The War Gate by Chris Stevenson Page B

stiffened. “I won’t ever let them hurt you again. Ever. Don’t be afraid to call me if you’re in danger. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
    She left, almost stumbling on the stoop. Her vision blurred as the tears sprang. She sensed Chubby’s gaze following her across the yard over the flagstones.
    The ignition key fumbled in her hand before she got the engine started. She turned the stereo on full blast, then pressed down on the accelerator. The car took off with a lurch. Avy drove through the streets of Raleigh in a daze, trying to understand everything she’d just heard. Although the last years of her mother’s life had been filled with misery, there had been one person who stood up to defend her, accepting her as a friend. Chubby, Raymond Hammersmith. He had believed in her—taken care of her up until the very end. It tore at Avy’s guts, knowing she had not even shown half that trust or faith in the person who had given her the miracle of life. She had no idea if she could ever squash that guilt, but somehow she knew she had to try to make things right with her soul.
    When she pulled in the rear parking lot behind the Stadium Theater, she took a quick moment to freshen her makeup in the rearview mirror. Composed, Avy exited her car and made her way to the door where she rang the service buzzer.
    Sebastian opened the door, a triangle of pizza hanging from his mouth. She stepped in, setting her purse down. He retrieved a large cardboard box from the counter and presented it to her. He wiggled his eyebrows in invitation to open it. She peeled the top off and swiped the tissue paper aside. It was her costume.
    “Had it dry-cleaned,” he said around a pizza wedge. “Some of the stitches were reinforced. Hey, your eyes are pink. You okay?”
    “It’s the pollen in the air.” She hoped he didn’t read anything else in her expression. Right now she felt like an emotional powder keg. It would be a miracle if she got through the rehearsal session.
    Her eyes roamed over the lavender, nylon, one-piece suit. The costume was sheer, speckled with multicolored sequins. It wastiny. A feathered fantail that frothed from a wide elastic belt served as the waist decoration. She pulled the headpiece out, a beret with a small shock of feathers. It looked “show-girlie,” in a Las Vegas sort of way. She ran a finger through the suit fabric. It was tissue-thin, almost see-through.
    “Very pretty,” she said. “But it looks like just about everything is going to pop out of this. I hope you keep the stage warm.”
    “That’s the whole idea.” He dusted pizza crumbs from his shirt. “Have to keep the eyes of the audience on the beauty rather than the beast. We call it ‘misdirection’ in the trade. I have a feeling I’m going to get away with murder.”
    Avy gave him a playful shove, then entered the bathroom. Inching the suit up was the only way to get it up past her hips, requiring her to exhale. Oh, it was tight. She stood five-nine. The suit had been tailored for someone at least three inches shorter. She had to slump to corral her breasts into it. When she stood erect to draw her shoulders back, the top rode down while at the same time the crotch rode up. Whew, yeah . It was a dinger, all right. She wondered if her buttocks looked like a couple of spring hams ready to punch each other out. The hell with it .
    “Here I come,” she said in warning. She stepped out, gave a twirl.
    Sebastian spit pizza crumbs. “I am going to get away with murder. Nobody is going to watch me. You should be insured as a national treasure.”
    She laughed. “Well, that’s a new one. I thought you were going to ask me if I worked out.” A little tingle shot through her when she noticed him checking her out. She got the belly button tingle—a warning that the dirty little sex demon was sneaking up on her. That was all she needed right now, something that would annihilate her concentration.
    “That occurred to