Blood-Born

Chapter IV - Scribe

"Before beginning a Hunt, it is wise to ask someone what you are looking for before you begin looking for it."

- A. A. Milne (Winnie-The-Pooh)

New York City

Zachariah Pennington snapped the paper when he turned the page to the business section while he relaxed in the nearly empty dining room of the Copernicus club.

One perk finally achieved after he had toiled long and hard to get promoted to associate junior editor of the weekend second edition for arts and sciences.

Not quite the jeweled assignment that he had pushed for, but it may yet prove a more definite toe in the door closer to first edition and then weekly plumbs to sweat for along with the final business edition fantasies to ponder afterwards.

A waiter approached to deliver a stemmed crystal of frosted ice cold water.

"And for the lady...?" He asked politely with a polite glance over the top of the newspaper and back with feigned concern, which made Pennington drop the paper only to realize that there was indeed a woman seated across from him.

Dark midnight eyes beneath brows accented by golden blond hair that cascaded curled and uncontrolled to splash down shoulders of a neat black suit beneath black bowler, her pale unpainted lips remained prim in slight frown.

A black tie pulled just loose at her neck over a light gray shirt and dark golden vest further served to accent her entire appearance rather flawlessly.

She appeared smaller than he and did not seem unaccustomed or uncomfortable in the middle of the club as he might have otherwise expected.

How long she had been there he had no idea.

Pennington was speechless when he suddenly realized how it would appear to others as if he had taken the private membership for granted and had not minded risking any broken rules along the way.

Particularly the more fraternal orders which specified no women were allowed even amongst the wait staff that served them.

He swallowed nervously as he studied the woman and she studied him back.

"Water, please and then leave us ..." She commanded softly without having taken her eyes from him.

It was unnerving to have been watched by a woman that even the slightest of shadows seemed to grace her features as if applied by the scant touch of a master artist.

Once the waiter had delivered her request, she left it untouched while her eyes continued to drill through him as if to examine the depths of his very soul.

"Are you ... the author named ... Zachariah Orion Pennington?" She inquired evenly, having raised both hands to the table surface as she deftly pulled a black leather glove from her left hand.

For some odd reason he was getting a mixed vibe of muddled anger from this woman who for the life of him he wished that he knew something about.

She had the subdued yet stark beauty that any red blooded man of means or otherwise would remember long after they had parted.

Pennington quickly glanced down and up before looking around them and then back.

"You really should not be here, its kinda men only miss ..." He paused fruitlessly for her to correct his reference before he continued, "... they should have explained that to you at the door. I could get in real trouble here for even having considered letting you join me as you have."

Her expression had not changed whatsoever as she continued to look at him, head slightly up and back as if she looked down upon him from just across the table.

"Are ... you ... the author Zachariah Orion Pennington?" She asked yet again, this time her features seemed darkened by a flash of frustrated annoyance that did not seem to detract at all from her looks.

Pennington swallowed nervously as he began to notice that no one else around them seemed the least bit bothered or concerned by this woman and her presence in one of the clubs supposed more private rooms.

"Yes, I am; however we'd be better served to meet in my public offices just across the street." He replied, having eased a hand into his breast pocket to retrieve one of his freshly printed cards which he lay flat on the table and slid to her where it remained next to her glass.

"We have several entry positions available for women of class and culture that we could discuss in further detail once you have contacted my secretary, Miss Pennywinkle ... for a proper appointment."

He unflinching gaze was beginning to unsettle him as she reached for her glass and took a sip before having placed it back while her bare hand rested loose around its slender stem.

"Did you really craft ... The Dutchman's Tomb ... all on your own?"

He blinked to cover his shock.

Several of his stories might have been what he could have expected in reference however he had just managed to finish the tomb manuscript just over a month ago and the only draft copy was supposedly safe with a trusted friend for review.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the stem of the glass as she appeared to taste the water in as much as she was evaluating her opinion of him.

A woman of few words, she pushed her chair back, stood and with the swift spin of a dancer moved behind it before she gently pushed it back in smooth and soft.

While she had done that, he was surprised not to have noticed any mark of lipstick on the glass that she had used as he might have otherwise expected.

He also realized that she was one of the rare women who had no need to mask flaws with makeup where he could find none worthy of camouflage or in need of any enhancement as cover.

Her glove now pulled back on she seemed to reach a decision.

"You will do ... nicely."

She gently tipped the edge of her bowler with a gloved hand.

"Mr. Pennington it's been a rather ... intriguing pleasure ... indeed."

Without another word she turned and strode smoothly yet purposely away which revealed much as he now realized she looked far more the dapper man in tails and pants and not a dress as a woman might have otherwise have been expected to have been wearing in public.

Not one person uttered a word or reacted to her as she walked through and exited the club as if she actually might have belonged there which was next to impossible given the nature of the club membership.

He was also just a bit annoyed to find that she had left his card behind on the table untouched.

To avoid further embarrassment and possible discomfort he set the paper down and moved to follow her once he had retrieved the card and secured it in his pocket.

On the street outside, she was nowhere in sight amongst those that passed in nearby crowds.

With growing annoyance, he realized Charlie might have an answer to this strange meeting as he made his way back to the office and the basement filing room.

Somehow his story had been given to someone without his asking and Charlie had the one and only copy.