EPISODE TWENTY

'bless the dead bodies'

WE LEFT THE doctor nursing a scotch, swirling it around with a thoughtful expression on his face, saluting us with half-hearted regard and the air of a man who was finished with his quest, this lifetime and the people around it. We then formed a unit but I refused to let go of Leon's hand in fear of what was going on in his head. He had been quiet ever since asking that question with a faraway look on his face. I could only hope that holding his hand would ground him, return him back to me.

Quinn slid beside me, taking my arm with her own. "He doesn't look okay," she whispered.

I could only shrug. "Are you sure we can all walk back at the same time to the party? Doesn't it feel too openly saying 'it was all a ruse, we're up to something'?"

Quinn shrugged. "I don't really know what goes on in Ms. Cordelia's head, but I trust her wholeheartedly."

"Is she really paying you?"

"Of a sort." Something about her grin was shark-like and mischievous that I could only shake my head at, smiling briefly. Quinn knew what she was doing despite the lack of level-headedness. My best friend would be okay.

Our walk back was quick but silent and heavy. The hallways, though tight and small, was faster going back by ourselves without lugging around a drugged doctor, and we soon found ourselves back to the garden and up to the balcony where the music and chatter were back in volumes.

We all felt unsure, staying around in the fringes. Jimmy kept moving if not pacing, snatching champagne from walking waiters and chugging them down. The party was back in full swing, the small orchestra playing powerfully amidst the chatter and bustle of gossamer gowns and silk suits. No trace of the blackout, the scandal behind curtains, or the chaos with the missing doctor.

It felt alien. Not a sign of agitation.

"There's Cordelia," James said, nodding to the centre. He tilted his last glass of champagne until there was nothing, then brushed his mouth with the hem of his jacket.

Dr. Hamel took the empty glass with a pointed disdain. "Honestly. I don't know if I feel comfortable with you this drunk and operating a gun."

That took me by surprise. "You brought a gun?"

"I'm an officer," James said, ears burning. Then he pinched another champagne.

"And you're drunk," Quinn mused.

"Not yet," Dr. Hamel said, taking the flute before he could down it again. "But you've got to stop drinking. Cordelia's coming."

Cordelia Song's expression was softened, her walk towards us didn't look like she had a destination in mind, sharing brief smiles to whoever caught her eye or briefly raising the champagne flute in her hand to a few nodding gentlemen. But nevertheless, they parted for her like the Red Sea.

When she was close enough, she stopped dead in front of us, her softened expression for the crowd hardening into severe lines against her face. Her eyes were to her brother, her champagne all but thrusted to Dr. Hamel as she put both her hands on her brother's face.

"뭐가 문제 야?" she whispered, concern touching the creases of her eyebrows.

Leon shook his head, briefly, taking the champagne flute from the doctor and downing it.

"Leon," I warned. He wasn't good with alcohol and plying himself now was not going to make him feel better. We were in enemy territory. Not being sharp enough could cost him everything.

"Just that. I promise." He squeezed my hand back in reassurance. "So what happens now?"

"Where's the doctor?" Cordelia asked, a cursory look toward Quinn.

"In the room, trying to calm down by getting drunk." Quinn's smirk is lopsided. "Like the men around me so far." Cordelia sniffed delicately before boring her eyes at James who straightened. Dr. Hamel painfully rolled his eyes like his friend acting like a complete tit was physical hurting him. Then she smiled.

"Alright. They know we're up to something and conclusively thought that we had something to do with the doctor, but my assurance and performance has kept them somewhat confundled but at the same time wary." Cordelia's smile is perfect on her face, as if we were doing nothing more than chatting. It was her body language I realised, and her only anxiety and stiffness was shown through her fingers; rigid and straight, crisscross with each other in front of her, hidden from wary eyes.

She controlled her nonverbal signals well, and hid those she couldn't. 

If she was an enemy, I'd be wary of her the most.

"The only mission I have for all of you now is to look calm and in a celebratory mood. We want to diminish their suspicions, if not then confuse them by acting like we only really just came here for the party. Leaving now would be crucial so..." Cordelia turned to Quinn, offering up a laced hand with a beguiling smile. "Dance with me?"

Quinn went rigid, burned, then smiled, taking her hand. A leather glove meeting lace. "I would love to."

Cordelia stopped to turn to her brother, her face unable to mask the worry that flashed, her words to me. "Take care of my little brother, Miss Cain."

I smiled in reassurance. "Leave him to me."

Once they left, Cordelia leading and Quinn following like a lost but happy puppy, I was left with three boys and a whole lot of dance floor. It was awkward to look at to say the least, with everyone else engaged in some chatter or dancing.

