A Night at the Opera (Harlem's Deck 7)

a new PA (he gathered Anna was going to meet the woman this afternoon). The press could sense it in his quiet confidence, knew something was afoot.

  With the way these things normally went they'd be making the announcement this evening on the red carpet.

  Elliot was just praying they could make it through to next week now, when the house officially reconvened after summer recess, and the floor opened officially for the mayoral candidate nominations.

  The opera that evening also proved to be a pleasant surprise. Yes, there were the usual crowds of rich snobs. Yes, there was more false sentiment laced through the greetings and polite bar conversation than you could shake a stick at.

  But the music.

  He had been to such things before, of course, Annalise was an aficionado of the form. She loved it for the passion, the high drama. Elliot had questioned her once about it, trying to understand why cinema didn't fill the same niche. Especially given the language matter, which stood in its favour.

  “Some cinema – good cinema, yes.” She'd nodded. “But it lacks the immediacy that you get seeing something performed before you on stage. And yes,” and here she shot him one of those looks she reserved for when she knew he was laughing at her and didn't care, “a certain amount of it is about the occasion of the thing. Getting dressed up. The setting. I mean, have you seen the Opera House? Who wouldn't want an excuse to spend time there?”

  He kinda had to agree on that front.

  Whoever had originally designed the structure had clearly considered their target audience with care, knew what they liked. The place was just stunning, from its sweeping staircases (of which there were many) to its ivy draped courtyard.

  A study in opulence.

  Tonight though it was all about the music.

  He sat in rapture as the young girl sang her heart out for the sake of her love.

  Wept unashamedly over her inevitable sacrifice.

  Afterwards Annalise had guided him from the family box with one arm about his shoulders, whilst a slightly discomfited Jaret talked in hushed tones with whichever of the newly forged alliances this evening had been organised to cement.

  “I'm going to have to apologise to him, aren't I?” Elliot asked, sniffing discreetly. He turned to Lise (who was trying heroically not to smile bless her) as they descended the stairs, his boots soundless on the plush carpet. “Tell me, how bad is my make-up?”

  “Hmm... a trip to the ladies room – well, the men's room – might be in order.”

  He nodded, glancing about as they reached the landing where aftershow cocktails were being served. “Will you be alright for a minute?”

  She nodded.

  “Here.” He unhooked his sword. “Hold this, you'll need it before me if there's trouble anyway.”

  She gave him a look, then made shooing motions, reluctantly accepting the scabbard and its blade as he hurried towards the pale door through the crowd.

  Thankfully the rest of the evening went without a hitch. If, that was, you didn't count Maria laughing at him when she caught sight of his puffy eyes.

  “It got you!”

  He'd scowled, before obligingly introducing her and her husband to the Jay and Lise.

  In the car on the way home Jay gallantly waved off his apology with all the manly camaraderie Elliot had come to expect from his adoptive sibling.

  So it was that the sucker punch landed after Brahms had delivered them all safely home.

  He was preparing for bed in the west wing when Daiko exploded through the wall. The crow was in a severe state of agitation, which was unusual for him. Elliot soothed him as inky shadows swam across his form, darkening his feathers darkened from the searing ultra-white of translation back to their normal lustrous black.

  “Been trying to back track so I could come with a name, but no amount of knocking heads together in the bars did any good,” the bird babbled, shivering. “Boss, you gotta get up there before they touch one. No telling what'll happen then...”

  “Touch what?” But he was already grabbing his sword from the hat stand, making for the corridor beyond.

  Lucky I still have my trousers on, he mused as he pelted shirtless down the long hall that ran the length of the first floor, making for the intersection at the head of the stairs. Daiko was a swooping arc to his right, keeping pace.

  Annalise stood staring at the pillow, memory washing back through her like an incoming tide. It was all there. From the knife sharp pangs of his first betrayal, through to the mess of emotions that had been the run up to the last election following their reconciliation.

  To this day she hated the sound of the funfair, couldn't stand it's bright lights.

