Levitate, page 2
“You are safe here, Cassiane,” she whispered.
The unseen train was finally far enough away that the rattle had ceased and the world was still, the engine’s sonorous grumble finally fading into an eerie silence. Timo imagined the rest of the world had disappeared with the sound. Its wars and its walls, the hatred and anger, secrets, lies. She put her head down, Circe’s knuckles cold against her forehead, and closed her eyes. She didn’t believe in a deity so she didn’t pray, but she sent every good thought and all the healing energy that might be swirling around into the woman she considered her only true friend.
#
Timo finally wrote, encoded, and sent off the update. It went out as standard post, which they’d found safer than trying to sneak correspondence out of the country. The body of the letter looked mundane enough to an outsider, even someone who might be looking for secret communiques, and the cipher was complex enough that no one could break it even if they suspected a hidden message. This method meant they would have to wait a very long time for a response. Fortunately this was a rare time when they could afford to wait.
Circe didn’t wake again until the morning after the shooting. Timo was dozing next to the bed and startled awake at the sound of her name being weakly spoken. She sat up straighter and tightened her grip on Circe’s hand.
“You are awake,” she said, her voice rough from exhaustion.
“I’m alive.” Circe looked away from Timo and let her gaze drift through the room.
Timo said, “You’re probably very weak. Tired. You can rest.”
“Voigt?”
“Dead. I haven’t had a chance to get the newspaper yet, but there was little doubt. I eliminated the gunman. The police will most likely consider it open-and-shut. Did you recognize him?”
Circe said, “A man from work. A lay-about. Completely useless. Voigt fired him last week. I assume this was retribution.” She closed her eyes and relaxed against the bedding, her lips twisting to show her teeth. “Everything hurts.”
“I wasn’t exactly gentle with you. It was difficult bringing you here.”
“I’m sure. Thank you, Timo.”
“It’s my job to keep you safe. And you’re very welcome, Cassiane.” She paused. “I’ve sent word back to Command about what happened. We should hear back from them soon. I predict they will send instructions for our extraction. In the meantime, you will heal.”
Circe twisted her lips into an expression of dissatisfaction and looked away.
“What is it?”
“I failed. Everything we’ve done over the past three years was for nothing.”
Timo said, “That was always a possibility. Command could have aborted the mission at any time, for whatever reason. You could have been discovered and forced to flee. This outcome was not your fault. And the important thing is that you survived. Voigt may be gone, but I’m certain he has a successor who will use whatever system and routes are already in place. Something can be salvaged.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Right or wrong, it’s not your problem to solve right now.” She brushed the hair away from Circe’s forehead and let her hand rest there briefly to check her temperature. “Do you need anything? Water?”
“Sleep, I think...”
“That’s reasonable. I’ll be here if you need anything else. Rest.” She stood up to kiss Circe’s cheek, then shifted her aim to press her lips to Circe’s mouth. “I am very glad you’re okay, Cassiane.”
“Thank you for saving me, Timothea.”
Timo kissed her again and slipped her hand away from Circe’s grip.
Over the next few days, with supplies pilfered from medical offices in the building above, the station transformed into a hospital room. Circe slowly regained her strength and soon complained of being confined to the bed. Timo tried to distract her with board games and coloring books - there wasn’t much worth stealing in the waiting rooms of their fellow tenants, so she made do with what they had. Circe griped about being treated like a child or, even worse, an invalid.
“Even if you were healthy enough to go wandering around the city, Voigt’s death is still too fresh. We can’t risk someone from the museum seeing his secretary suddenly alive and well at the market. We will receive word from the Organization soon. Until then, we will wait.”
Circe used the crayons and slips of paper to make a set of playing cards. She taught Timo how to play poker, Timo taught Circe how to play Kings in the Corner. They were used to only seeing each other an hour at a time, twice a week, so at first there was a certain thrill to spending more time together. But they eventually grew irritated by one another.
