Free Ride the Moon: An Anthology by M. L. D. Curelas

producing it, and instead of being ravished by feminine magic, he was imagining a female captor who would slice him into pieces?
    She led him to a rocky beach. Fog clouded all but the shore.
    Before he could ask whether or not she meant him to grow gills and continue into the water, the sound of oars broke the silence. Soon a rowboat pierced the mist. Once it stopped, a woman in knee-length boots hopped into the water and strode towards them.
    â€œReally, I don’t have time to wait for your employer’s dramatic entry.” Behind the sarcasm was the thought of whether or not his yacht had exploded—
    â€œQuiet. Your desperation is obvious. You’re not as good as you think at hiding your restless mind.”
    The woman glared, and a nervous heat crawled up his neck. Cold was not the right word for this person. Precise, active, fiery, logical.
    â€œMr. Faulon! This is a surprise!” said the other woman. “Leen, you can relax now.”
    â€œSo that thing does have a name. Do I know you?”
    â€œKnow me? Don’t insult me even more, you lousy bastard.”
    He threw his arms in desperation. The woman circled him.
    â€œParnella Fionketta Vijn Tradellia. Does this name mean nothing to you?”
    He shrugged. The woman looked vaguely familiar ...
    â€œNothing?”
    He needed more specifics. Someone from the office. Olive skin, eyes strangely set wide apart, broad forehead. Nice earrings, tailored skirt and jacket. Hair pinned back, glasses. This woman could have been any number of hangers-on linked to the boring high-society crowd in which he found himself.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œ
Duchess
Parnella Fionketta Vijn Tradellia? Does that help?” Ms. Tradellia ceased her pacing and closed in on him. Her breath fluttered against his neck.
    He kept still. Something squirmed in his chest.
    â€œA sparkle of recognition. Is it your guilty conscience or your overindulgence clouding your mind?” With a flourish she swept the glasses from her face, then unpinned her hair. Brown locks gushed over her shoulders. A glow in her cheeks, a pained, yet somehow pleased curve at her lips ...
    â€œShit ... Ella ... Parnella. Of course.”
    â€œA sudden change of heart, huh? You’re good at those.”
    â€œLook, Parnella. This isn’t fair. You knew what you were getting into. Nobody who has ever heard of me would think that day could have been taken seriously—”
    Parnella bit her lip. Oh, that same look ... “To think I left my private room at the horse races because I saw you mingling with the workers in the pit, obviously alone. At times I want to regret it.”
    He smirked. “But you don’t.”
    She slapped him. “And you left the workers you so sympathize with in a heartbeat once I invited you to my room, isn’t that so?”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re getting at, but you approached me. All I recall is that you were working with one of my project managers. They all called you ‘Ella’ for short and as much as you hated it, I figured you were used to it and that’s what I assumed you were used to being called. So before you try to pull this bratty nonsense about me being a womanizer, consider that you didn’t seem concerned about whether or not I knew your full title or significance in a society that bores me, and the only name you felt like repeating that night sure wasn’t your own—”
    Slap.
    She turned to Leen. “The perfume?”
    Leen tossed the bottle to Parnella. She lunged to catch it, and nearly tripped on the rocks.
    Parnella clutched it to her chest and said, “Do you have any idea what this is worth, you stupid demon?”
    â€œAll the more reason for you to catch it,” Leen said.
    They discussed compensation, which didn’t particularly interest Zerj. Instead, he found himself ferreting through his memory for anyone who might have provided “services” to