Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta
BELLE, BOOK AND CANDLE
Copyright © 2012 Nick Pollotta
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc., Markham, Ontario Canada.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing from Double Dragon Publishing.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Double Dragon eBook
Published by
Double Dragon Publishing, Inc.
PO Box 54016
1-5762 Highway 7 East
Markham, Ontario L3P 7Y4 Canada
http://www.double-dragon-ebooks.com
http://www.double-dragon-publishing.com
A DDP First Edition April 25, 2012
ISBN-9: 1-55404-960-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-55404-960-8
Cover Art by Max Ginsburg
MORE SF&F BY NICK POLLOTTA
Illegal Aliens (w/Phil Foglio)
Bureau 13: Judgment Night
Bureau 13: Doomsday Exam
Bureau 13: Full Moonster
Shadowrun: Shadowboxer
Invasion from Uranus
Satellite Night Live (as Jack Hopkins)
Satellite Night Special (as Jack Hopkins)
Satellite Night Fever (as Jack Hopkins)
Bureau 13: Damned Nation
That Darn Squid God! (w/James Clay)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A special thanks to the Chicago-North Romance Writers for all of their invaluable assistance, doughnuts, and advice.
And a Special Thanks to MAX GINSBURG
for creating such an enchanting cover.
Retrospective Exhibits and Book
A must for all Ginsburg fans, collectors and aficionados of fine art! Order your copy today! Pre-Publication Sale. Delivery mid-September.
Max Ginsburg, one of the most respected and highly accomplished realist painters today, presents for the first time, a collection of his paintings from 1956 to 2010. Exquisitely presented on 192 pages of high quality paper (11x12x1), this publication chronicles Max's prestigious career as a fine artist, a teacher and illustrator.
http://www.maxginsburg.com/retrospective.html
BELLE, BOOK AND CANDLE
by Nick Pollotta
CHAPTER ONE
As the Chicago city bus lurched into motion, every passenger swayed in unison, except for the very tall man sitting all the way in the back. Rissa noticed that right away.
With both hands folded neatly in his lap, the stranger seemed to defy the laws of physics by not moving in the slightest as the lumbering bus sharply banked around a tight corner.
Must be a yoga master, Clarissa Harmond guessed, settling back into the worn plastic seat. Highlights of silver in his dark hair proclaimed that the rather handsome fellow was rapidly approaching middle age, yet he seemed to radiate an aura of physical strength the same way a blast furnace did heat. She could literally feel his presence from yards away.
Unbidden, there flashed in her mind what such a man might be like in bed. The strength of youth combined with the experience of maturity was a tantalizing possibility. Lost in dreamy reflection, Rissa could almost see him standing unadorned in her bedroom, every firm muscle gleaming in the golden candlelight ...
Just then, the bus jounced through a pothole.
With a gasp, Rissa grabbed her throat, flushed with embarrassment. Get a hold of yourself, Harmond! Clearly, she was starting to lose her mind from not having anybody else in her bed except that coppertop bunny. He had wonderful stamina, but she sure missed cuddling.
Turning away from the dapper giant, Rissa banished the burgeoning erotic fantasy. Out of sight, out of mind! Hopefully, anyway. When did this damn bus become so warm?
Looking out the dirty window at the passing streams of honking cars, Rissa pulled a battered iPod from her purse, tucked in the earbuds, and thumbed the dial for a much-needed distraction. Crooning the world-famous intro to a classic MGM musical, the amazing Gene Kelly began singing about seriously inclement weather, and Rissa felt herself gradually relax. Sing, you magnificent bastard, sing!
Ever since the invasion of those damn red boxes forced the closing of her video rental store, Rissa had been doggedly searching for a new job that was in some way connected to movies, her chosen field of expertise. Today, her diligence had been rewarded with an offer from the local cable company to be in charge of their film library. Yippee! Back in show business!
The money wasn’t great, but the chance to run amok through their huge catalogue was nearly irresistible. Rissa adored movies, and collected them the way yuppies did fine wines. The classics, the turkeys, the weird, and the wonderful, Rissa watched everything, but only a select few films ever went into the big bookcase standing alongside her old television. A situation sadly similar to her personal life: lots of first dates, but very few overnight guests. Or at least, none that she’d like to introduce to friends in the light of day. As the old saying went, sometimes even cowgirls get the blues.
Unfortunately, while the new job sounded exciting, the two-hour commute every day would be brutal, and moving from the suburbs to downtown meant a change in her lifestyle that required some serious thinking.
Crossing her arms, Rissa snorted. Okay, that was an outright lie. She had already decided to accept the job, and simply wanted to stall for a while and prolong the illusion that she was not about to leave her comfort zone to create a whole new life in a distant world. A stranger in a strange land? Hell, it was more like Alice in Wonderland. Scary stuff.
As the joyful music dramatically swelled into full orchestration, somebody nearby loudly coughed. Then did it twice more. “Excuse me, miss?”
Rissa opened an eye. It was the yoga master. She removed an earbud. “Yes?”
