A New Abode (closed)

[Nesrin Aziz]

[[continued from here]]

After leaving Eddie’s apartment, Nesrin crossed the city to a bank of storage lockers at a metro station. She had several dotted around, mostly with emergency stashes – cards, money, that kind of thing. But this one just had the coffee-stained laptop and the old wallet she’d been using the previous day. Both items were little more than set dressing, things she used to blend in, but the phone was her connection to Wicked. She owed him some information, and Nesrin always kept her word when it mattered to her. She locked the laptop back up, and caught one of the circular trains south.

It was late morning, still too early for lunchtime traffic, so she had the carriage to herself. In Eddie’s shirt no one would glance twice at just another commuter anyway. She sat with her legs crossed, thick hair pulled over one shoulder, still faintly damp from the second shower. When she ducked her head to check the phone for messages, she could still smell the clean scent of him in the fabric. It flickered a smile as she waited for the wallet to boot up.

After a moment the screen blinked with something from Wicked, dated yesterday: If you frequent Manifesto we'll have to make some arrangements.

Arrangements? she shot back.

Despite the significant delay in her reply he answered almost immediately, the same as he had in the coffee shop.

Manifesto security is tight. If you want my help inside their walls I need a connection to you

The last they’d spoken he’d asked about the garment bag and she’d responded with a coy tease, sure he’d follow out of curiosity. So of course his knowledge of her movements wasn’t a surprise – it was exactly what she’d charmed him for. Yet the proof of it still made her feel momentary uneasiness. She lived like a ghost – no one knew where she was day to day, not even the Asquiths. It was the word connection which twisted her stomach cold though, sparking an unwelcome memory of Zigzag’s explanation of the Emissary.

I did okay. I have some info on the Key, she sent, followed a moment later by: Okay I'll bite. What do you mean connection?

Do tell *drool icon*

You didn't have your wallet with you.

Most of my friends have an app connected just to me

The train rumbled around her as she let that sink in. Okay. That was a relief. An app she could deal with; far more tolerable than the threat of playing host to fuck only knew what. Though “friends” was written in such a cutesy font it was beginning to become clear that Wicked’s amenability perhaps had less to do with the threads of power she’d spun into his head, and more to do with an obsession of his own. Which made a lot of sense in context, actually: it always seemed to work better when it pushed on an existing desire.

Thank fuck for that. One word about “hosts” or “gods” and, well… I like you Wicked but I’m just not that kind of girl.

She forwarded the things Zigzag had told her about gods and creepy as fuck ethereal connections, then added: The Key. Two words: organic matter. Which… let’s avoid the obvious jokes. I got a Reading by the Archivist. He said it contains knowledge.

Btw, way to make a girl feel special. Friends? I’m shocked, truly. I'm still your favourite though right?

*giggle emoji* Do you think you are the only one who seeks The Wicked Truth's help? My favorites allow unfetted access to their lives.

Not sure you want me that close. But I like you. I need to know more.

As far as the Key goes. We need a more secure communication method. This piece of junk you got right now won't do.

I'm sending you a package. It'll be at Kallisti when you get there under Ness. That is the name you used?

Frankly she’d been fishing for a compliment before she agreed to anything she might regret. She didn't care how many “friends” Wicked had but she did care where she was ordered in the priority list. Most of her trust in him still stemmed from the stunt she’d pulled the night of the house party and not on his charity, even though he did ask for something in return.

Nothing bad had actually happened at the club, but she still had no idea who’d tried to spike her drink – something she accepted had happened now because, well, Eddie didn’t appear to have a duplicitous bone in his body (and what a lovely body it was). It wasn’t like Wicked even could protect her in the flesh. He just needed to keep her presence shielded from m’Antinomian, which he appeared to already be doing. Nesrin trusted her own skills for the rest – she knew how to keep herself ahead of the curve.

How close did she really want him? She was beginning to suspect the information he’d asked for was not the information she had assumed he wanted. But that was a thought she’d puzzle over later.

For now, she actually did have better tech, but no inclination to tell him that. This particular wallet was a piece of junk on purpose, but despite a flutter of caution inside, her interest piqued at the idea of a gift. It was an idea she liked.

You’re already in my back door, Wicked. Talk later.

We let the prior obvious comment go. *snickers* I don't know if I can let such an easy one go this time.

