Page 92 of Gemini Queen
“Good thing I came prepared.” I saunter over to the skylight and fish out of my pocket the Phillips screwdriver I pinched from the tool chest in the furnace room. I’ve got a flathead tucked away too, because I like to have options, but I can already see the Phillips is what I need.
Even though I really miss my actual gear, last seen stowed under a sink on Wang’s vacant penthouse floor, which I’ll probably never see again.
Swallowing a sigh, I pull out a mini-flashlight, switch it on, grip it between my teeth for light, then hunker down and get to work.
First I case the setup for security cams or alarms, but I’m not seeing any. The little hatch is locked from the inside (of course), but this dive shop isn’t exactly Fort Knox. I’ve got the skylight unbolted and swung aside in—I glance at my dive watch—just under three minutes.
Which isn’t too shabby considering I just did the whole job with shit for gear in heavily falling snow. With Vasili freaking Romanov idly swinging in a hammock and watching me the whole time.
“Impressive,” he murmurs, inspecting the toe of one gleaming boot and not even looking at me. “Not just a pretty face, are we?”
Does he even notice a pretty face if it doesn’t come with a cock as part of the package? Yeah, probably just a figure of speech. “Toss me that clothesline, will you, Goblin King?”
One eyebrow climbs with his trademark disdain. But he idles out of his hammock and slinks over to bring me what I need, which is the rope from the clothesline that probably holds dive gear and bathing suits to drip dry in the summer sun. I loop one end around a fixture and knot it tight.
“You’re not planning to come in with me, are you?” I meet his curious stare, since he’s still looming. “Because I can definitely handle things from here. And I’ll find my own way back.”
That comes out more belligerent than I planned, but he’s making me nervous with his lurking.
“So gracious.” He sneers like the comic book villain he is. “Yes, I’m coming in. It’s not as though you’re capable of keeping me out. Color me curious about your diabolical plan for getting off this island and past the wards without the Dean’s consent, since no other student has ever managed the feat.”
“Well, shit, you just made it interesting.” I swing a casual leg over the skylight sill. “Bet you can’t make it down here my way, can you, bad boy?”
Then I trot out my Catwoman superpowers, clamp the flashlight between my teeth, and slither down the rope into the darkened interior. It feels good to use my muscles for something I’m trained to do, and maybe I’m showing off a little, making the whole descent a little slinkier than it needs to be.
I land lightly on the ground floor, reposition my flashlight, perch my hands on my hips, and shoot a challenging look up at my nemesis.
Vasili’s silhouetted in the skylight against a canvas of falling snow, his face invisible against the dark curl of the collar rearing like a cobra hood behind his head.
“You think I can’t manage a little rope play?” he calls down to me.
And something about the way he says it heats my skin like I’ve been dipped in oil and tossed in the deep fryer.
“That’s right, Goblin King,” I call back to him, jerking his chain for fuck knows what reason, except I like pushing him. “I don’t think you can handle it.”
Which, of course, only prompts him to slither over the rim like the serpent he is and uncoil down my rope with reptilian grace, like a fucking rope dancer at the Cirque de Soleil. He drops silently to my side and arches that same infuriating eyebrow.
“You were saying?” he murmurs.
What I’m thinking is, it was a major turn-on watching him wrapped around my rope. But that’s definitelynotwhat I’m saying.
“If you really want to impress me, wait till it’s time to go back up.” I force a shrug and turn away, determined to focus on the gig and not his extremely distracting presence.
I play the beam of my little flashlight over the shop.
Its familiar contents leap into view, because dive shops everywhere tend to have a certain look. Racks of dive gear looming, a row of paddleboards bracketed to the wall, a wooden kayak suspended slantwise from the ceiling.
I’d look for the light switch, but I haven’t forgotten that spooky feeling of being watched in the alley, and I’m not eager to draw attention.
I mosey over to the dive gear and start thumbing through the racks, aided by the shore light that streams through the frosted windows in front. A rack of neoprene shorties for tropical dives does me no good at all, but I’m hopeful that given these wintry seas, someone might actually have invested in a decent dry suit.
That’s what I’ll need to swim in these waters, along with plenty of nitrox, a decent compass, and some good night gear.
There’s nothing obvi out front, but there’s a windowless back room which is more likely to hold specialty gear. I weave through the tight confines behind the sales counter into the back, my flashlight playing over the space.
Right away, I see what I need. A spurt of excitement zings through me and I beeline over to investigate.
Bingo.
