“Missing–One Black Cat”

Chapter 5

Noir looked at the sleeping man on the bed. He didn’t know why he was still here with the man.. He should be trying to find...something? Someone? He had a sense of something missing, something important. A name was trying to come through the mist that seemed to fog his mind lately, but the harder he tried to clear it, the thicker it became. It was confusing.

Some things came naturally, like this English language, yet he didn’t think in it. He spoke it if the person spoke to him in English, but he had to concentrate. His thoughts were in another language. When this man first spoke to him, he used the language in Noir’s head that none of the people around him were using. French, he said. And he called him Ray, which Noir knew was him, but it was a name from his long ago childhood, not a name that anyone used any longer. At least, he didn’t think anyone did. Not even Azura called him that.

Azura. Noir could picture his friend, standing so tall and strong in the Moroccan sun. Sometimes the only shield between Noir and desperate harm was that slim, sure figure. His friend and protector, his brother of the heart. Azura. If only he could find him now, he would be safe. That had been a truth of Noir’s world ever since the darkness became a friend. Surely it was truth in this confusing, cold, mist filled world of pale, English speaking people.

Still, Noir frowned. Somewhere in the mists that filled his mind, much as the fog filled the gray cityscape that was London, some other truth remained. Another name lingered just out of reach. He wasn’t stupid. Noir had seen his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom he’d found the tall blond man in. He looked very different than he remembered himself looking. He was taller, for one thing. And he needed a shave. He remembered now that in the other place he’d been in, the place he’d escaped from, that man he’d hated had handed him a razor and bade him shave. Noir had thought it a silly thing to do, but to his surprise, his normally smooth jaw had been bristly when he’d felt it.

One of the first things he’d done when he’d secured them new lodging was to shave, disliking the unfamiliar, rough feeling of his unshaven face. He borrowed the razor and shaving brush from his companion, Solomon, who’d watched him without comment, only assisting him when he had difficulty knowing how best to shave his upper lip without cutting himself.

Noir shivered slightly, remembered that firm hand as it had held his chin, and the touch of the blade moving over his lip gently. Solomon had looked so serious as he finished shaving Noir, wiping away the extra soap, his brow creased in concentration. Trying to lighten the mood, Noir had smiled up at him from his position, sitting cross-legged and shirtless on a chair in front of the dresser. A basin of water stood on the dresser and a large oval mirror was on the wall behind it in this room, so there was no escaping Noir’s older visage. He’d looked at it as he cocked an eyebrow up at Solomon’s face in the mirror.

"This is silly, non? You are beaten by thugs, we escape through a window, and here we are, worrying over if I am pretty enough. Absurdité. I think perhaps it is time for you to rest. You look quite pale, m’sieur."

The tall man had smiled ruefully. "I agree...on all counts. You are looking quite pretty now that we’ve cleaned you up a bit, and although I don’t think the time was ill spent, it is a bit absurd that we had to flee out a window. Most foolish of me to be caught unaware like that. I can only say it is unlike me also and I shall see to it that it doesn’t happen again. I thank you for your assistance. Even with your memory impaired you are more than a match for most men, my black cat. Can I trust that you will still be here if I do rest? And will you please call me Solomon? Though I have to say, m’sieur is an improvement over some of the things you’ve called me in the past "

Noir found the smile a singularly attractive one, and had returned it with his own engaging grin, little knowing the effect it had on his companion. Catching his breath at the sight of those sparkling green eyes smiling at him and the even white teeth biting lightly on the full lower lip while the now clean shaven upper lip quirked in amusement, Solomon mumbled something about being tired and turned toward the bed.

Swift to apologize for wearing him out after his injury, Noir moved forward to help Solomon take off his jacket. He helped him get settled under the covers of the large double bed in the room, after assuring him that the door was securely locked, that he didn’t need anything further, and that he would be there when Solomon awoke from his rest.

