tell—a single red thread caught in the door right below the bottom hinge—he took both bags in one hand and pulled his phone from his back pocket. His call was answered on the third ring. “I need a favor,” Kai said. By the time he reached the elevator he had ended the call. The next time he stepped into his bedroom, and at the moment he didn’t know when that would be, he would have a new, unbloodied bed on which to sleep. He took the elevator back to the garage, quietly passing the security desk when the guards looked the other way at something interesting, something Kai created as a distraction. Exiting the garage through the back entrance, he moved half a block down the side street to a dumpster and tossed the bags inside. His steps back to his bike were unhurried. Olivia smiled up at the waiter as he brought her another glass of cabernet. Her lipstick, “Siren Red”, matched her low-cut backless dress and her four-inch Pradas. Tipping her wrist, she checked the time on her diamond faced Vacheron Constantin, then her smile widened. Kai would have arrived at his loft and discovered her message by now. Considering what he might do with what she’d left behind, she calculated what he’d done since arriving home. She shifted her gaze toward the windows along the front of the new restaurant and waited. A minute later, a Harley Softail drove by, the driver’s helmet turned toward the building as he continued down the street. She wondered what he saw, what he was thinking, where he was going. How long would it take before he discovered who had left the calling card, and would she have the patience to wait? Olivia chuckled as she brought her glass to her lips. Revenge would be sweet. She felt the power thrum in her veins and imagined how it would be when Kai gave her everything she wanted, everything she deserved. It wouldn’t matter if Kai questioned the security who was on the front desk 24-7. If it had been a typical burglary, perhaps something would have been caught on the security tape in the lobby, from the cameras at the corners of the building watching pedestrian and vehicular traffic, or even a name on the visitor’s log at the front desk as a ploy to gain access to the residents’ homes. Kai had bought the loft not for its offers of security but for the location. Someone with the skills to do what they’d done, what she had done, wouldn't show up on any camera, and wouldn’t have stopped to chat with the guards. Just before he entered the parking garage from the alley, he glanced over his shoulder at the dumpster. He diluted the blood with the beer to both break the circle and the power that was left behind by the one who created it. The bloodstain would now be unrecognizable by anyone who happened to see it. He put his helmet on, then climbed on the bike. Zipping up his jacket, he made sure his holster was covered, then started the Harley and left the garage. He needed to make two stops before being at the corner of 9th Street and Washington by 3:00 AM. A new restaurant had opened at the edge of the Waterfront District. Though he’d been invited to the opening, Kai hadn’t attended. The owners had sent private invitations to the city officials and elite business owners, hoping for favorable reviews. Kai and others who owned the city’s hottest clubs were invited in the hopes that those who attended would talk it up with their customers. For some of them, being seen in the restaurant was enough to be a nod of approval. It was this restaurant he turned his head to look at as he drove past. The tables were full, as was the bar. Two valets hustled out front. Through the window, he caught a visual waver. A disturbance in a small part of the restaurant. He blinked, and it was gone. Looking forward, he passed a taxi, then shifted gears to make it through a yellow light. He would make a point of returning this way to verify if what he saw remained, or if it was a ghost of his earlier anxiety. A small percentage of the population possessed power. Most knew it, but some went their whole lives believing they were just an anomaly. Even if the person emitting the visual waver was no longer in the restaurant, he might be able to pick up on residual energy. He slowed as he approached the narrow streets of Old Town. Sticking to the alleys to avoid the cobblestones on the main roads, he pulled behind a building and parked next to a bicycle with a white basket on the front of the handlebars. Removing his helmet, a corner of his mouth twitched. Sabrina O’Malley was still in her shop.