She grinned to herself, sent a cute winking emoji blowing a kiss, and pocketed the phone.

---

Nesrin grabbed a coffee at a place in the RLD for some last minute preparation before she’d head to the club. While she was scrolling through her phone a message pinged in that made her blink in faint surprise. She glanced up under her lashes, gave a surreptitious look over the other customers, but nothing seemed amiss. The message was generic, thanking her for her recent purchase of the Archivist’s services, soliciting positive feedback if she had been happy with her reading, and offering discounted terms should she become a repeat customer.

But embedded inside the communication was something different. Coordinates, a time, and a simple statement: I have an offer.

Her interest was immediately awakened – of course it was. But even the dark web had rules of engagement. Nesrin worked smart. She used people (usually to mutual benefit), and when she needed to shift something hot she negotiated terms with the very best. A healthy profit margin for him, decent protections for her, including preservation of her anonymity. But using the Auctioneer created a contract, and while all these things were (to her eyes) completely fluid when needs must, she was never quick to betray. Not when the consequences would be both unpleasant and unnecessary.

She had no idea how he’d even gotten the number, since this wasn’t the device she’d used to broker between Jackal and the Archivist. Except Wicked had warned her there was a moment her identity began bleeding across the web before he took Zigzag’s reins. Probably time to get rid of the burner. For now she slipped it in her pocket, abandoning the rest of the coffee.

A short walk later and she was there. In the daytime Kallisti was housed in a stark building, imposing in the way of old Russia. Nesrin glanced up the towering steps to its entrance as she drifted around to the less conspicuous side alley. Fortunately for her she wasn’t kept waiting long after she buzzed the staff intercom. Asking Eddie for a coat too would probably have been a bit much, though she was sure he’d have just given it to her. Despite her arms tucking tight around her middle the winter wind cut straight through, ruffling the hair against her shoulders and the collar around her neck.

When the door opened she heard noises inside, distant talking and laughing, the faint thump of rehearsal music. The woman who answered had big eyes and strawberry blonde hair currently curled like a puff of candyfloss around her delicate features. From her dress she was one of the performers, and when Nesrin gave her name and said she hoped to speak to Carmen, she smiled openly and beckoned her in. As she followed behind, Nesrin’s eyes lingered on the woman’s effortless grace, captivating in not an entirely natural way, though one she certainly appreciated. She’d hoped for Elyse or Anna to be around, and maybe they were, but she was taken straight to an office door.

The woman knocked and stuck her head in. “This is Ness,” she said by way of introduction. She said it like the answer to a question.

Nesrin watched her leave, turning a little to follow her movement before she slipped inside herself. There hadn’t been much she could find on the woman within, aside from a name. It was always better to be prepared when you wanted something from someone, but this wasn’t a con she was particularly worried about. Kallisti had the sort of reputation for sanctuary that made Nesrin an easy bet to tug at the heartstrings even if she told a decent amount of truth in her story. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t worked this kind of job before.

The woman behind the desk had bloodred hair, pinned and styled in a way that wasn’t just vintage it was ancient. Her makeup was bold and precise, and her pale skin was decorated heavily in colourful tattoos. She was working on a number of screens, though did glance up. There was no smile while her attention raked Nesrin up and down.

“I take it you’re another one of Nox’s strays,” she said. A perfect brow rose as she paused from her work to push what Nesrin presumed was Wicked’s promised package across the desk.

That was… an unexpected reaction, but she recalculated her angle quickly. She didn’t know Nox, just knew of him. It seemed an assumption unwise to correct though, so she didn’t. Instead she picked up the box, looked at the courier stamp and another sticker alongside it – a logo that must have been the thing to tip Carmen off. “Just looking for somewhere to keep my head down. I can work to pay my way – whatever you need.”

It wasn’t hard for her to look innocent, not with the big dark eyes. Actually it always amused Nesrin how easy those eyes made it to go from pure to pure sin, but that was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted to come here in the slinky scarlet dress. This was a convenient hideaway, somewhere to wait it out while she conducted the auction, and as much as she enjoyed certain kinds of attention she wasn’t looking for a stage. It was always better to let others make that judgement though – allow the illusion of control, make them think the choices were all theirs.

For all her careful forethought, as it turned out Nox’s name was like a golden fucking ticket. Carmen’s scrutiny felt like knives straight into the wanting soul, but Nesrin had met this kind before; under all that sharpness lay a soft heart, she knew it the moment Carmen paused to consider her next words.