Chagrined, the man displayed a bare wrist. “Do you have the correct time, please?”
“Sure, no problem,” Rissa relented, thumbing to a different screen. “It is ... nine fifteen.”
“Thank you,” he sighed in relief, then blinked and pointed. “Good lord, wherever did you get that delightful relic?”
Glancing downward, Rissa was startled to see her grandmother’s amber pendant dangling on the outside of her white blouse once more. How weird. She could have sworn it had been tucked into her bra as usual before leaving the cable network skyscraper. That was Survival 101 for any big city dweller: Hide Your Valuables! Crackheads were like magpies; they’d steal anything shiny, whether it was valuable or not.
Taking a moment, Rissa studied the smiling middle-aged man. He seemed harmless enough, freshly shaved with clean fingernails—always a plus. He was wearing a tailored Hugo Boss suit and Italian shoes that probably cost more than her first, second, and third cars combined. Clearly, it’s good to be the king of ... whatever he does for a living.
“Relic?” Rissa repeated, arching an eyebrow.
“Please, I meant no offense,” he chuckled, raising an apologetic hand. “I was merely curious since that pendant is very old, and extremely valuable.”
“Is it?” she asked, fingering the pendant. Etched into the cracked amber was the design of a Chinese dragon chasing its own tail. The eyes were chipped glass of the deepest blue, and
the wings sparkled with tiny crystals. It was very Art Deco, or Art Nouveau—she always got those two confused. The inside was covered with curious geometric shapes that almost appeared to be some sort of a language.
“I’ve always assumed it was costume jewelry,” Rissa continued. “Or something from a lodge: the Freemasons, or perhaps the Elks.”
“Costume jewelry?” the man gasped, swinging his legs around to face her directly. “Good heavens, no! That is a classic example of Chinese metallurgy from the early Hung Dynasty, circa 400 BC, and of the very highest quality!”
Skeptically, Rissa shuffled slightly further away in her seat, and tightened the grip on her purse.
“Oh—no—no—no! You misunderstand, dear lady. I am an antiques dealer,” he said in a rush of words. “A specialist in exotic jewelry.” Then he splayed both hands.
Keeping her distance, Rissa was somewhat mollified to see that he had a golden ring on every finger but one. It was a staggering lot of jewelry for any man to be wearing, gay or straight, and a rainbow spectrum of multicolored gems glittering in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Several of the rings had a design similar to the amber pendant she was wearing, a dragon chasing its own tail. But none of his golden rings were as large, or as finely detailed.
“Wherever did you find it?” he asked again, leaning forward. “An estate sale, perhaps? eBay?”
Swerving through a sea of honking traffic, the bus reached the center lane, and began to steadily accelerate.
“The pendant is a gift from my father. It weighs a ton, and keeps catching on my sweaters, but still ...” Rissa shrugged.
“Family, yes, I understand,” he said with a nod, then gave a hopeful grin. “Any chance that you might consider selling ...” He frowned. “No, of course not. It was a gift from a relative. Please excuse the avarice of an old collector.”
“Sorry.”
Oddly, nobody else on the bus seemed to take any notice of their conversation, almost as if it were somehow private.
“Please take my card,” he said, holding out a slim leather case. He pressed an embossed insignia on top with his thumb and a stiff white card slid out the front like the blade of a switchblade knife. “This has the name and address of my store in Los Angeles, along with my cell phone number. If you ever change your mind, I can offer you a substantial price, miss ...” Politely, he waited.
“Harmond, Rissa Harmond,” she said, accepting the card.
“Harmond,” he said with a satisfied smile, sitting back in the plastic chair as if having accomplished a great task.
“And you are ...?” Rissa asked, glancing at the business card. But there was nothing on it.
Turning the card over to the other side, she was puzzled to find that also blank. Confused, she flipped the card several times just to make sure that she was not missing something, a subtle watermark, perhaps.
“I’m going to need another,” she began with a chuckle. “This one is ...” But the seat across the aisle was empty.
Looking about the rattling bus, Rissa only saw the usual handful of regular commuters, but nobody else. Then a motion outside the window caught her attention.
A cold shiver surged down her spine at the sight of the well-dressed stranger waving goodbye from the sidewalk ... three lanes of traffic away. Rissa tried to speak, and nothing came out but a high-pitched squeak.
CHAPTER TWO
Stunned, Rissa dropped back into her seat, and did nothing for a long period of time, her thoughts totally jumbled and disorganized. She jerked out of the impromptu reverie as the bus entered a dark tunnel and the overhead fluorescent lights exploded into harsh operation.
Whipping out her cell phone, Rissa took a picture of the empty seat for no sane reason, then emailed it to her best friend, Melissa Sumner, along with a brief text message about what had just happened.
(Is this a joke?) Melissa scrolled across the tiny glowing screen.
(Sadly, no. What do you think, Mel?)
(He must have usedthe do9or.)
(There was no door,) Rissa nimbly texted back. (And where did you learn how to spell?)
Melissa replied, (i spellgood. Just hav3 clumisly thunsgs.)
