Jillian thought about telling him there was no way he could prove himself enough for her to agree to own him and be responsible for him. After all, she couldn’t bring home a bodyslave like a lost puppy—even if he was a Kindred—albeit a kind she’d never seen before.
Also, the Yonnite Mistress had said he was registered as a deadly weapon—what if that meant he was some kind of serial killer or something? Not that she’d ever heard of a Kindred serial killer—they were supposed to be very supportive and respectful of women. But they were in uncharted territory here and Jillian was simply not prepared to take any crazy risks.
I’m too old for this shit, she thought, rubbing her forehead tiredly. I shouldn’t even be going to tea with her, but I don’t want to come back here just for that damn ion-scoop!
But the Yonnite Mistress seemed to think that everything was going to be all right now. She was all smiles and sunshine.
“Fine, that’s fine—just come to tea with me,” she chirped happily. “Come on, right this way.” And she held open the brocade curtains to her booth, beckoning Jillian inside.
Jillian frowned, not budging.
“Is the tea brewing in your booth? Why can’t we stand right here and drink it?”
“Heavens forefend! Drink it right here in the street like savages? Impossible! One cannot have a proper tea without a bit of pampering,” the Mistress exclaimed.
“Pampering?” Jillian looked at her blankly.
“Yes, pampering. I go to a very exclusive spa at center of the market to have my tea,” the Mistress said primly. “It’s only for Yonnites and their bodyslaves but now that you have a bodyslave yourself, you can get in!”
“I don’t own a bodyslave!” Jillian protested, still holding her ground. “And do you really expect me to believe the way to an exclusive spa is through your stall?”
“Of course not!” The Mistress looked offended. “The spa itself is not here—but being a Yonnite, I do have an exclusive way to it—as do all Yonnites who live and work here on Prius Six. It’s quite hidden and there’s no getting to it if you don’t have a doorway leading into it.”
“Seriously?” Jillian looked at the big bodyslave, wanting confirmation for this elaborate tale the Yonnite woman was spinning.
“She does have a special door which leads exclusively to the Yonnite spa, little Mistress,” Kalis rumbled, nodding. “And she is telling the truth—no one who doesn’t have such a door installed in her booth or stall can get to the spa. It’s near the center of the market,” he added.
Jillian didn’t know why, but she trusted the big Kindred much more than she trusted the Yonnite Mistress. She believed he was telling the truth. Of course, now it seemed that the simple cup of tea she’d agreed to had turned into a fancy spa day, which was considerably more than she’d bargained for.
But if it’s near the center of the market, I can go right over to the Master of the Market and complain if she won’t give me the ion-scoop or insists that I take Kalis with me, she thought.
“All right,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll go with you—but give me the ion-scoop first.”
“Oh, very well, but then you must come,” the Mistress said sulkily. “Come on—it’s in the back of my stall, along with the door.”
She held open the gold brocade curtain and shook it impatiently, glaring at Jillian.
Shouldn’t do this, Jillian, whispered a little voice in the back of her head. It probably isn’t safe…
She had read once that humans are the only animals on Earth that ignore their gut intuition and do things they instinctively feel are wrong or dangerous. Later—much later—she would remember those words and wonder why in the world she hadn’t listened to that little voice.
But at the moment, all Jillian wanted to do was get the ion-scoop and go home and she thought the only thing standing between her and her trip back to the Mother Ship was a cup of tea with the unpleasant Yonnite Mistress.
She had never been more wrong in her life…
5
The ion-scoop looked like a tiny, miniaturized melon-baller with a silver, grape-sized cup at one end and a switch on the handle that hummed ominously when she turned it on.
“For pity’s sake, don’t turn it on until you need to use it!” the Mistress exclaimed, when Jillian flipped on the switch. “It’s absolutely lethal—it will cut through anything. That’s why it’s so useful for the thaelite.”
“Sorry—I didn’t know.” Fishing in her pocket, Jillian pulled out a spare plastic shopping bag she’d brought in case she got any really stinky produce, and carefully wrapped the ion-scoop, making very certain that the switch was in the “off” position. Then she stowed it securely in her jeans pocket, beside her poison-checker.
She would have been more comfortable putting it in her tote, but it had a hole in it now and besides, she’d left it in the shuttle back when they’d deposited the thaelite. So her pocket was the only place to put it. She just hoped she didn’t accidentally flip it on and gouge a chunk out of her leg, but she didn’t think it would be a problem—she had wrapped it really well.
“All right now—where’s the door to your secret club?” she asked, frowning. As far as she could tell, the back of the Yonnite’s stall was just filled with stacks and piles of merchandise—most of it still in boxes and bags and barrels. There was no door in sight in the small, crowded space.
“I don’t leave it out in the open, of course!” The Mistress sounded offended. “How could I keep it secret like that? Kalis, move the stack of yarbedeen music boxes and reveal the door,” she commanded the huge Kindred.
He frowned, crossing his arms over his broad, bare chest.
“Afraid I can’t do that, since you’re no longer my true owner, Mistress Douchenbag.”
“Wait—is that her real name? Douche bag?” Jillian lifted her eyebrows.
“Douche-en-bag. Twyla Douchenbag. It’s my family name, passed to me from my dear mother,” the other woman said primly. “And you are? Since we are to have tea together, I suppose we ought to be better acquainted.”
“Jillian Marks,” Jillian said.
Mistress Douchenbag sniffed.
“What a very strange and unattractive name. But no matter.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Mistress Jillian, you must instruct your bodyslave to move the music boxes and reveal the door. He won’t do it for me.”
Jillian sighed and looked at Kalis.
“Kalis, would you please—as a favor to me and not because I own you—move the boxes so we can open the door and get this teatime over with?”
Kalis nodded gravely.
“As my Mistress wishes.”
He walked to the back wall of the crowded stall where there was a tall stack of extremely heavy-looking carved wooden boxes. Squatting low, the big Kindred scooped up the entire stack—which was higher than Jillian’s head—and moved them three feet to the right. Then he stepped back, revealing what looked like a drawing of a door on the back wall, done in white chalk outlines.
“What’s that? It’s just a chalk drawing of a door!” Jillian protested. “How are we supposed to go through there?”