Wicked Games

Chapter 2

ROSEANNE

There are two things I hate: playing games and Lisa fucking Manoban. I saw her this afternoon after I dropped a delivery to a client. She checked me out. The arrogance of her to think I didn't notice. She turned her head to the bar window, but I caught her eyes in the reflection; noticed the tensing of her fingers into a fist when I didn't give her any attention.

Her flare of irritation was perfection.

She wants to stab me as much as she wants to strangle me. It's just unfortunate I seem to experience the same dilemma. Fury one day, furiously horny the next.

I sigh and scan my apothecary. It's packed full of conical jars of herbs and ingredients. Shelf after shelf lined with a rainbow of ingredients, poisons, and potions. Everything lined precisely and accurately. Labels out, lids tight.

Everything in here is just so, except the back wall—also Lisa's fault. But before I can get annoyed, the apothecary shop door opens and a stream of amber light pours in. The room warms, wrapping afternoon heat around the shelves and poisons. I tut. The shop is cold for a reason. The herbs need a cooler room to stay fresh. This job would be the best if it weren't for the customers.

I glance up from the journal I was reading to see a short man dressed in a butler's uniform. He has an impressively bushy moustache and his eyebrows meet in the middle, not because he has a monobrow, but because they are that bushy. It's distracting, and I can't quite look him in the eye for wondering if they'll crawl off his forehead.

"Can I... help you?" I say, forcing my eyes to meet his.

"Madam Irene sends word of a delivery address," he says in the poshest voice I've ever heard.

"I see, and where does her ladyship wish to meet?"

"The Velvet Mansion."

I put the pen down and stare at him. He can't possibly have said the Velvet Mansion. It's practically a brothel or some such. I can't go there. Not that I'm prudish. I love sex as much as the next person. But I'm a businesswoman and would rather keep business to more professional establishments.

"That's... a joke?" I say.

"Not, in fact, a joke. You're aware Madam Irene owns the club?"

I wasn't.

He continues. "She has other business in the club this evening and cannot afford the time to meet in a different location. Thus, she's requested your presence at the Velvet Mansion."

"But it's a sex club."

The butler blinks once. A long, slow blink. His eyebrows dip, wriggling like caterpillars. His face twitches. Is the posh bastard laughing at me?

"I'm not sure that's quite the description her ladyship would use, but yes, there's a certain sexual magic imbued in the Velvet Mansion. One for you to try, perhaps? A new Collection tattoo...?"

This time, his moustache twitches. He is laughing at me. Bastard. My blood fizzes and heats. I've a mind to shower him in poison and watch as he shits out his insides.

My feet shift on the spot, my lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm not sure what you're insinuating, but I've no need for sex magic. I get ample, thank you. And this is a poisons apothecary."

"I'm sure you do, dear." He pats my hand.

Fucking pats it like I'm six-years-old. The condescending cunt.

Then he glances at his watch. "Well, I must be going. Her ladyship will see you at 9pm sharp this evening. Don't be late."

With that, he disappears out the door, the warmth from the setting sun vanishing with him.