Mondays are always happier when they start with a cheeky little read, and nobody is cheekier than Mr. Sands. Unless it’s Elise North.  Today is the fifth instalment of In Pursuit of Mr. Sands,  and Elise gets an unexpected visitor.  As I said,  I’ve been in pursuit of Mr. Sands for quite some time now, and somehow he always manages to elude me. And surprise me. Just recently he made another titillating appearance, only to lead me on a merry chase. I lost him in North Africa somewhere and ended up recovering in Delphi, where I met up with some unexpected acquaintances. (More on that to come. )Never mind. There are worse places to end up, and I’m sure Mr. Sands will raise his oh so fascinating head again when I least expect him.

But for now, Elise finds Mr. Sands hanging out in Soho, not doing what she expected him to do.

If you missed the last instalment of Mr. Sands, catch up with this link.

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 5: An Unexpected Visitor

Mr. Sands read. And he read and he read. He didn’t get up, he didn’t move, he didn’t even look up at me. And I waited and waited. I lost track of the coffee I’d drank, the junk food I’d chomped, I’d even finished a very large pizza as the day wore into the night. While he might have been refreshed and reenergized by his inflight meal, I was jetlagged and flagging. Sleep deprivation was something I could do really well, banking a nap here and there as I needed, but even I had my limits and sometime after midnight, I fell asleep.

I woke up with a jerk that made my neck pop and sent my heart racing with that 6^th sense of knowing I wasn’t alone in the room that now felt chilled. The sheer curtains in front of the bay window wafted in a phantom breeze. The windows had not been opened. Mr. Sands still sat in his chair reading his book, the clock on the mantle, which I had not noticed until just now ticked the seconds loudly into the silence. The only other sound was deep, even breathing right behind her. I froze, quieting my own breath so I could hear. Without moving my head, I glanced around for a weapon.

“You don’t need a weapon, El, not for me.”

That voice was the soft-spoken baritone rumble I’d come to love so dearly. There was only one person who had ever called one El, but I killed him. My body went stiff, my heart went into free-fall, I tried to convince myself it was only a dream just like I always did when the nightmares began, but just like always, it didn’t matter that I knew it, I could never wake myself up until I relived every brutal, violent detail, until I stood with the bloody knife in my hand shouting the blinding spell with a voice that broke like glass shattering on concrete. Then I woke up tangled in my clammy sheets sweating and trembling and crying like a baby feeling as though it had been my own soul, I’d ripped out that night. Even so, every time it came upon me, I began the same useless mantra, “it’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s only a dream.”

“It’s not a dream, El. You know it’s not.” Dru’s voice was feather soft next to my ear. “You don’t need to be afraid this time, El. El, look at me.”

In the window, I could see the reflection of the man I had loved and lived with for three years standing just to the left of my chair, his hand resting on the winged back. The curtains blew as if the window had been left open and a sudden storm had blown in. “Dru?” My voice was thin and breathless.

He came and knelt in front of me laying icy, insubstantial hands on mine. “You know magic well enough to know that it’s me, that I’m here, I’m real.” He chortles softly. “I remember you even working for a couple of grumpy ghosts at one point. They nearly drove you to drink, as I recall.”

“In my line of work, they didn’t have to drive me very far.” My forced laugh came out a little hiccup of air as I blinked back a tear, and when they just spilled over anyway, I stopped trying. All this time I had hoped, prayed, even begged that Dru’s ghost would visit me, would offer me the forgiveness I so badly needed, the forgiveness that no amount of therapy ever convinced me I deserved. And yet in the next breath, I would pray and beg that his ghost would stay away, for fear there would be no forgiveness, only cold, endless condemnation hounding me for the rest of my life. And in my most desolate moments, I was sure I deserved that condemnation. I was sure that somehow if I’d only waited just a little longer, fought just a little harder, I might have found another way. But there was no condemnation in those blue-grey eyes, no hate, only concern, and beyond that was it even possible, love?

“Don’t cry, darling. Please don’t. I can’t stay long, but he thought maybe you could use a visit.” He nodded over his shoulder to where Mr. Sands still sat with his nose in his novel.

