can’t have that, yeah? You just be my good girl. I promise you’ll have plenty of fun later on.'
Jezebel rolled her eyes, tucked a lock of cinnamon hair behind her ear, and spun around to face him, walking backward in the line. 'As long as you promise. I’ll be good. I’m always good, aren’t I, Nick?'
The girl enjoyed baiting Hawkins, but the man was stone-faced. His years with British Intelligence had honed him to such a fine edge that he was too sharp, too dangerous, even for them. One nubile girl was not going to dull his edge. No matter what else she might be capable of.
'You’re always good, love,' Hawkins replied at last, but Jezebel had already turned to hand her passport to the customs agent.
Gull waited for his turn, Hawkins taking up a position behind him. The teenagers continued to snicker and made rude comments under their breath. The tall, malformed man lifted a large hand and scratched at his chin. His brows knitted in consternation. For well over a century he had endured such idiocy. But sometimes he ran out of patience. He glanced back at Hawkins and nodded. The handsome man remained expressionless as he reached into his jacket pocket in search of his British passport. As he withdrew it, he fumbled it, and it dropped to the floor not far from the two boys.
Hawkins stepped out of line, closing the distance between himself and the teens. He crouched to pick up his passport, and as he did, he let the fingers of his left hand brush the shoe of the nearest, a slight boy with delicate features.
If Gull had not had exceptional hearing and been paying close attention he would have lost Hawkins’s words in the susurrus of voices in the terminal. But he was able to decipher them, lagging a bit even as Jezebel finished with the customs agent.
'Your friend here is going to get pinched for smuggling drugs later this year. He’s going to sell you out. In prison, you’ll be shanked in the shower, cut wide open so your intestines are hanging out, and while your blood runs down the drain, they’ll take turns raping you, so the last thing you know will be the pain of your rectum tearing and the weight of a murderer with heinous breath upon your back.'
The silver-haired gentleman held up his passport, brandishing it so that Gull could see it, as if letting his companion know there was no problem. As if he had said nothing. He smiled an empty smile and returned to the line, even as Gull handed his own identification to the customs agent.
'Fuck! You’re a fucking nut! Sick fucking freak!' the teen was shouting.
But no one else had heard Hawkins speak, and all they saw was an ill-mannered lout of a boy screaming at a distinguished businessman. Hawkins shook his head as though the boy’s behavior was beneath him to even acknowledge and waited patiently for his turn with customs.
Fifteen minutes later they had retrieved their luggage from the baggage claim. Jezebel secured a cart and helped Hawkins load it, and now they wheeled it in silence through the busy terminal as travelers moved out of their way. The electronic doors parted to make way for them, and they emerged onto the sidewalk in front of the airport, where a line of limousines and taxicabs waited.
Cold rain swept down from dark skies heavy with thunderheads. It was midafternoon, but the gloom pretended evening. The cars that rolled beneath the overhanging roof that kept the emerging travelers dry dripped with rain, leaving damp tire tracks in their passing.
Nigel Gull paused on the sidewalk, his distended nostrils widening. It had been raining lightly when they landed, but the storm had gotten much worse in the subsequent forty minutes. He snorted in displeasure.
'A singularly unlovely day.'
Jezebel had slipped on her burgundy leather jacket. Now she left the luggage cart and stood beside him, gazing out at the storm. Her left hand gripped his arm, and she lay her head against his shoulder.
'No,' Gull began. 'Jez, love, you don’t have to — '
'Hush,' the girl said.
Gull’s heart swelled. Such a sweet child. He would never have a daughter of his own, but in Jezebel he had found a girl who was everything he could ever have wanted as a legacy. How he loved her. As he watched, her beautiful, delicate face became dark and cruel. Her eyes were closed tightly, her features lined with intensity. She shook, and her grip on his arm tightened. A drop of blood bubbled out of her right nostril, steaming, and when it fell to the sidewalk it evaporated on contact with the concrete.
Her eyes flickered open. A mist seemed to rise off of those orbs, the same ocean green as her irises. Then a smile blossomed on her face and she went impossibly rigid beside him. Gull was at once fearful for her and enchanted. She was never more beautiful than in the throes of her power. Her personal magic.
Her grip relaxed, and she slumped against him. Gull put an arm around her shoulders and at last tore his gaze from her. As far as he could see, the rain had ceased. The black clouds were thinning, burning off, and in several places the sun peeked through, revealing a hint of blue sky beyond.
'It will be nice now,' Jezebel said, her words slurring. 'Spectacular, even.' She glanced around for Hawkins and spotted him a few feet away, studying the line of limousines that stood at the curb, their drivers standing in front of them, each holding a sign scrawled with the name of their client.
'Nick, lovey, get us a car, won’t you? I need somewhere to fall.'
Hawkins glanced at her, then at Gull. He said nothing, for Jezebel was irritating him on purpose. She knew full well that he was already in the process of choosing their transportation. Women passing by watched him appreciatively as they dragged their wheeled baggage toward waiting taxis. But despite Jezebel’s exhaustion, Gull had no interest in a taxi. He would not ride in one in London, nor would he do so here in the States.
'Only a moment, Jez,' Gull promised her.
But the girl had already closed her eyes again and seemed on the verge of falling asleep where she stood, leaning on him.
After another moment, Hawkins began to walk along the line of limousines, idly brushing his fingers against each of them as he passed. At the third — a long ghost-white model — he paused. Gull thought he saw a tiny smile flicker across Hawkins’s face, but it might have been his imagination.
'Mr. Gull,' Hawkins said, beckoning to him.
With Jezebel staggering somnambulently at his side, Gull grasped the handle of the luggage cart and wheeled it toward the limousine. He reached it just as Hawkins was approaching the driver, who stood in front of the vehicle holding a small white cardboard sign stenciled with the name E. POWELL.
'Hello there, are you Bob, then?' Hawkins asked the driver.
The young man with the black suit and the E. POWELL sign flinched and then looked Hawkins up and down in frank appraisal.
'Can I help you, sir?' the driver asked.
'You are Bob, yes?'
'Yes, sir?'
'Ah, excellent,' Hawkins said. 'I apologize for keeping you waiting. I missed my flight and had to take the next one. I know you’ve been here for quite some time… two hours, is it? I’ll make sure to add a large gratuity to the company charge.'
Bob smiled in relief. 'You’re Mr. Powell,' he said. 'I was beginning to wonder if I was in the wrong place. I called in, and they said to wait another twenty minutes or so. Truth is, I was about to leave.'
Hawkins glanced over his shoulder at Gull and Jezebel. 'Well, then it seems we’ve arrived just in time.'
The driver frowned, glancing once at the others but then trying his best not to see them, Gull because of his hideousness, Jezebel because of her beauty. 'Oh. I didn’t realize there were three of you. The slip said one passenger.'
'Is that a problem?'
'No. No, of course not. There’s plenty of room, Mr. Powell.'
Then he smiled and opened the door for Gull and Jezebel. They climbed into the expansive rear of the limousine, and she stretched out full length on one of the seats, instantly asleep. Moments later Bob was sliding behind the wheel and Hawkins was climbing into the rear of the limousine, and then they were drawing away from the airport.
Above them, the clouds had all but disappeared. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun shone warmly down upon the limousine as it made its way toward the heart of Boston.
'Oh, Bob,' Hawkins called.
'Yes, Mr. Powell?'