(Thunsgs?)
Slowly, a response came. (Thumbs ... dearheart ... don’t ... be ... such ... an ...
ass.)
Very slowly, Rissa typed, (Sor9ry.)
(LOL! Forgiven ... forgotten ...)
(And there was no door. He must have ...) Rissa continued, then paused, unable to express that line of thought. Walked through the metal wall. That was impossible. Yet what other explanation could there be?
When it reached the main highway, the bus slowly accelerated until the landscape began to flow by in a smooth blur, like a watercolor caught in the rain.
Just then her cell vibrated, and Rissa took the call. “Hello?”
“There must have been drugs soaked into the card,” Melissa said dramatically. “Better get rid of it, and wash your hands.”
Drugs? Okay, that seemed a lot more reasonable than anything else that Rissa had come up with. Picking up the card by the edges, she started to toss it away, then changed her mind and tucked it into a pocket of her jeans. “One question, Mel, how am I supposed to wash my hands on a city bus?”
“Use the bottle of hand sanitizer in your purse.”
Feeling foolish, Rissa placed down the phone to dig out the tiny plastic bottle. Squirting some of the gel into a palm, she rubbed and scrubbed thoroughly until it evaporated into lemon-scented vapors.
“How did you know it was in there?” Rissa asked, chewing a lip. “Finally mastering your wicked magic?”
“Wicca, not wicked, and no,” Melissa laughed. “Of course you had some gel, you deal with the public all day at the store. That’s only common sense.”
Uncommon sense was more like it, but Rissa conceded the point. However, that raised an interesting possibility. What if the antiques dealer ... nyah, there’s no such thing as magic.
“Are you sure?” Melissa asked mockingly.
Startled, Rissa recoiled from the phone in her hand, then snorted. “No wonder you always win at canasta. Am I really that predicable?”
“Ever since kindergarten,” Melissa chuckled. “I suppose that reporting this to the police is completely out of the question?”
“Report what? That a polite stranger gave me a blank business card, and then vanished? What crime has been committed?” She paused. “I’m still a little creeped out by the whole thing, but that’s not illegal either.”
“More’s the pity. Fair enough, I suppose. But I still don’t like it.”
“Agreed.”
Just then the bus rolled into a dark tunnel, then back into bright daylight. The skyline of Chicago was gone, replaced by endless rows of houses and trees.
“We’re at Evanston, my stop is next, gotta go,” Rissa said, checking the seat for her possessions.
“I’ll light a green candle for you,” Melissa said quickly. “And be sure to burn some sage when you get home! That’ll keep away the evil spirits.”
“How does it work on bill collectors?”
“Just fine ... as long as they’re undead bill collectors.”
“Aren’t they all?” Rissa asked as the bus swerved hard through the honking traffic.
“Absolutely!” Melissa giggled, then switched to a serious tone. “Did you throw away the card?”
“Of course!”
“Actually, it’s in your purse next to a lint-covered mint, a tampon, and nine cents in loose change.”
“Ha! It’s in my pants pocket ... crap.”
“As I said, predictable. Now please throw that damn thing away!”
“Yes, mother, I love you too,” Rissa said gently, closing the phone with a snap of her wrist.
As the bus eased to a halt alongside the curb, she tucked the phone away and got off to walk the short block home.
Checking the mailbox, Rissa felt a rush of excitement to find it stuffed fu
ll. But the elation dissolved as she riffled through and saw only bills, store flyers, and assorted junk mail. Old-school style spam.
Goddamn it, this was the seventh week in a row without a response from her grandmother! She had repeatedly called until their old answering machine was couldn’t hold any more messages. First Grammy disappears, Rissa fumed, then a weirdo on the bus asks about her jewelry. Was there a connection? She had no idea. But suddenly Rissa had a newfound sense of purpose. She had always wanted to visit Savannah, and certainly had the free time now. Why not personally check on her grandmother?
Unlocking the front door, Rissa stepped inside and dropped the mail on top of an old-fashioned console television roughly the size of a canal barge. The local news was on, but with the sound off. On the screen, a handsome man in a white suit was cutting a ribbon in front of a hospital.
In spite of the rush, Rissa paused for a moment to smile at the handsome fellow. Black hair, blue eyes, and the body of Hercules. All those muscles, yummy. However, according to the scroll he was a Southern billionaire with a supermodel fiancée. Combine those and he became a rainbow, wonderful to look at, but completely untouchable.
“I’m home!” Rissa announced, checking the answering machine. There were no important messages, just a couple of inquires about the store fixtures, and a tearful goodbye from a former employee who had always been sweet on her, the poor fellow.
“Anything in the post?” David Harmond asked hopefully, pushing open the pass-through above the sofa. Behind her father, something was bubbling on the stove, sending out the delicious aroma of homemade beef stew.
“Nothing,” Rissa stated, yanking open the hall closet and dragging out a canvas backpack. It was stuffed to the bursting point with clothing, maps, and her all-important journal.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this,” Elizabeth Harmond said, stepping around the corner. “Just because nothing arrived today—”