“I’m so, so sorry, Dru. I would, I wish. I … If I would have waited just a little longer, then–”

He stopped my words with a cool kiss no more substantial than the weight of the thin curtains against my lips. “Sh. Sh, darling. If you’d waited any longer, I would have killed you. I can’t imagine how you held out as long as you did. You were so badly beaten, so broken, so…” He shook his head and shivered. “El, you saved me, that’s what you did. Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I would have begged you to end it all if I could have spoken. I would have done anything to stop hurting you, anything. I was so terrified that I would kill you, so terrified. Death was welcome compared to living with what I had done to you, what I might have done.”

“It wasn’t you, who hurt me, Dru. It was the demon. It was the fucking demon.” This time I didn’t just cry, I broke down and sobbed and howled and keened, and for a brief moment, he somehow managed to pull me into his arms, and they felt almost warm, almost real. But he was right. I knew what a ghost felt like.

“When my spirit left my body, I didn’t leave immediately, El, I wanted to help. I didn’t quite understand what had happened, but then I saw, El. I saw what you did to him. He’ll never hurt anyone again, my love. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I loved you right at that moment, that moment when I understood what you’d done, what it had cost you. El, El listen to me, my suffering was over the second you released me.”

“I killed you!” I spoke in broken, wet hiccups, struggling for breath. “Christ, Dru, I took a knife, and I stabbed you in the heart.” I dissolved into blubbering again.

“After what I did to you, I deserved no better, and yet you never once blamed me for that.”

“It was the demon, not you, Dru. Never you.” I reached up and stroked his cheek nearly warm now, nearly solid beneath my fingers, gone icy. “I was arrogant. I should have never believed such a demon could be so easily bound. I was arrogant, and it cost me you.”

“No El, no. You asked me to stay away, and I didn’t. I didn’t trust you to handle that monster on your own. I was arrogant to think I could do anything to help. You did everything right, El. Everything. I was free from my suffering the minute that blessed blade entered my heart, but you,” he nodded over to Mr. Sands, who still read as though totally oblivious to my distress. “You’re still suffering.” He took my face in his hands, but even as he did so I could feel the chill, feel him fading. “I’m free. I’m dead. You’re not, El, you’re alive. You’re alive, and you’ve forgotten that, what it means, how much it matters. “That man,” he nodded to Sands. “That man, he gave you a gift. Take it. Let me go, let yourself go. What we had was good, it was wonderful, but I’m gone. You’re still alive, my beautiful El. Your whole life is ahead of you, and you’re far too young not to love again. Oh not him, I understand that, but take the joy he offers. He kissed me again, lingering just long enough until I felt nothing but the chill of the ghost he was. “Nothing would make me happier than to see you happy again, my darling, to see you laugh, to see you love, to see you live. I’m dead. You’re not. Stop acting like you are.” And just like that he vanished. The cool breeze in the room vanished, and I slid out of the chair, curled up onto the floor in front of it and sobbed myself back to sleep.”

Mondays are always happier when they start with a cheeky little read, and nobody is cheekier than Mr. Sands. Unless it’s Elise North.  Today is the fourth instalment of In Pursuit of Mr. Sands,  and Elise gets the distinct feeling that Mr. Sands is watching her watch him.  As I said,  I’ve been in pursuit of Mr. Sands for quite some time now, and somehow he always manages to elude me. And surprise me. Just recently he made another titillating appearance, only to lead me on a merry chase. I lost him in North Africa somewhere and ended up recovering in Delphi, where I met up with some unexpected acquaintances. (More on that to come. )Never mind. There are worse places to end up, and I’m sure Mr. Sands will raise his oh so fascinating head again when I least expect him.

But for now, Elise finds Mr. Sands hanging out in Soho, not doing what she expected him to do.

If you missed the last instalment of Mr. Sands, catch up with this link.

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 4: Watching Me Watch Him

Pretending to be doing a customer relations survey for the airline, I telephoned the woman who had been Mr. Sands’ inflight meal. Sarah Martin was her name, and she managed a bookstore in Brixton. She had scrimped and saved for her holiday in the Big Apple, had gone with empty suite cases and came back with them crammed with bargains. Being upgraded to first class for the trip home was the cherry on top of her holiday cake.