“Nissa will show you the bar. Claire can walk you through the rest of the rules. There are rooms upstairs – if it’s empty it’s free. I’ll tell you what I tell everyone, Ness. Kallisti is family. Treat us well, and expect the same in kind. I don’t want to know what you’re running from, and I don’t want trouble on this doorstep.”

Carmen made a literal gesture of impatient dismissal, and even Nesrin was a little taken aback.

That had been far too easy.

[[with Sage]]

[Nesrin Aziz]

She realised immediately that Nissa was going to be useful; tall, dark haired, cinnamon skinned. In Kallisti’s sultry lights they would be almost interchangeable, especially once alcohol was involved to haze the eye and memory. Even the names. Nissa and Ness. It made her smirk; she couldn’t have written it better. Claire with her sassy attitude and confidence Nesrin simply liked. She was one of the servers, not a barworker like Nissa, and her stories were laced with sharp advice and sly humour.

Nesrin spent the afternoon learning the ropes and absorbing the gossip before she drifted upstairs to find one of the promised rooms. It was debatable whether she’d actually use one, at least beyond tonight. But she still hadn’t replaced the condo, and at this time of year the sun had already sunk into the horizon. It was still several hours before the doors would open, but it wasn’t time she wanted to devote to rushing that kind of work. She thought about Eddie, but dismissed turning up on his doorstep a second night. Not that she didn’t entertain the idea in her imagination.

Instead she sat cross-legged on the bed to finally open Wicked’s package, her stomach all tingly as she pulled off the tape. It wasn’t that she didn’t ever get gifts, it was more that they were usually ones she’d manipulated with the intention of receiving them. A present given completely unsolicited filled her with an unexpected pleasure, even though she already knew what she’d find inside.

She twisted the new wallet over in her hands – it was completely midrange in appearance, like something an ordinary person might carry. But she quickly discovered it was cutting edge, even more so than her actual high end wallet. There were two cases too – one with a cracked screen, to make it look broken, the other as sleek and expensive as anything someone might carry in Manifesto. Grinning to herself, she spent some time exploring and calibrating it to her needs before shooting Wicked a message:

How do I look?

Fabulous! Though the men's clothes aren't really a look for Kallisti

Not quite what she’d meant. He was still watching then. Nesrin glanced up, just to be sure, though she hadn’t clocked any security cameras beyond the ones you’d expect for the venue. Certainly nothing in the bedrooms. Though she thought the only reason Kallisti didn't sell sex was the taxes.

They have a lot of options. Pick your poison, I’m always game

He was always so fast it was like speaking in person, but he couldn’t literally have his wallet in hand all the time. As they chatted she began to multitask. She hadn’t been willing to risk checking in on Bode on the banged up phone, and if the Jackal was going to bite after last night then he must have done so by now.

There is this cute little number with a pair of bunny ears...

I think they got a hot for teacher outfit pair the top with leather pants you probably get a few more tips.

She gave a sly grin, wondering if that kind of game was actually worth indulging just for the kick of his response. She was meant to be blending in, but Nesrin did love a secret like that, an in-joke between two people … and it wasn’t like it was that out there as an outfit, not amongst all the dancers. Maybe she could even convince Nissa to play along. She was about to shoot an evasively flirtatious response when the smile slipped clean from her face.

The auction was gone. Not just for the Key, the whole fucking thing.

Nesrin went cold all over.

The Auctioneer was going to be pissed.

And that was the least of her epic proportion problems. She dropped the wallet in her lap, ran her fingers over her head. Calculation spun even as her chest tightened, remembering the spike and the attack, and wondering exactly how far the Emissary was prepared to go. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Her mind raced through the options. The Jackal was an enigma, but Voxel had a very colourful reputation. She was certain she could track either of them down, in the ether at least, but it would be from a position of disadvantage without the competition of the bidding to play one off the other. Worse than that though, it would risk invoking the Auctioneer himself – he definitely wouldn’t take kindly to her brokering a private deal, even if it was the m’Antinomian who fucked with his business in the first place, not her. They’d proven in one powerful sweep that they were the dark web gods she’d accused them of being. If she made herself vulnerable, gave the Auctioneer a reason to bite, she had no doubt he’d take it out on her instead.

