Keys to the Kingdom

[Nesrin Aziz]

[[continued from House Party]]

In the neon wash of lights in the RLD, no one glanced twice at the kink of a black velvet mask covering a woman’s face. Once she was far enough away from Nox’s building, she finally parted her lips to let it fall loose into the splay of her waiting hand. For a time at least, the fresh cold air soothed how hot and stuffy it had been underneath, but Muscovite winter bit hard. She considered the warmth and distraction of one of the district’s clubs – the night was still young enough, and she hadn’t exactly figured on leaving the other party alone. But the Emissary’s keys were tight in her hand, and time might well be of the essence, so she pushed her mask into the hands of a passerby with a knowing wink, then found herself transport.

Her current home was new to her: an indomitable and exclusive highrise. Moscow had a lot to choose from, and Nesrin enjoyed luxury – all the more when it was “borrowed.” Security gave her no trouble; the doorman recognised her already, and even said a hello as the click of her heels crossed the marble foyer. He tapped his chest, and she glanced down at hers, certain she’d removed the party sticker, but it was only the pink Hello Kitty badge. She gave a cute smirk, raised her brows, but offered no explanation. He could make his own.

She stopped by her condo, but only briefly on the way up. Her hip was smarting where she’d fallen backwards, and she’d explored enough of the building to have discovered somewhere better to spend the rest of night. The skyline twinkled like tiny cast jewels from the rooftop, city noise distant. This particular glass-framed corner of it was an open air oasis, but Nesrin liked the icy chill of the cold on her skin. She dumped her bottle of champagne and flipped the switch of the jacuzzi. It might have been common space, or it might have belonged to one of the other apartments; she actually didn’t know, but the wide-eyed ignorance of a ditsy house-sitter was often enough to convince of innocence. And a half-naked girl in a hot tub was usually forgiven her trespasses quickly enough.

She pulled on the robe, wriggling out of the dress and leaving it to pool forgotten on the floor. It was fucking cold, but it only flushed her cheeks with the exhilaration. She didn’t check for bruises, and the light was too soft a glow in the darkness to see much anyway; instead, wrapped in fluffy warmth, she pulled on the bikini underneath. While she waited for the water to warm, she leaned back against the edge and examined the keys. She’d only intended them for leverage, not for keeps. Stealing was a risky game, not least when you were caught, and the m’Antinomian were dangerous for what they could unravel. Not that she didn’t still plan to bargain her way out of it, but something about the way the Emissary had touched her arm still didn’t sit right, and she was curious as to what she was bargaining with.

They’d felt like keys, but this was the first time all evening she’d been able to look at them properly.

And now she wasn’t so sure.