Free Woman King by Evette Davis Page B

realize they are
stuffed into the N-Judah streetcar during commute hours with the
undead.
    What was I to do with this newfound
knowledge? Was I supposed to return to my old life, knowing there
were two worlds living side-by-side in San Francisco? I was
prepared to let those questions percolate at the back of my mind as
I got on with my day, but magic, it seemed, was in the air. No
sooner had I turned on the Giants game on television, that I
noticed that one of the pitchers was a vampire. With his long black
hair and pale skin, this starting pitcher had always caught
people’s attention. It was rare, I realized, that he ever pitched a
day game, and now I knew why.
    Sure enough, as the sun began to retreat from
the plate and the shadows grew longer, his pitches gained in
velocity. In the ninth inning, he was relieved and as I stared into
the bullpen, I noticed one or two other members of the team were
also Others. A vampire and a demon playing for a major league
baseball team. It seemed the world I knew was really gone
forever.
    Elsa had left the house earlier in the day,
and did not return until almost dusk. Normally a woman of few
words, she had not been in the house ten minutes when she suggested
we go out for dinner. “I was thinking The Moss Room,” she said.
    “The Moss Room,” I repeated. “That place is
kind of pricey and it can be hard to get a table.”
    “Actually, we’ve been invited to dinner,”
Elsa said, a bright smile on her face. “The director of the
Council, Gabriel Laurent, has invited us to join him.”
    “What’s the catch?” I asked. “First he tries
to blind me, and now he wants to wine and dine me?”
    “No catch,” Elsa said. “He wants to meet you
and, if there is time, discuss a job. I think we should go. Your
old job is going to seem quite boring now, anyway.”
    “I’m not so sure about that,” I said, feeling
slightly bullied.
    “It’s just dinner,” Elsa said lightly, but I
could sense some uneasiness. She needed me to go to this
dinner.
    “OK,” I said. “What time are we meeting
him?”
    Elsa looked relieved. “One hour.”
    “Great. I will go upstairs and change.”
    The Moss Room is named after the moss that
grows on one of the subterranean walls of the restaurant. Tucked
underground, below the California Academy of Sciences, guests dine
inside a snug room adorned on one side with moss and trickling
water, and on the other, brick and glass. It is designed as a
terrarium for the culinary set, and guests must descend a long
glass stairway that terminates at the broad elbow of a majestic
wooden bar to enter the dining room. As we came to the last step, a
man seated at the bar turned to face us. Instinctively, I knew this
was Gabriel Laurent. Impeccably dressed in a gray cashmere sweater,
jeans and a black sport coat, he was the picture of casual French
elegance.
    “Hello, Elsa,” he said, revealing his accent.
“This must be Olivia.”
    “Hello,” I said, turning to face him,
resisting the urge to show off and parler . Eventually, he
would come to know that I was fluent. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, monsieur .”
    Gabriel stared at me for a moment, but did
not speak. He was glowing with a deep blue aura that sparkled like
a sapphire.
    “You’re so blue,” I blurted out, before I
could stop myself.
    I could sense his pleasure at my remark, but
like Elsa, he too held something back.
    “I can see what they say is true,” he said.
“You are quite adept…I am anxious to discuss your gifts in greater
detail. Alors …Let me tell the hostess we are ready. I have
reserved a private room.”
    His last word came out as “ Oh-stess ,”
spurring me on to speak in his native language. “ Comment
allez-vous ?”
    Gabriel turned around and smiled. “ Bien,
merci. Vous parlez très bien, mademoiselle. ”
    “Thank you. I’ve studied French for many
years,” I replied. “It was a sort of requirement with my
mother.”
    Once again, he stifled some emotion, but