This needed to be done entirely offline.

She could feel the panic creeping up her spine. Because she already knew the obvious fucking solution, and she didn’t like it – she didn’t like rushing it. Gritting her jaw she checked the time, realised immediately she didn’t have enough of it. She tucked Wicked under her pillow then shot down the stairs – there were still people around the club getting ready for opening, but she’d slowed her pace by the time she pushed the external staff door, and no one remarked on her exit. The meeting point was halfway across the fucking city. Outside it was freezing, colder than she’d expected after the warmth of indoors. Her breath puffed in front of her face. Even the RLD’s neon lights and the already milling crowds did little to take away the icy air. She tucked her head down and headed for the closest metro.

[[with Sage]]

[Nesrin Aziz]

She sat in the toilet cubicle, head in her hands. Her heart shuddered. There was good thrill and bad, and at the moment she was not enjoying this. As she’d made the journey on the rattling metro she’d had plenty of time for thinking, and she stewed endlessly over the question of how Lucien had contacted her on the wrong wallet. The most obvious answer was the one she wanted to entertain least: that tonight, the Archivist would be revealed as representing the Emissary, and the reason he had found her was because they had.

Her gifts hadn’t worked on the m'Antinomian's leader at the party – he’d walked away, despite how successfully she’d snared Wicked moments later. The problem wasn’t her, it was him – it was whatever the fuck he was under that mask. That was where the fear came from, because this time she didn’t have an Eddie to call on if things went to shit and she couldn’t protect herself from it. And all her instincts were twitching; they were telling her to flee.

So what were her other options? To listen to her gut, and cut and run? Foist the Key on Zar, make it an Asquith problem and beholden herself to the cult of his family all the deeper? Toss it in the trash and forget the whole thing ever happened?

She straightened, turned the simple tube over in her palm, twisting it around in her fingers. It was too hot to shift for profit now, she knew that even if it snarled up her insides with the missed opportunity. But the Emissary wasn’t getting his fucking hands on it, no matter how unintentionally she had ended up with it in the first place – that was for certain. Because where there was fear there was also anger, the same burning resentment she’d felt when she’d looked at the Jackal’s man, at the stone of his expression, and she’d immediately felt like a child again.

A bad idea occurred to her then; she knew what those felt like, when she was right at the edge of desperation and rashness competed with sense. It was a bad one because her heart raced in warning. One use, Lucien had said. Potentially anyway. And that was the final option wasn’t it?

To open it.

What did she have to lose at this point?

So she placed her fingers where the Archivist had shown them at the Reading. There was a moment of pressure, and then her hand jerked from the bolt of electricity that jumped into her skin. She dropped it in surprise, scrambled to catch it with her other hand before it hit the tiles. Fuck. She blinked rapidly, the pain enough to sting her eyes with sharp tears. The current had been so strong there were angry pink smudges on the ends of her fingers when she looked.

That answered that then.

In the bathroom she straightened herself in the mirror. Adjusted her collar, smoothed a hand over her hair. She breathed in her composure. Became the person she needed to be to survive.

The Archivist represented clients usually, and none had been mentioned in the message. Potentially this was a trap, and she prepared herself for the possibility. If it happened, she still had no idea what she’d do, and she hated not having a contingency. 

But this might also be her only chance to get rid of the Key and get something in return for it.

---

  
Nesrin & Lucien

“Ms Bode, I presume.”

The Archivist stood from his table to meet her, a small but politely warm smile on his lips. He wore another rich and impeccable suit, his hair neatly combed away from his face, the glasses perched on his nose. It shot her through with caution to have the pretence of her being Bode’s representative removed as a shield, but she supposed he had to call her something. Instead of answering she let her gaze roam their surroundings. It was a tiny bistro, fashionable and expensive she’d imagine – had it been open. The whole place had been closed off, even the staff dismissed. Just the discrete circle of the Archivist’s security, and none of them waited inside.

She wondered for the first who he really was, to be so assured in his wealth and power. Did he know the auction had been pulled? She didn’t know when it had happened – before or after the Archivist’s attempt to contact her with his offer. Was this initiative in the face of obstruction? Or did he simply not fear undercutting the Auctioneer?

“We are quite private here, I assure you,” he said, noting her unease. “I take such things very seriously.”

“How did you find me?”

