Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine by Jeanne G'Fellers (the rosie project .txt) 📕

good for a laugh or two. Personally, I like seeing their faces when they realize their mistake. But by then”—she bared her teeth, shattering all of Starnes’s false concepts—“it’s too late for them and damn entertaining for me.” Brandoff righted the fallen chair and motioned Cance to sit. “Well?”

“In a moment.” Cance blinked hard, flicking her eyes from deep brown to her twin’s gem tone. She fixed them on Starnes, sending searing pain that sent him to the floor again. “I believe we . . . were . . . about . . . here. Weren’t we, Starnie my boy?”

Starnes’s skin prickled as the familiar burning sensation raged through him ten times worse than before. “Pleeaase! I meant no harm. It’ll never happen again. NEVER!”

Cance expanded her mind phase to strangle out his pleading. “Don’t you just hate a groveler?” She smiled drolly. “Not sure I believe him. How ’bout it, Brandoff? Think he’ll behave?”

Brandoff kicked at him, jabbing her toes into his cheek. “He will if he knows what’s good for him. Just remember, you bastard, next time I will finish our little game and it won’t be your arms I phase the pain into.” Brandoff turned away. “Eh, let him go, Cancelynn. He’s turning colors.”

“As you wish.” Cance broke the mind-hold then downed the wine in Starnes’s glass. Starnes remained on the floor, relieved, yet gasping for breath.

“Well?” Brandoff questioned again.

“Hold another minute and I’ll tell you.” Starnes braced for another assault when Cance turned to his direction. “Relax, Starnie.” She laughed. “Get your wrap.” She produced a banded roll of currency from her waist pouch, tossing it to him as he struggled for footing.

“What’s this for?” His throat was parched, sponged dry from the closeness of a likely fatal seduction.

“You’re a businessman, aren’t you? Go to the Common Stores and get some supplies. We must keep up our professional appearance.” Cance undid her heavy cloak and let it fall across her chair back. Her muscled shoulders and upper arms had been hidden under the garment and now held Starnes’s regard. He shivered. “Lock up behind you,” Cance said then raised a hand for him to wait. “Oh, and Starnes, don’t worry. We’ll keep an eye on that ailing father of yours while you’re away. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to the old man. Would we, Brandoff?”

Brandoff headed toward the stairs leading to the second-level living quarters. “Far from it.” She piped, “I’ll be more than happy to tend him while you’re away.” She blew Starnes a kiss. “Dah and I will be waiting.”

Cance motioned him to the door. “You heard her. Not long and only to the Commons and back.” She turned up the crystal, draining the final droplets onto her tongue. “And get some more of this Langus juice while you’re out. You keep running low for some reason. NOW GO!”

Starnes locked the door behind him and leaned against it, pressing back his tormentor’s proximity as tears welled in his cinnamon eyes. How did he ever get himself in so deep? It had seemed simple at the time. Someone claiming to be with the Kinship had contacted him about temporary lodging for a pair of Taelachs. Taelachs were not welcome at Autlach inns and often appealed to local bar owners for lodging. Despite what others said, he found them to be a warm, friendly, peaceable people, quite charming in their politeness. This time, however, it had turned into a nightmare he couldn’t escape. He should have been suspicious when so much money had been offered, but business had been slow. It had simply been too tempting. Now they used his father’s illness to control him. “That’s all right,” Starnes muttered to no one. “It’ll end one way or another.” He pulled his wrap over his shoulders, using its frayed hemline to clear his eyes before setting out. The Commons were a short walk away and there, he hoped, lay the solution.

“Auts are idiots.” Brandoff jumped the stair railing then scrambled to where her twin sat. “No more delays. How’d it go?”

“Like you said, my sister, Autlachs are idiots.” Cance kicked off one boot, then the other, then settled confidently back in her seat. “Especially the rural dirt clodders here on Langus. They actually believe I’m going to help them get rid of the Sarian base.”

“They bought your ‘preserve our farmlands’ line then?”

Cance smiled broadly. “Completely and unquestionably. Fear spreads rapidly among the uninformed.”

“Yeah.” Brandoff’s yawn accentuated her growing number of wrinkles. Life on Trimar aged one hard. “Spreads like flame on dry saw grass.”

“Exactly. Now get upstairs and rest.” Cance cast quick disapproval of her twin’s gaunt face. “I’ll wait for Starnie.”

“Nah, I’m fine. A hit will pick me right up.”

“You haven’t slept in nine days. A hit won’t do you a bit of good. Don’t waste it. We may need it later.”

“Dammit, Cance. You’re too damn tight sometimes.” Brandoff’s disappointment seemed genuine. “All right then. I’ll check the old man on my way up.” She clambered up the stairs. Just because she needed sleep didn’t mean she couldn’t take a small dose as well. Another rush and a little sleep were far preferable to a long rest and a crash. Brandoff patted the pocket containing her inhaler.

“Throw me down some hair dye before you turn in. I’m beginning to fade.” Brandoff tossed Cance the package then settled into the upstairs apartment but not before inhaling a healthy dose of prock.

In the bar’s small kitchen area, Cance filled the basin with warm water. The reflection in the basin’s backing caught her attention and she paused, considering it between inhaler puffs. The prock rushed through her, cresting then settling her into numbing alertness. She was wide-awake and angry at the unfamiliar reflection that returned her gaze. She looked nothing like a guardian Taelach should. Her white shock of hair had been allowed to grow out to her shoulders and was the dark shade of an Autlach. How depressing. Cance tugged a fading lock. For effect, she