My eyes caught the Morettis once or twice — mostly the grandfather, but my eye couldn't quite catch the supposed happily engaged couple. Sometimes, boisterous laughter broke out between them, and some rapid Italian would be thrown too fast for me to bit by bit translate.

Finally, I had to break the silence.

"Well, I mean we could stand and look awful conspicuous or we dance."

Dr. Hamel was already shaking his head when James resolutely said, "I don't dance."

"I wasn't asking you." I offered my hand, palm up, at Leon. He blinked at it. Then blinked at me. "Well I do hope you're not going to leave a woman waiting."

I didn't wait for him, because I had smirked. Thrown in a wink for good measures, before I sashayed confidently to the dance floor, cursing my momentary lapse of courage — but it led quite nicely to my target. With a warm hand on my back and another finding my hand, intertwining our fingers, I couldn't help but smile.

Leon was behind me, so close I could feel both his warmth and body. His voice was low and husky, enough to send a light shift of nerves up and down my exposed arms. "I would never leave a woman waiting. Not especially someone as Wendy Cain."

A nervous, bubbly laughter escaped me, betraying my earlier confidence. "Well, I do think this is a fine time to tell you I have absolutely no idea how to dance."

Instead of responding, his body moved — a light shift I could feel from this proximity, with his neck arched down where his mouth and breath tickled my ear. "Spin."

With the hand he held our intertwined fingers, he spun me, using the other hand that was on my back to guide the velocity and elegance. When the world stopped, my heart did too.

Because there was him. Warm brown eyes and a small, beautiful smile. His hands positions were the same, only now that I was facing him. With our hands intertwined, he squeezed, pushing me closer.

An assurance. A silent hello.

"Ready?"

I didn't trust my voice, so I nodded, my grin unmasked and bare.

And then we were gliding. He was leading, holding me close, so close that he could whisper in my ear when to step back, to move forward, to spin and glide — but his hands were strong and his movements didn't have a drop of hesitance. This felt nothing like the club in Brighton; Leon had all his faculties together and he was using them all to good use.

Even without his voice telling me, I followed his stride with ease and thrill. His voice was practically a bonus.

The music moved us, the room quieted, and all I could see, hear and feel were all him. The world could end, here and now, and I would be oblivious in Leon's arms.

And I had to say it. My heart urged me to and my mind quieted. Not a drop of doubt or hesitation. I met his eyes in a blanketed room where all I could see were him - his eyes, his smile - and I said it.

"This might be the room full of our worst enemies and that blasted suit working a little too well, but I think I love you, Leon Song. More than I could hope to understand."

There was a stilt in his movements, a shock, a quick interruption that went unnoticeable save for me who followed his lead.

I thought his silence was going to puncture me, that frigid silence and the touch of shock on his face, but no, it wasn't that. It was the rough exhale of breath and the hand on my back that moved to tilt my chin up with his finger when I looked down because I was too afraid to look. I met with shining eyes and a heart-stopping smile.

It was more than what my heart could bear. My legs stopped working, all my senses focused on one man in front of me.

"If my feelings to you were even a shred close to how unbelievably happy and incredibly boyish those words have made me feel then I hope you know that I've known for quite a while that I adore you more than most words could paint a picture, most songs could sing a hymn, and most poems could create sighs." He pushed us closer, my heart leaping from my chest - running, sprinting, screaming - "I love you, Wendy darling. With all my heart could offer."

— — —

Nothing — no one — could possibly top that dance. But the waltz changed and a rambunctious music came on, some wild, happy jazz — music I know from my dad, music he had shared and taught me and my mum — and it was my turn to lead.

And Leon was laughing, boisterously laughing as I spun him around and around, then copying my movements to the best of his abilities. Leon Song might be a fine detective and a finer man, but his limbs needed oiling and after a while, he begged me to stop. But he was red faced and happy, happier than I had seen him in days and my heart swelled and soared. I swear, Cordelia was taking sharp eagle-like photos.

As the music continued, we exchanged partners with the lot, completing and perfecting our 'we're just guests' charade to a T. We had even hauled the doctor and the detective to a few dances, a few spins whenever we ganged up on the doctor and took champagne flutes out of the detective's hands. For a stoic man, Dr. Hamel was a smooth dancer to almost any type of music. His body was lithe and his movements were nothing less of elegance at every note. Though in contrast, I felt like a bulky object being moved around.