  He still doesn't know what I did for him, she thought bitterly, dashing tears from her eyes as she clasped the kimono tight about her shoulders and stared at bed. The sound of running water continued to patter through from the ensuite; Jaret about his bedtime ablutions. The familiarity of it brought a smile to her face, a little surge of love taking the edge off of past wrongs.

  He is a good man. I made the right choice.

  Sighing, she forced herself to look down at the cards on the bed again, careful to keep her distance. Elliot had taught her a lot over the years, she understood the dangers far better than her younger self ever had. A powerful enough fetish could jump the gap if you got close enough, like lightning trying to ground out.

  There were two of them, one placed atop each of the plush pillows that graced the head of the bed, revealed as she pulled back the quilt. The action had disturbed them, and the petals that accompanied each, sending both cards sliding down onto the pure expanse of sheet below.

  They each of them had their regular side she and Jay, as did any couple, though you wouldn't necessarily be able to judge one from the other by their bedsides. Jay's held tissues for his sinuses, and a carved wooden box she'd brought him in Cairns for his cufflinks and rings, whilst hers featured the latest of the detective novels she favoured. Both threw out little pools of soft illumination from the night lights they held, painting the room around them in soft hues. You'd need to know who slept where (unless you opened Jay's box she conceded) and yet she had a sense that the person who'd done this hadn't needed to, had known.

  Certainly the choice of cards seemed to suggest that.

  She looked round at the sound of pounding feet in the corridor beyond. Felt her heart swell at the familiar cadence.

  Elliot.

  If Jay were her King, El was her knight in shining armour.

  He burst into the room, Daiko sweeping in at his side to head cawing towards the bed, circling it in lazy sweeps.

  That'll bring Jay.

  Not much time then. She glanced at El as he approached, hands wound in the Kimono's pink and cream silk clutched beneath her chin. “I haven't touched anything,” she reassured him, eyeing the drawn sword in his hand.

  Elliot nodded, gaze going up and down her from tousled hair to bare legs. The examination sent a shiver up her spine despite herself, and she looked away to hide the rising heat in her cheeks. It didn't help that he was shirtless. The moment was quite erotic. More so, with Jay still unaware in the next room.

  Stop it girl.

  She risked a look at him again but true to form Elliot was apparently oblivious to the whole thing, his attention going to from her to the bed, though for all the wrong reasons.

  The handler had stopped his circling, was perched now on one of the pillows with its disarray of petals. She was about to voice concern over his proximity to the cards, then realised how ridiculous that would be.

  He's a daemonic crow you idiot. The clue's in the name.

  “You found them like this?”

  She nodded, glancing at the kya. His skin had taken on that odd inner light it did when he was communing with the aether, the Horus eye on his palm glowing gently blue as he drew on it. Damping the local field in favour of the Host, no doubt. A cautionary action, like throwing a towel over a dangerous animal's cage to quie
t it.

  Elliot surveyed the room, pinging the sword and holding it out before him as he did so, occasionally lifting it closer to his ear. “There's no actual infraction,” he allowed finally, his pose relaxing a little. “We're safe as long as we contain these.” He offered a grim half smile again as he came to stand beside her, one hand atop the sword pommel as he rested it point-first on the ground.

  Reassured, Lise allowed herself to examine the cards on the bed properly, the initial shock slowly leaked down to pool in her calves.

  Now she looked at them properly, it was obvious they weren't from the deck. Though the likeness was close enough that she thought the artist must have seen the original.

  On Jay's side of the bed: Death, amidst lily blooms of purest white.

  On hers: The Magician, in a pool of scarlet rose petals.

  Well, they got that right: red always has been my colour.

  She smiled faintly, studying the images. The author of the original deck, as here, had chosen to depict Death as a woman with powerful wings arching from her back. An asp wound her left arm, whilst an Ankh and the all seeing eye nestled at her bosom, suspended from the chain about her neck. Stars peopled the eternal night at her back.

  From stardust we came, to stardust we return, she thought, remembering a catechism that had become popular amongst the Orthodox as a eulogy following the great walkabout.

  The anthropomorphism's expression was hard, without being severe. A strong but understanding matriarch.

  The Magician held the world in