Infinite Mass by J.K. Raymond

Author:J.K. Raymond [J.K. Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wild Ink Publishing LLC
Published: 2023-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Iron Filigree and Fleur-de-Lis

From where Silla sat perched on HQ's overhead dome, she saw it wasn’t a dome, but a piece of grass in a well-kept, private garden of someone’s remodeled Benton Park mini mansion. The monstrous old houses were everywhere in this area of St. Louis. Most were in utter shambles, gutted for their copper, and left for dead. The others were magnificent mansions being brought back to life. Some touted glorious Victorian colors and spiraling turrets while others were all brownstone or red brick with iron filigree and fleur-de-lis embellishments as far as the eye could see. Scattered devil-may-care among the bones of those yet to be resurrected. Silla decided she enjoyed the contrast. It seemed a perfect world the way it was, and she silently hoped it would stay that way, a dystopian days-of-future past.

Wrapped in a robe, tucked in an Adirondack chair, and munching on a small, backyard picnic, Silla was about as comfy as she could be, considering. . well, every-fucking-thing. She’d sat in the moody blue moonlight for the last half hour or so, eavesdropping at the hole she’d burned through the dome of HQ, not feeling the least bit guilty for liberating the clothes, goodies, and wine from the mini-mansion's gourmet kitchen. Hey, it wasn't her fault the folks who lived there didn’t care enough about their digs to lock the back door when they weren’t home. After all, it was Benton Park. In her mind, she was doing the new homeowners a favor. Had it been any other sneak thief combing through their newly renovated humble abode, the lesson would have cost them a hell of a lot more than a makeshift hospitality basket.

From the topside, the owl-shaped hole looked like an odd shadow in the grass and nothing more, but it acted like the perfect spy gear mic for her snooping ears. The arc of the dome carried the softest of murmurs right up and out of the arched ceiling. In the last half hour, Silla had heard a lot.

So far, she could add a talking pig and a flying toddler to the ever-increasing list of fairytale bullshit she now believed in. The talking pig was a little much, like Mrs. Poole from FBDO, for Silla to take seriously. The dainty-winged diva who rocked pink fuzzy socks was a kindred spirit fo’ sho’. Silla had spent a few minutes in, honest to God, awe over the little munchkin who wasn’t about to lay down like a pre-orphaned Disney character while some asshole pummeled her parents. Nope, Nitzie was a little badass and Silla couldn’t wait to babysit.

“Fuck, I suck,” Silla confessed to the moon overhead. “Nitz is a hard-core card-carrying member of the Binky Badass Club, and I’m a wine-drinking, robe-wearing coward. What the hell is wrong with me?” Disgusted, Silla swept the pile of snacks off her lap, chucked the crystal-cut Mikasa stemware across the lawn, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of 2014 Prisoner Cabernet. “Whoa! whoa! whoa!” Silla came to her senses around mid-chuck.

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