A Wild Companion Appears!

The modest room was adorned in ornate rugs complemented by myriad panels of fabric cascading from the ceiling. Ringlets of smoke rose from the foot of the bed, a brass incense holder clinging to the last embers of its charge. The veranda which framed the bed opened to a wide view of an arid canyon, whose vast crevices and stony outcroppings left nothing to be desired.

At a low table in the center of the room, a woman sat on crossed legs. With one hand she held the beautiful handle of a jewel-adorned pot; with the other hand she steadied the flow of tea into a shallow cup. As she tilted, an errant blonde curl escaped the tiara carefully tucked onto her head.

The man seated across from her leaned forward and with a deft hand took hold of the tendril, gently replacing it behind her ear. For a moment, the woman relaxed, eyes slowly rising to meet the man's. Then, as if the air lost all moisture, a spark! Her brilliant hazel eyes met his; an infinite burst of stars and constellations in those green and gold flecks. He stopped breathing, but the exquisite moment passed, left only with the steaming tea between them curling and stretching in the light of the sun. This familiar game, she thought, it feels like separating flesh from spirit.

They talked for hours, timidly at first, then more assuredly as the afternoon wore on. He spoke of the vineyards he grew up in as a boy, miles from here. She played him the Devil's Trill Sonata on her violin. Of politics, his hopes, and dreams: their conversation steered them through the gamut until finally in the waning light her hand lighted on his, tenderly tracing the arc of his arm. Like muscle memory, she felt her body moving of its own volition; a tool to be replaced once it had performed its function. The centripetal force of Companionhood.

"I wonder, how do you feel about your employ under Monsieur Mammon? I have heard whispers that he can be--shall we say--challenging to endure. But you? You look as though you've thrived," the Companion turned to coil her full attentions around the man.

The name tasted like ash in her mouth. It was the source of all her thirst, and the fuel for the embers in her belly. She had become the inevitable reaction born from the murder of her mother at the hands of Mammon.

"You must have surely heard of my employer, scarce few in the 'verse do not rely on one of his many successful businesses, but how is it you know it is he I work for? I have taken great lengths to obscure this from the public. Do I only think I am opaque, so easily seen through by you?" the chief of Mammon's protective detail asked.

The Companion smiled, "You hide it well, but there is only so much the eye can see or the ear can hear," she lifted the cold tea to her red lips. "There is a sweet release in bearing our secrets to another soul. A release our secrets sometimes seek out on their own." And how her secret sought liberation.

"How cryptic you are," teeth returning her smile, "and how bare am I to you," he placed his hand on her thigh, "that you should already know the past, but not the present?"

Her brow arched as he leaned closer, "Yes?" his fingers inching up her leg.

"I have been relieved of duty, which is why I can take this time with you tonight. You see? I no longer have need for secrecy. Perhaps that's why my secrets called out to you," he craned to light his lips against her nape.

The companion bit her lip, nodding her head slightly. He would receive no further assignments. The man at her neck knew nothing of Mammon's whereabouts. A dead end.

To the companion, it was obvious what the former chief desired in this moment. In fact, it didn't require years of training to feel the heat coming off his body, note the quickening of his breath, his smooth palms. A crescendo.

Slowly rising, she guided the man, hands firm on either side of his waist, his lips still at her throat. To the bed, illuminated red by the desert sun hanging on the horizon. The candle light danced upon her flesh as she steered him toward his petite mort. This tool, used thus, would build the road to her redemption. This tool would help her tear it all down.

\*\*\*\*

Three months passed since Anikah met the man who was her father’s most trusted protector. Since then, each quarry she ensnared had been jettisoned prior to her arrival. Mammon was divesting his weaknesses, and she was picking up the pieces. He was shrinking his area of attack, she was becoming more reckless. The thought that she had been found out--curtailed from her justice--brought her to the brink. No, some other force must be to blame. This was her mantra.

Finally, the companion’s rope ran out. Each chosen client revealed how far out of his orbit she had spiraled. Sunsetting was the hope of tracing the web to its center. He was lost to her, and the vengeance burning alone in her belly made her sick.

The trail was cold; she was finally alone. Alone with her thoughts for company and a city bereft of clients connected to Mammon. The black, she thought, some time to think, to watch and wait. To read the stars for answers.