Sadly, all she remembered about her first class flight was that the food was fab, and she’d slept right through most of it. Oh, and the flight attendants had been particularly helpful. Perhaps that one final orgasm had also wiped her memory of events Mr. Sands would prefer she not share with nosy people like me and Magda Gardener. None of the flight attendants who knew about Mr. Sands could be reached for comment. I was informed they’d all made quick turnarounds on other international flights, which I found rather strange since after an international flight, one would have expected at least an overnight layover to rest. Still it was easy enough for me to find their details. I left each of them a message to get in touch when they could.

All this I did by phone. What information I could find on Sands specifically wasn’t much other than he was clearly a regular on the JFK to Heathrow redeye. Magda Gardener suspected he lived somewhere in the Hebrides, but no one knew exactly where. In truth he seemed to be even more of a high class vagabond than I was. Most of the research I did on the flat’s souped up iMac, a lot of it from resources and leads Magda had given me when I took the job. But I had a few good sources of my own. It was my job, after all. Still it seemed that Mr. Sands was a very private, off the grid sort of guy. I had lots of time for research and phone calls because for twenty-four hours, Mr. Sands didn’t leave his flat. Was he ill? Was he like a snake, sleeping for days while he digested his meal. That wasn’t a very sexy thought, was it? There was no other exit from his flat. A. Rivers had given me the floor plans for Sands’ apartment when she’d given me details to my own. Magda definitely had savvy help. But even if there had been some sort of fire escape or back stairs, it was obvious he hadn’t used it. I could see him moving about inside, see the periodic digital light of the telly, or maybe a laptop. He wasn’t secretive about his presence. He never drew the curtains, even when he was fresh from the shower or undressing for bed. Perhaps it was a part of his thrall to hide in plain sight and yet be so irresistibly visible that he was like a peacock fanning his tail. At any rate, he had my full attention, and my PI sense was telling me he knew it.

I was surprised when Magda called me for an update. Every other job I’d ever done for her she had been a totally hands off, ‘my people will get with your people’ sort of client. “Well?” Her voice filtered into my ear as I sat at the big bay window drinking my morning coffee getting bagel crumbs on the floor. I had slept very little. From the looks of it, neither had Mr. Sands, and yet he’d stayed put. Kibosh the snake theory then.

“I’m sure he knows I’m here. He’s just playing with me.”

For a moment there was silence as the woman took a sip of something of her own. “Does that surprise you after your inflight entertainment?”

“I expected as much, and I have the feeling that’s exactly why you put the flat right across from him.”

I took her silence as an affirmative. “What is it you want from me? I don’t need the money you know?” I spoke around a mouthful of bagel.

“Of course you don’t. That means you have no agenda of your own, Ms. North.” Before I could respond to that, she said, “you like the flat?

“The flat’s great, yes, but I don’t like making myself a sitting target to anyone I’m tailing.”

Her chuckle was whisky and honey smooth. “Not even someone as enticing as a handsome incubus.”

“Leaving myself exposed has cost me often enough that I’ve learned when to walk away, Ms. Gardener.”

“Yes I know the cost, Ms. North, it even ended you in the hospital a few of those times, if I’m not mistaken.” The woman clearly had more complete information on me than I had on her, but I was doing what I could to even the odds in that department. There wasn’t much else to do except watch and wait until Mr. Sands gave me another little peek.

“Look, Ms. North, I’m interested to see how our Mr. Sands responds to you. Don’t you think he’s as intrigued by the woman his magic can’t affect as she is by him? I certainly am. There’s a great deal to be learned about our Mr. Sands from more than just his eating habits.”

“Of course I’m intrigued, but being intrigued could cost me a lot more than even you can afford to pay.”

“I understand, Ms. North, but if you could just hold tight for a couple more days, watch him watch you, as it were. If at any time you feel you’re in danger, then by all means leave. You’re too valuable to risk, and I think no one is more ideally suited to learn about Mr. Sands than you are.”

By the second morning I was battling with lack of sleep that even caffeine wasn’t helping, and I was certain he knew he was being watched. Of course he would, wouldn’t he? I was betting he’d even feed on that exhibitionism. He’d get no nourishment from me, but as I said sex is its own magic, and no one is immune. His interaction was playful, teasing. I never thought for a moment that I was in danger. He was, after all, just an incubus. I’d dealt with worse.

