Rabbit Blood

Chapter 19 - The Very Thought Of You

On a Friday morning, Leslie folded clothes in the laundry room, and looked up to see Alastor lurking in the doorway. "Jesus," she said, clutching her heart.

"Not quite."

She laughed. "Hi."

"Hello," Alastor said. Then he gave the signal - two winks - and immediately her belly did excited tumble turns. "Is Leslie working tonight?"

"Uh, yes. Back by-" she coughed, "excuse me... I'll be back at 1am, if we close out on time."

He nodded. "So, half an hour after?"

"Sure."

Leslie waited until he'd walked out of sight, then collapsed into the pile of clothes, inhaled the scent of lavender detergent, and giggled like a fucking schoolgirl.

o - o - o - o - o

Leslie claimed the empty second-floor restroom after work, strip-washing and paying fastidious attention to her mouth, brushing more than she did for most dental appointments. Upon entering her room, she changed out of her work clothes into a pretty, yet modest dress. It was new - new to her, anyway, second-hand - but she'd worn it in public yesterday. Nobody could accuse her of trying too hard to look good for him.

The dress concealed the same racy, too-small nightgown she'd been encouraged to wear onstage. Of course, Alastor wouldn't be seeing it tonight, but she wore it anyway. It was her own little secret, and it made her feel bolder, more in control of her faculties. If only it didn't dig into her shoulders.

Play it cool, she told herself. This isn't your first rodeo. Take it easy. But it was never going to be that simple, was it? She's been so distracted at Hades, turning over possible scenarios, and during the day it was hard to be optimistic. Oh yes, alone at night with her thoughts, she could make Alastor do whatever she wanted, but this was real life now. The tables were about to turn. He was actual, corporeal, and even several decades of keeping people away - being out-of-practice - could not make him less intimidating... or intriguing. Surely he'd have some trickery up his sleeve, sufficient to make her completely helpless.

She'd never be ready for this, not really.

Leslie rapped on the wood of her door in the agreed rhythm (shave-and-a-hair-cut), and from the other side, heard him knocking on his desk (two-bits). Opening the door, she emerged not into the hallway, but into his office. It was curious to think their rooms were linked up, having a rendezvous of their own. It must be powerful magic: the same stuff he used to teleport, or to conjure things into view from miles away. Alastor was sitting at the desk as she entered, his head down, going over some paperwork by lamplight. As Leslie approached, hands fidgeting, he continued to focus on the papers.

"Ahem."

"One moment, darling. You're a little early!"

Leslie glanced at the grandfather clock. It was true; she was. So much for playing it cool.

"Go sit on the couch there. Make yourself comfortable."

Ah well, Leslie thought, 'sofa, so good'.

There were two couches in Alastor's office. The one that was nearer faced the door, and was flanked by side tables, one of which had a record player on it. Not the truly old fashioned kind with a horn loudspeaker, but it was some shade of vintage tech. As directed, she took a seat and stared ahead. Long, deep breaths, as quietly as she could. Calm. Easy. Relaxed. Then came the sound of Alastor putting his pen down, and her pulse jumped anyway.

He strolled over, very much at his own pace. Leslie knew he was drawing it out on purpose. As he sat, the height difference between them was a little better, the top of her head level with his chin.