It was Timo’s responsibility to take their laundry out “into the world,” wash it, and bring it back. All chores that involved leaving their safe space fell to her. Grocery shopping was a particular pain, seeing as it required taking from a stockpile of money which was rapidly dwindling. Tensions became frayed and long silences were broken by sharp words and shouting matches that only stopped when they realized they risked discovery. One morning, both of them in especially sour moods, Timo made a comment about Circe sitting in her parlor waiting for the maid to return with her evening meal.
“You can’t imagine I prefer this.” Circe was sitting on the bed in her undershirt, a fresh bandage over the quickly-healing wound in her chest. “At least you get to go outside. Breathe fresh air, see other people. I would love to do one of these errands you find so tedious. While I sit here, staring at nothing but bland on bland on bland. I am so sick of looking at everything in this blasted room!”
Timo was angrily depositing folded laundry into the milk crate that served as Circe’s wardrobe. “I am sorry you find my appearance so mundane.”
Circe grimaced at that; she clearly hadn’t intended insult. “Anyone looks mundane after weeks of monotony.”
“You wouldn’t like it much out there,” Timo said. “You can feel their eyes on you everywhere. That fucking wall... I can feel it. Even when I can’t see it, I know it’s there. Looming. It might as well be thirty meters high. Men with guns who would kill me if they had even an inkling of who I am.” She waved off that thought. “No. No, they would not make it that easy. If they suspected who I was, they would know about you. They would torture me for information. But yes, Cassiane, the picnics in the park every Sunday are so lovely and I’ve become quite good at flying kites.”
Timo kicked the empty laundry bag away and stalked toward the far wall, hands on her hips. She looked like an angry bull. Circe felt a pang of regret and looked away from her. Silence spread from the both of them until it filled the room like a gas. Timo looked down and saw the bag which had toppled over when the laundry hit it.
“Oh... I forgot about these,” she said, her voice quiet and almost apologetic. “I brought you more puzzle books. English and German.”
“Thank you,” Circe said, her voice equally small. “I’m sorry.”
Timo waved off the apology but didn’t look at her. Circe stood up and crossed the room until she was standing behind her, Timo’s face to the wall. Timo reached up and wiped at her face and Circe’s guilt ratcheted up a few more levels. She placed one hand on Timo’s shoulder and squeezed, trying to find the right thing to say. Timo hesitated and then covered Circe’s hand with her own. They stood like that for a long time, neither was sure how long, and Circe still couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally, she settled on revealing a fact she had recently become aware of.
“There’s no reason for you to be here.”
“I thought you might appreciate the company.” Timo sounded equal parts distraught and annoyed.
“No, I... That isn’t what I meant.” She put her other hand on Timo’s other shoulder. “There’s no reason you can’t lock up the office every night at the end of business hours, go to your apartment at a reasonable time. In fact, it might even benefit your cover if you did that. But you stay here.”
“You would be alone otherwise,” Timo said.
Circe turned Timo around and put both hands back on her shoulders. “I am very grateful for your company, Timothea.”
Timo pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, eyes wide and unblinking. Circe had thought they were brown but, this close, she could see they were flecked with a curious shade of green.
“I never thanked you for saving my life.”
“It’s my job.”
Circe shrugged. “But regardless... heroes are generally rewarded with a kiss.”
There was a moment - either when Circe leaned in, or as she was wetting her lips with a deliberate sweep of her tongue - when Timo could have stopped it. Turning her head, whispering a refusal, or simply putting her hands on Circe’s hips and pushing her away, but instead she tilted her head and accepted the kiss. She exhaled like someone who had been holding their breath, and Circe stepped even closer to her. The kiss was everything she’d spent years telling herself not to want. It was every sinful thought, every wrong urge, and it was being handed to her by the worst possible person. But she accepted it eagerly. Her tongue found Circe’s teeth, and one hand alighted on Circe’s chest, fingers curling in the rough cotton of her tank top.