He tilted his head, hands clasped at his front, and smiled a little. “I shall explain, of course. It’s probably not what you think. But first let me offer you an apology – my client sends no formal representative tonight, but be assured I am authorised to speak for them directly. This is unorthodox, and I hope it has not caused you undue concern. But it would be improper for them to be seen as, ah, indulging in such ventures as your auction. For you see tonight I am representing the Brotherhood.”

He shifted, outstretched one gloved hand to indicate a chair, which he presently moved to pull out from beneath the table for her. Nesrin lingered, in part because she was suddenly sure that if she didn’t he would be forced to remain standing himself. It seemed like old-world manners rather than dominance. And it didn’t seem he spoke a lie – there didn’t appear to be anyone else here, least of all the Emissary. Though she fancied she could see the neon X’s of the mask in the restaurant’s shadows. She knew that was just fear though.

After a moment she cloaked herself in the same confidence she’d wielded during the appointment at Manifesto, and took the seat. Her mind tangled around the prospect of the Brotherhood’s interest, admittedly more curious than she let on from her still expression. Now her immediate worries cleared away the calculation was bright in her chest. Lucien took the chair opposite, crossing his legs and lacing his hands on the table.

“What is the offer?” she asked.

“Knowledge, Ms Bode. The offer is knowledge in exchange for knowledge.”

She considered that with apparent detachment, but inside her heart was racing – not because of a bad decision this time, but in an invigorating anticipation. Even if the upcoming test proved her parentage it would not be enough on its own. A kernel of truth to boost the rumour of some mythical daughter’s existence in Moscow’s underworld, sure – that was exactly what she intended, and she’d use it ruthlessly, but not to reveal to anyone who she was. It wasn’t enough for her, to fill that foolish hole inside. She’d already begun scoping out the Sanctuary, knowing that even if blood proved Nikolai to be her father there were no secrets the Ascendancy kept about himself that would be given willingly, even to his own child. The worship was a farce, but the Brotherhood knew things. Or they claimed to.

“You want to know who you are, don’t you?”

She blinked in surprise, just when she thought she had control of the situation. The accusation unsettled her – too close to the line of her thoughts. “What do you mean by that, I want to know who I am?”

“You should know the Brotherhood would welcome you, Ms Bode. Many Seekers find their way to truth there, and they come from all manner of walks of life. If knowledge is truly what drives you, I think you would find much there to interest you. Consider it. There would be a certain amount of protection spared for one of their own, of course. I would be remiss in my brief to not at least attempt to entice you.” He made a slightly self-effacing gesture with his hands before they reclasped. There was no hard sell, but she felt the curling hook nonetheless. An invitation was just as good as infiltration – better sometimes. She watched him with consideration, and he did not pause for long waiting for the answer that did not come. It felt distinctly like he knew something he shouldn’t – the instinct itched at her and caution silenced her tongue as a result, but something in her manner intentionally softened.

“The formal offer made in exchange for your Key is the result of a Reading,” he continued. And then, while she was already dismissively wondering what on earth use that was to her, he gestured one elegant hand in her direction.

“Of me, you mean.” Nesrin caught the meaning quickly, warring with thrill at the prospect and actual terror for such exposure. She hadn’t assumed that was possible. Her overriding instinct was to refuse, and she shifted back in her chair, eyes large and wary. But she realised almost immediately the trap here: “You touched my hand already. At Manifesto, when you gave the Key back to me.”

He wasn’t offering to Read her now, he was offering to reveal what he already knew. And fuck but that was an entirely different thing. Her breath actually caught with how earnestly she felt it.

“I am not in the business of secrets," he assured her calmly. "I do not sell information, only share its wisdom with the original owner. You have no reason to fear me. In fact I do not like to read people, Ms Bode, and it is not widely known that my gift encompasses the flesh – a secret I entrust to you, as a gesture of good faith. This is not an ordinary offer, nor one you should take lightly.”

“And you somehow used that to find me?” she pressed – needing to know. Under the table her hands were both gripping around the Key now. She already knew her answer. She had to get rid of it anyway, but more than that, she wanted to know what he would tell her. The touch had been brief, and she knew from his previous explanation of his talent that it would limit what he could glean. But she wanted it anyway.

“I once Read an object that, when I touched you, revealed itself to be tied to your past, yes.”

She put the Key on the table between them, returned her hands to her lap, and Lucien smiled.