Which is what brought Noir to his current vigil by Solomon’s bedside. He brushed his hand over the sleeping detective’s fair hair. The man looked younger in his sleep, more vulnerable. He found himself drawn to him, trusting him more than was warranted by such a short acquaintance. And yet, something told Noir that he wasn’t the missing piece to the puzzle. Still...he had to be sure....

Noir steadied himself by placing one hand on the pillow on the far side of the sleeping man’s head. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to Solomon’s, finding them warm and firm, yet soft. His tongue slipped out tentatively and tasted...and then lightly traced the outline of those lips, so different from his own. He felt a responsive spark of arousal in his groin, and he deepened the kiss even as he acknowledged somewhere deep in his consciousness that this wasn’t the answer he’d been seeking. This was pleasant... and he sensed it could be more than pleasant...but he concluded it wasn’t what he’d been missing even as he felt the large hand come around to the back of his head and gently hold him steady as the mouth beneath his opened to his questing tongue.

Blue eyes were looking at him searchingly.

Solomon gently moved Noir’s head away from his own, and asked, somewhat breathlessly, "Is this what you really want, Ray...I mean, Noir?"

Noir closed his eyes against that penetrating gaze. His body had known much harsher treatment than what could be found here. He knew that with a certainty that held no doubt. And still, the question lingered between them. Did he want this? His body did, certainly, and yet, he knew... with whatever part of him was not fourteen...the same part of him that shaved, and liked cigars and top hats and fancy clothes... that while he might enjoy this for the moment, it was not what he wanted. It wasn’t the missing piece of himself that had sent him fleeing his captors before and kept him alive on the streets for the couple of weeks that he had roamed the misty London streets, trying to get his bearings.

"I’m lost," he finally answered, not liking how vulnerable this strange adult voice sounded. He noted absently that they’d been speaking in French.

"I know," Solomon answered quietly. "But we’ll find a way to find you again, the real you, the one you’ve grown into. I think you’ll be glad to get back to yourself again. You have more friends than me looking for you, you know. Or maybe you don’t. I have to find a way to get word to them but once we do, I think we’ll be able to solve this problem. Until then...." He looked wryly at his former adversary. "For now, I think it best if we forego any such amorous activities, at least until I am sure you are more yourself. I promise to be a perfect gentleman if you wish to rest a while also. Although perhaps you would do well to sleep on top of the cover? You can use that extra blanket from the closet as a covering if it gets chilly."

Glad that he wasn’t being consigned to the chair or floor to sleep, and feeling annoyed with himself for his squeamishness, which he felt sure was not at all like himself, Noir rejected that notion. Muttering, "Don’t be silly, I trust you," he pulled down the covers in order to crawl in next to Solomon. Within moments, he was sound asleep, a thin but wiry arm thrown carelessly over the other man’s chest.

As he lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Solomon Sugar thought to himself how like Noir, his irksome black cat, that was. To blithely ignore the fact that it wasn’t a matter of whether Noir trusted Solomon...but whether Solomon trusted himself! Or Noir, he thought grumpily, as his bed partner snuggled closer in his sleep, causing him to stifle another groan.

There was no way he was getting any sleep at all, Solomon realized. Not when he had Ray Courland in bed next to him and he couldn’t do a thing about it. Surely this was a hell especially designed for him?
 

* * *

Laila decided that she was in a hell especially designed just for her. There was no other explanation for how she came to be trapped in one of the dingiest parts of London with one of France’s highest born nobles, with surely France’s most delicate stomach, and yet the owner of that delicate organ felt that he was genetically predestined to take care of her! Which idiotic chivalry was delaying her in her efforts to rescue Noir!

Thinking of Noir reminded her that he would want her to be kind to Florian, especially when Florian was puking out what few brains he had left in that blond head of his. She pushed back her black bangs and sighed...heavily.

"Are you feeling alright, Laila? That is the third time you’ve taken a breath like that. Are you short of breath, perhaps from all this walking around? I thought it might be too strenuous for you and indeed, that large meal you had at the questionable foodstall did not look quite sanitary, but you insisted...." Florian’s pale face looked at her worriedly. Quite frankly, he was the one who looked ready to drop. They’d been checking hotels for hours, looking for any sign of the missing Solomon Sugar and Noir.