He slipped from the bathroom in a wave of steam with only a towel tucked low around his hips. I nearly spilled coffee down my shirt at the exquisite view he afforded me. I watched with heart racing as he disappeared momentarily and returned with a cup of coffee of his own and a copy of The Guardian. Then he parked himself in the wing backed chairs smack dab in front of the big bay window and, as he sipped and perused the paper, folded for an easy one-handed read, his other hand strayed to his lap. As though he were barely mindful of the act, he opened the towel and cupped himself absently. Any man might sit in the privacy of his living room on a Sunday morning and, without giving it a second thought, reach for an adjustment of his junk, perhaps a fondle, maybe a caress. Something about Mr. Sands indulging in such an ordinary act of maleness made it extraordinary. And very arousing. I certainly wasn’t about to tell Magda Gardener that in my report though. By the time he laid the paper aside, I couldn’t have looked away if I wanted to. And then he did the unthinkable. He simply stood and walked away, leaving the towel behind, but as he did, he glanced over his shoulder and blew me a kiss.

He couldn’t see me. I was sure of it, and yet he had known. Still fighting off my own arousal, which now left me feeling like an embarrassed teenager, but the implications of what I was feeling were huge. Damn, I had been in therapy so long that I had become self-analyzing. I took a couple of deep breaths and made myself a strong coffee with the very expensive coffee maker, all the while keeping one eye on his flat.

It wasn’t long before I saw movement in his flat. He returned to sit in front of the window with a book in hand, a detective novel. He was fully clothed this time, in jeans and a loose-fitting blue shirt that somehow made me only more aware of what was underneath. This was a man truly comfortable in his skin. But then he wasn’t just a man, was he?

Mondays are always happier when they start with a cheeky little read, and nobody is cheekier than Mr. Sands. Unless it’s Elise North.  Today is the third instalment of In Pursuit of Mr. Sands,  and Elise finds herself in the perfect set-up to keep an eye on our Mr. Sands.  As I said,  I’ve been in pursuit of Mr. Sands for quite some time now, and somehow he always manages to elude me. And surprise me. Just recently he made another titillating appearance, only to lead me on a merry chase. I lost him in North Africa somewhere and ended up recovering in Delphi, where I met up with some unexpected acquaintances. (More on that to come. )Never mind. There are worse places to end up, and I’m sure Mr. Sands will raise his oh so fascinating head again when I least expect him.

But for now, Elise finds Mr. Sands hanging out in Soho, not doing what she expected him to do.

If you missed the last instalment of Mr. Sands, catch up with this link.

In Pursuit of Mr. Sands Part 3: Nice Digs

Safely tucked into my booth in the first class lounge, I observed Daniel Sands observing his victim. The word victim didn’t really feel right under the circumstances. The glow in the woman’s face spoke of a well-satisfied lover rather than a victim. And if I wasn’t mistaken, Daniel Sands observed the woman with true affection and more than a little bit of pride. I knew Magda Gardener had at least one vampire on her consortium, and there was a succubus. Both could drain a life away easily and without batting an eye to satisfy their hunger, but they didn’t. Clearly Mr. Sands didn’t either, though I didn’t know if that was always the case or simply because it was not wise to leave a string of dead bodies on a commercial airliner, not when he obviously had a good thing going. As I watched him watching her, I couldn’t help but bask vicariously in a little bit of their afterglow, of the strange afterglow he’d left me with at the shock of finding myself feeling alive inside again after all this time. On the one hand it felt as though the very idea was a betrayal of Dru, on the other it felt like the sun had just come out. I didn’t know what to feel.