In contrast, James Brackham was like a little kid; moving knobbily and practically swinging his fist, curled or palms open, to hurt. Sometimes, flying in a sharp hip jab to top it all. By the end of it, I've heard about fifty apologies with my arm bruised enough to feel numbed, but my face hurt from laughing, all the well worth seeing him move like that and burn that much blush.

By the time we were finally relaxing, Quinn and I were more or less spinning and swaying at a familiar song we couldn't quite pinpoint. By the end, we were mostly just swinging each other's arms while the Song siblings outshined the rest of us mere mortals, spinning around in perfect velocity with all the grace of a professional duo.

"I'm convinced she's part swan," Quinn muttered, our eyes trained on both siblings, both amused and jealous at how splendid they could move looking both perfect and dancing it.

"I don't even want to bet against that," I said, smiling.

Quinn sighed and pulled me close. We were hugging and moving just side to side at this point, like an old married couple after a party. She moved us around a bit and snorted.

"What?"

"It's a good thing we're already done here because those two look worn out."

I turned to where she was pointedly grinning at the doctor and the detective, both of whom was leaning against a pillar, James with his jacket off and his buttons popped. Dr. Hamel was more or less still pristine, with only a messy hair and a clean sheen of sweat as evidences of the day we had.

"We didn't get much — I mean apart from the fact that Dominic was a victim in a human trafficking ring and that's either part of the whole charade of his death or not. We didn't even get to talk to the Morettis. Not the grandfather, the grandson, or the bride-to-be."

Quinn hummed. "To be fair, Mr. Moretti Sr. legit looks like a man out of The Godfather and he was always surrounded by The Godfather-esque old men and women so we didn't have much choice, especially after kidnapping the doctor. And from what I could tell, as soon as we all disappeared with said doctor, the future bride and groom were nowhere to be seen. Which I'm not entirely too sad about if Moretti Jr. is anything like Moretti Sr. He's hot though. Pulling that salt and pepper, call me Daddy on a Tuesday as I pay all your bills type of way."

I coughed. "Dear God, Quinn Fong! If I was drinking anything, I would've spat it on your face."

"Thank God you weren't, right?" From the tone of her voice, she was smirking.

"Well... on a different, more serious note, do you think you can run me two full profiles?"

"Of course," Quinn answered smoothly. "If it's the Song siblings, I already have it on hand."

"Charming, but no. I need you to check up on Cassandra Bernault-Arjenios and Aoi Nakamura. Everything and anything you can find."

Quinn leaned back, holding me to my elbows. She squinted, the small smile rising into a mischievous one. "Scheming face. Care to tell?"

I shook my head, snorting. "It's not much, just a hunch. But you can confirm it if you make up the profiles. It's a shot in the dark but it's in my head since we were at that library."

She nodded. "Ah, of course. The library. You're always surrounded by mysterious libraries, aren't you?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion that libraries will never be the same place in my head as it always has been."

"No shit, Sherlock. First a dead lady, then a drugged doctor who's in cahoots with a dead rich fake man and then finding out your best friend is an international cyber fugitive."

I laughed. "I don't know if I should be glad I'm not living a boring life."

"Oh, definitely glad, dear." She smiled, nodding at Leon. "Because you met him. Bless the dead bodies that find you your soulmate."

— — —

The next couple of events were a blur.

The clearest I could remember was exiting the grand place, Cordelia saying a lot of her goodbyes to no doubt a lot of influential people, even meeting eye to eye with Mr. Moretti himself who had given us nothing short of a pleasantry cool look and gratitude for attending his grandson's party. I remember that he didn't strike me as a good old-fashioned axe murderer and that his Italian accent was thick. He, in fact, reminded me a lot of like the old folks back in my hometown.

Then there was argument at the valet — Cordelia's car had to wait, the line was long and she was angsty against the open area. Too many windows, she said. Too out in the open. So instead we took the keys and headed to the garage ourselves, going back inside and into the elevator.

Cordelia had been angsty and she had every right to be.

The elevator stopped with a haggard break — as if someone had forced it mid-movement and we all stumbled around each other, dropping like dominoes. I remember everyone's shocked yelps and shouts in the darkness — I remember most was Leon's; calling his sister's name and mine. Repeatedly.

And then there was gas.

And then nothing at all.

When I woke up again, tasting cotton in my mouth with a spinning head, it was to a familiar and unfamiliar face.

The person smiled. Quaint and eerie.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

- - -

NEXT

EPISODE TWENTY ONE

CURIOUS CATS BITE DUSTS

- - -

Only those who have read Lemon Sorbet will understand the first half of next title.

And for those who don't know the second half of it, please Google the idiom 'bite the dust'.

I'm evil.

I'm sorry.

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