Hey, can we talk after work?

A while later, Tara texted back.

Sure, I’ll come to your place?

Hell, no. I couldn’t let Eva see her around again.

No, let’s go to the coffee shop in front of the MBT.

Ok.

Once my lesson with Marco was over, I took the same bus I usually took, except that instead of going all the way back home, I stopped in front of the MBT and got in the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street. A couple of tables were occupied by people working at their laptop. I sat somewhere by the front window.

The MBT stood in the rainy night like an island of light. It floated there as though it was part of a dream that would vanish as soon as I blinked. Martha’s story had obsessed me all afternoon. Even now, as I waited for Tara, I wasn’t sure I should tell her everything. It might be better for her not to know that her place in the company was in danger.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice right away the passerby who stood on the street corner, not far from the coffee shop. Someone waiting for their bus, no doubt. I glanced away and ignored them until a detail tickled the corner of my eye and almost jolted me out of my chair. It was the shadow of a long scarf fluttering in the wind. I looked again and I almost screamed in terror. The passerby was right there, staring down at me through the window.

I could have sworn it was the silhouette I had seen in the alleyway after Jayda’s concert. This was getting suspicious. Were they stalking me? I leaped out of the coffee shop to politely ask them if they could get the hell away from me.

The individual took a step back when I arrived face to face with them. They wore black sweatpants, a dark blue jacket and the long, black scarf was wound up around their neck and hid the bottom half of their face. The hoodie took care of hiding most of the top half. Clearly, the attire of an honest passerby.

“Christine?”

The impression grew on me that they were another freelancer. The good news was, I was allowed to use my powers as self-defense against freelancers. The tricky thing was, I had to first make sure they weren’t just an eccentric specimen of the human society. Not only is it forbidden for freelancers to use their powers against humans, it’s also bad business to attack a potential client.

“Who are you?”

“We didn’t know you were still around. I was shocked to see you at the opera house.”

He sounded masculine, so I’m going call them “he” until further notice. His monotonous voice didn’t reflect the meaning of his words. It actually made him sound kind of sarcastic. I tried to get closer, but he backed away again. “You were the one who sabotaged the concert,” I said.

“No, it wasn’t me.”

Whatever he said was bound to make me suspicious. His outfit might have made me biased against him.

“In that case, what were you doing there?”

“I don’t know who did it, but I…”

“Christine!”

Someone called me from behind. A flicker of distraction was all it took for the stalker to vanish. I observed the street, but there were no traces of him left, not even the shadow of a scarf trailing in the wind.

“Christine?”

She noticed something had been going on before her arrival. She also noticed it was none of her business, so she wiped the curiosity from her face and said, “You wanted to talk to me?”

I collected myself and gestured toward the coffeeshop. “Yes, let’s get inside.”

***

The tinkling of the chime drowned the patter of the raindrops as we passed the door of the coffee shop. Tara sat heavily in front of me with her duffel bag on her laps. My mind was still preoccupied with my encounter with the stranger, so I may have been slow to initiate the discussion. Tara rubbed her eyes as though she struggled to stay awake. “I can’t wait to go home and ice my feet.”

“Ice your feet?”

She didn’t explain any further, so I gathered this was a normal thing as far as she was concerned. Anyway, the main subject.

“I saw your performance from the Prix de Lausanne.”

“Yeah, so?”

By her lack of enthusiasm, I understood that she thought I could have waited the next day to tell her. Let’s skip the long introduction then. “What happened?”

“What?”

“Three years ago, people said you had everything it takes to become a great dancer. What changed?”

She let out a big sigh and looked away. I bet it wasn’t the first time someone asked her this question. “Nothing changed. It’s just that people don’t like me.”

It was very possible she was right, and that being aware of other people’s feelings made her underperform. I was skeptical however that this was the whole story. If no one liked her to start with, then the MBT wouldn’t have hired her.

Working for Tara was turning out to be much harder than I thought initially. If it had been only a question of skills, I had a few cheap spells that could help with that. However, psychology was trickier to work with, especially if Tara hid things from me.

Throughout my illustrious career, I’ve had clients who needed a reality check more than anything else. In such cases, my professional duty was to make them understand that the goal they cherished the most maybe wasn’t the best for them.

“Why don’t you change company then? You might find a place where you get along with others.”

“The MBT is one of the most prestigious companies in the country. And I have no guarantee I’ll be taken somewhere else.”

At least I had tried. It’s often the fear of uncertainty that keeps people stuck in a bad situation. It might help if I told her the director planned on letting her go. Or she might think I was bluffing.

“You think I’m selfish,” she said in an even tone, like she was commenting on the wetness of the rain.

Was Tara trying to provoke me? “That’s not what I said.”

“You think it, though. How many dreams are never fulfilled? Why do I deserve to have mine come true?”

Her question wasn’t a request for an answer, so I remained silent and let her finish. She never pursued her thought, though. She simply got up and left before I even had the chance of delving any deeper into the issue.

What a frustrating situation. Such a waste of time. What was the point of forcing me into a contract if she wasn’t going to cooperate?

***

Once she was gone, I extricated myself from my chair and decided to walk the rest of the way home. It still rained, but when I spotted Tara waiting at my bus stop, I thought it would be too awkward to wait in silence side by side with her.

She should have sought out someone else’s help. As my encounter with the stranger suggested, there were plenty of freelancers around. Weirdly enough, the image of her sad silhouette waiting alone at the bus stop haunted me more than my discussion with that weird guy.

A car started following me as soon as I stepped into a quieter neighborhood. I heard its motor slow down behind me. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder; in the obscurity, the car could have been black or dark blue. The window of the passenger side rolled down and the driver called me, “Christine, it’s me!”

I recognized Jayda’s grating tone, so I kept walking. “She’s your client, right?”

Last I heard, there were billions of “she’s” in the world. Jayda should be more specific.

“Who?”

“The dancer in the video. Tara.”

“I shouldn’t discuss my clients with you. It’s unethical.”

“Since when do freelancers care about ethics?”

I don’t know how many freelancers Jayda had met in her life, but she was spot on. Freelancers are notorious assholes. She stopped her car and reached over to open the passenger door. I gave her a disdainful look before sitting. It rained pretty hard.

Jayda wasn’t wearing anything to hide her blind eye. The eyepatch, Midnight Pirate’s signature, was too conspicuous to be worn in public at this point.

“You’re back at work?” Jayda asked while she drove us to god knows where.

“Apparently.”

“You told me I would be your last client. I don’t feel special anymore.” Even though she said that with a joking smile, Jayda was the kind of girl to take everything personal.

I didn’t volunteer any extra information. She took the tweezers to pull out a reaction from me. “Why her?”

“I got bored.”

Jayda chuckled.

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“You’re funny. If it wasn’t for Odette, I would think that people like you really don’t care about us mere mortals.”

That comment was pretty insensitive. By “people like me,” Jayda obviously meant freelancers. Again, she wasn’t wrong; it’s just that it made me sound like a shitty protagonist.

The streets became busier and busier. Jayda drove back to the area I had just left, and then we went further down the main street into the wealthiest neighborhood of the city. There, we passed by some huge houses equipped with garages I wouldn’t mind living in.

Jayda entered a driveway and parked in front of some sort of manor. The whole thing was a bit ostentatious. That said, if you’re rich enough to afford such a house, I bet you don’t care about my opinion.

“Jayda, this is a private property. You can’t park here,” I said.

She snorted. “Come in. I need your opinion on something.”