Circe broke the kiss by changing the angle of her head, keeping her lips close enough for Timo to feel the words “is this okay?” as much as hear them.
Timo closed her eyes, hating that the option was being given to her. She pressed her lips to Circe’s jaw and moved her hand up, over her neck, into her short hair, and grabbed a handful of it.
“I don’t know if it’s okay,” Timo finally said, “but I want it.”
Circe pulled Timo away from the wall and walked her toward the bed. Timo allowed herself to be guided, her mind battling with the logistics of what was about to happen and the wisdom of engaging in physical activity given Circe’s still-healing wound. But all of that was just a dull whisper compared to the overwhelming focus she had on the kiss. She’d kissed men before, or rather been kissed by men before, and she’d never seen the appeal. She’d never felt the urge to continue it. But now she never wanted to stop. If this was a kiss, if this is what all those men were seeking, then perhaps she could forgive them for being a little eager in their pursuits.
They reached the bed. Circe moved her hands to Timo’s suspenders and hooked her fingers underneath them.
“Sit,” Circe said.
Timo gripped Circe’s wrists. “Have you ever done this before?”
Circe nodded. “I have.”
Timo turned them both so that Circe’s legs were pressing against the mattress. She pushed back and Circe dropped into a sitting position, face frozen in surprise.
“Then I have been waiting for this much longer than you have. You will wait your turn.”
Circe blinked in surprise. The corners of her mouth rose slightly. “So aggressive, Miss Riddock.” She let her hands fall. “Do with me as you will.”
Timo’s assertiveness wavered as she realized she had no plan beyond that moment. She wet her lips and dropped to her knees, and Circe leaned back to expose her midsection. Timo unfastened the belt, brow furrowed as if the task was immensely complex. Circe shifted her weight so her pants and underwear could be dragged down.
“Do you know what you’re doing down there?”
“I believe I can... ah...”
She pressed her lips together and bent down. She was worried about her glasses getting in the way but that was only a passing concern. Circe pushed her hands into Timo’s hair and held tightly, making her focus on the task. She started slow and timid, her tongue barely past her lips with her teeth getting in the way, but she soon became bolder. It was the same way she felt the first time she drove a car. It was the feeling of power, of being where she belonged.
Timo put one hand on Circe’s thigh and pushed it gently as she brought her other hand up. She moved her mouth long enough to rub her fingers against Circe’s wet folds, then looked up to see the other woman’s reaction. Circe’s eyes were closed, her lips parted, face and chest flush. Timo stared at her as she used her fingers to finish what her tongue started. When she moved her thumb to the small bud above the folds, she saw something amazing.
She saw Cassiane Jurick’s true face.
It wasn’t Circe, it wasn’t Marta Gresham or any of the other identities the woman may have worn in the past. Timo suddenly knew she was seeing the real person, the girl who had grown up to be an assassin and spy. It was so startling that her fingers stopped moving, and Cassiane responded with a low growl and reached to grab Timo’s hand.
“Don’t stop. I’m almost...”
Timo resumed. She bent down and moved her thumb so she could use her tongue instead, and Cassiane’s hips came off the bed so sharply that Timo’s glasses were finally knocked askew. She didn’t take the time to fix them as she could tell the end was near. She didn’t let up until the tension went out of Cassiane’s body, until the hand in her hair went limp, and the body above her slumped backward onto the mattress.
She wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and sat up. Cassiane’s chest rose and fell with her breathing, then stood and turned away.
“Come here.”
Timo shook her head, looking down at her hand as if it was a foreign object.
“Timothea,” Cassiane said with more force. “Come to bed.”
“I can’t.”
Cassiane sighed. “Goddamn it.” The bed protested as she sat up. “I wish I could fucking smoke in here.”
“There’s barely any ventilation. Ignore the smell, we would asphyxiate.”
“I just want a damn cigarette.”