Laila bit back a sharp retort. Inspiration struck. She tried to look less than the pillar of strength and unladylike vigor that she was. "Actually, Florian, I could stand a nice cup of tea. Perhaps you could take a look inside that hotel over there and see if they saw any trace of Noir and Sugar and I’ll wait for you over in that tearoom?"

"Are you sure you are feeling well enough to go there alone? I don’t feel right leaving you on your own." Florian hesitated. Despite her independent ways, Laila was Ray’s closest friend and he was not about to let anything happen to her in Ray’s absence. He was too much a gentleman to complain, so he stayed by her side no matter what the cost, but he couldn’t help wishing that the price were not quite so hard on his constitution. Instead of meals at a decent restaurant as he suggested, she insisted on buying from street corner vendors, and wasn’t pleased until he partook of the no doubt spoiled victuals along with her. He was delighted that she wanted tea from a genuine looking tea house, although he of course was sorry that she was feeling tired. One would never guess...she looked as hale and hearty as ever, he reflected enviously. Smiling encouragingly, he escorted her to the door of the tea room and then walked briskly back to make inquiries at the hotel she’d pointed out to him.

Florian was delighted to learn from the desk clerk that his "brother" Simon Sweet, which was the alias Solomon had told them he would use in case of emergency, was registered at the hotel, along with his cousin! Before heading up to greet them, he decided it would only be fair to get Laila, who was just as eager to see Ray. Well, almost as eager, he thought, smiling to himself, practically giddy with relief. He told the clerk he would be back in a minute, as he needed to get his...for a minute his mind went blank. Who should he say Laila was?

"My brother’s wife," he concluded calmly, hoping to give an air of respectability to their little group, especially since he knew Laila would insist on going up to the room, gentlemen’s room or not. "She’s been so frantic since we lost the paper that had their hotel’s name on it. We’ve been searching everywhere since arriving from France...you can imagine her fatigue."

"Of course. It must have been quite distressing. As I understand it, they had to move hotels anyway. There was trouble in their first one...burglars, if you can imagine! I am afraid Mrs. Sweet will be quite upset to see your brother. He was injured in an altercation with the ruffians. Nothing too serious, but quite a blow to the head. Thank goodness for your cousin. He was able to rout the ruffians with his cane!"

Florian smiled at the clerk, his charming smile quite flooring the man. This was good news. Not that Solomon had been hurt, of course, but that Ray had been able to help! He must be quite his old self! Making his excuses to the clerk and promising to return shortly, Florian headed back across the street.

Reaching the doorway of the tea room, Florian was just in time to see Laila being strong armed out the back of the room by two men. Frowning, he tried to think quickly of what would be the best thing to do. He wouldn’t be able to overpower them. And if causing a disturbance would have worked, Laila would have done that. They must be holding some threat over her to keep her quiet.

Reaching a decision, Florian backed out of the tea shop and then moved as quickly and quietly as possible to the back of the building, just in time to see Laila being dragged out from a rear door of the tea shop. He crouched behind a handy barrel until he saw them head off down the alleyway behind the shops, and then took off after them, careful to follow at a safe distance. Hopefully he would be able to find out where these men were taking Laila. Then he had only to get back to Ray and Solomon and bring them back to her. After that, well, after that he hoped one of the other men would know what to do. Right now it was all he could do to keep the trio in his sight without him getting in their sight.

Noir made stealth seem much easier...and more enjoyable...than it really was, Florian decided. But, a gentleman must do what is required when a lady is in need of rescue. Even when the lady is as tough as Laila.

Especially when the lady is as tough as Laila, he told himself firmly, remembering her kindness to him over the past several days. His amethyst eyes narrowed with determination as he saw the larger of the two men jerk the small woman’s arm roughly when she stumbled in her efforts to keep up with their fast pace.

That man would pay, Florian promised her. For Ray’s sake. And for her own.

 

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