I followed him following her to the car park. Oh they didn’t notice. I have a way of going unnoticed when I want to. It’s one of the skills Magda hired me for. I watched him watching her from beside a black Audi, and I felt the exact moment when he chose to let her see him. She had just settled into her Mini, but she didn’t start the engine as I knew she wouldn’t. Instead, she looked around her in nervous anticipation. She wouldn’t have seen him either if he hadn’t wanted her to. Being able to hide in plain sight was one of his survival techniques just as it was mine. At the moment when her heart rate had accelerated just so — you know that moment I’m talking about — when the serious gallop of foreplay isn’t enough any longer, when the body demands more. At that moment when her anticipation was palpable and so was his, he took from her once more. It was just one little nibble. I suspected from a distance he could do no more, but that was another question to add to my growing research list. With his taking, he offered her one last little reward before he freed her completely from his thrall. He raised his hand to rest on his chest, and with a slight flexing of his fingers, she came. As his magic swirled around her, I felt the pulsing of her orgasm deep in my chest. And him, well there was a sense of euphoria that radiated off him like heat waves. If it were even possible the glow of good health and maleness at its prime that he exuded grew even stronger. And then he got into the Audi and drove off.

I picked up the car Magda’s people had arranged – an apple red Merc AMG that fit me like a glove. Inside I pulled up Magda’s number on the blue tooth.

“He touched me,” I said when she picked up. “On the plane when he was making his rounds. I had to let him. I had no choice really.”

“And?”

“Why yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking and no he didn’t hurt me. Obviously, he knew something was up when I couldn’t offer him even a little nibble.”

Her silence told me in no uncertain terms she was unimpressed with my sarcasm. “And?” She repeated.

“He’s staying at a flat in Soho.” I recited the address I’d got found by taking a peek at his landing card in the Passport control queue.

Her chuckle was like fur against bare skin, her magic oozing through my device as though she stood right next to me. It was not the mink and whisky feel of Mr. Sands’ magic, but something far more wild and dangerous, it was a warm kissed with just a hint of arctic ice. I’d heard that she could be very charming, hypnotic, in fact. But mostly I’d heard she was flat out terrifying, and she liked it fine that way. It left no doubt as to who was in control of her consortium. Other than that I knew little about her but what my research had come up with, which I figured out pretty quickly was only what she wanted me to know. I’d never met her personally. I don’t know how she got my details, since my business is strictly word of mouth, though I have speculated on which of my clients told her about me. In the few times I’d worked for her, I’d not spoken to her at all until I was assigned to tail Daniel Sands. Him, for some reason, she took a personal interest in, so I was given a phone with only her number programmed in. It was equipped with several other high tech upgrades that made me feel a bit like 007. I knew it was as much her way of tracking me as it was mine of finding her, but then I did have a subcutaneous chip for that. So, what I could glean from the situation was that Magda Gardener had a very serious interest in Daniel Sands, that Magda Gardener had very deep pockets – which I already knew, and that I was not nearly as expendable as she might have me believe. Listening to her voice and even knowing what I knew, I still had a hard time imagining that she could be more terrifying than some of the nightmares I’d come up against. Besides working for her was always interesting, and the pay and the benefits were great.

“You’re a resourceful little shadow, aren’t you,” she all but purred in my ear.

“I do my best.” I smiled at my reflection in the mirror above the visor as I refreshed my lippy.

“You’ll be texted the address of your flat in Soho as soon as we secure you one. It’ll be ready when you arrive.”

I was practically drooling at the thought. Magda Gardener had expensive tastes, and she treated me as though I did too. Having said that, I was sure she would have no qualms about making me stay in a crack house if that’s what it took to secure what she wanted, and I’d certainly stayed in worse.

I’d barely made it to the motorway before I got the text from one of Magda Gardener’s PAs, an A. Rivers, with the address of my temporary digs. I was impressed. Clearly, I wasn’t the only savvy person who worked for Magda Gardener. The place was right across the street from Mr. Sands’ flat with a perfect view of his big bay window and the entrance to the building, and it was equipped with all the right surveillance equipment to enhance that perfect view. The fridge was fully stocked and the closet full of clothes. We’re talking high-end designer stuff that I knew would fit me like a dream. Often I’m called upon to travel at the drop of a hat. There’s seldom time to pack. I receive a passport, credit cards and cash, whatever I needed for my cover. Can’t count the number of gorgeous outfits and expensive jewellery I’ve had to leave behind because of time restraints and other … more pressing issues. The necessary accoutrements are usually waiting for me when I arrive. As I said, Magda Gardener has expensive tastes. I made a quick sandwich, drank a gallon of water and, after a hot shower, I went to work.