Timo went to the desk and yanked the jacket off the back of the chair. She hurled it in Cassiane’s direction. “Go, then! Go up on the street and smoke and let the police see your face. Maybe they’ll let you have another one before they put a fucking bullet in your head!”
Cassiane glared at her and Timo cursed under her breath, grabbing a handful of her hair in frustration. She was shaking, and nervous energy made her pace in front of the desk. All she could hear was the loud huffing of her breath, the scuff of her shoes on the hard ground.
“I’ve never... done what we just did.”
“You hinted at that.” Cassiane tilted her head to the side. “Unless you mean... You mean you’ve never done that with another woman, yes?”
Timo didn’t answer, didn’t look at her.
“Aha. I see.” She folded the jacket and tossed it onto the pillow. “Come here, Timothea.”
“I don’t know.”
Cassiane’s voice was gentle now. “Please.”
Timo walked to the bed and sat down. Cassiane shifted to face her, one arm around Timo’s waist and the other on her thigh. Timo kept her eyes down, focusing on her knees and the floor beyond them. When she finally looked up, she saw Cassiane staring at her.
“Let me guess what’s going through your head right now, yeah? The way you kissed me, it was like you understood something. So I think every kiss you had before that one was lacking. I don’t think it had anything to do with me personally.” Her hand moved higher. Timo’s breath caught and she tried to conceal it by breathing slower. “I don’t think you ever considered... what just happened. And when I presented it as a possibility, your eyes were opened. And now you’re scared. You’re worried about what it would mean.”
Timo whispered, “I don’t want to be... one of those...”
“Because it sickens you?”
“Because of...” She nodded toward the entrance. “Them. What they would think. What they would do if they believed I was...” She flinched. “Woman, bad enough. Greek, even worse. I don’t need to give them another reason to throw me in the dirt.”
Cassiane said, “Then it doesn’t have to mean anything. It just has to be something that happens, right here in this room, between you and I. Just like everything else in this room. It doesn’t affect the outside world because it doesn’t exist. This is a place where I am myself, where you can take off all your masks. It is the only place within a thousand miles where I can hear my name being spoken without breaking into a cold sweat.”
She squeezed Timo’s thigh.
“Or. I could put my pants back on. And we can play cards. The choice is yours.”
Timo moved her gaze to see Cassiane’s hand. After a long, slow deliberation where she was fairly sure no coherent thoughts actually passed through her mind, she moved her hand to the fly of her pants, unzipped it, and wrapped her fingers around Cassiane’s. Neither of them spoke. Cassiane adjusted her position, moving her arm so she could hold her hand flat. Timo gasped and went stiff.
“Okay...?”
“Mm-hmm.” Eyes closed, red blooming on her cheeks, tongue sneaking out to brush across her lips as she anticipated what was next.
Cassiane bent down and began kissing Timo’s throat. Timo closed her eyes and spread her legs, moving her hips. The bed squeaked underneath them, and her toes curled in her boots. Cassiane’s tongue found her earlobe, slid down to the collar of her shirt, and sucked on the smooth skin in between. Her free hand came up to tickle the short hair at the nape of Timo’s neck, causing her to shudder violently and then moan, loud and slow.
She didn’t know if she would be able to hold back, didn’t even want to try. She whispered, “Cassiane, please,” and then felt what an orgasm was supposed to be. It was nothing like the thing she felt under her own touch, or with her own bedding bundled between her legs. This was something spiritual and real and absolutely amazing. She put her hand on top of Cassiane’s, the thick material of her trousers between them, and convulsed with the force of what had just happened. She heard Cassiane’s laugh, low and throaty, next to her ear.
“Good god.”
“Just don’t fall in love with me, Miss Riddock,” Cassiane said, freeing her hand. “Rookie mistake, and not something that would help our situation.”
Timo flopped backward. After a moment, Cassiane lay down next to her. They both stared up at the vaulted ceiling of their little tomb. Finally Timo broke the silence.
