39. Allies

Begrudging the way he looked at the girl – the way every girl wanted to be looked at – Guiliana felt a stab, sharp enough to bring out the worst in her, to wreak havoc, to destroy. 

But the innocuous doll of a girl stood her ground, hitting back with an impish grin, her emerald green eyes whispered when she blinked. Even with the terrible haircut that made her look like a teenage boy, her beauty was hard to ignore. But she didn't seem to see what others saw when she looked into a mirror – if she ever looked into one at all. Her rosy cheeks belied her cunning and wit, while her bony arms peeked gingerly from her sleeves, their frailty at odds with the prime of her youth.

She was both dawn and dusk, day and night at once. 

That must be what he saw in her – Guiliana thought, nipping her lip, her heart a cauldron, brewing every feeling one could taste. 

When the door shut, and they were left alone, she huffed a sigh and sat on the couch across from the girl. "Mira," she said. "That's a pretty name."

"Thank you?" 

Guiliana scoffed, glancing at the last bag of antibiotics still dripping into her vein. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's um, it's complicated."

"More complicated than us?"

Huddling into herself on the couch, the girl pursed her lips which looked like a petal of the cherry blossom. "I don't know what happened between you guys, so I can't tell which is more."

Guiliana laughed. "Let's say, how would you feel if I wanted him back? Would it make it complicated for you?"

"That's your business." Mira dipped her head as she scooped the thick book in her arms. "I'd say good luck."

"You're kind of stubborn, aren't you?" Guiliana squinted, raising her chin as her hands clasped over her crossed knees. 

"Stubbornness keeps me alive," she countered, pointing at the IV bags hanging from the stand pole. "So, thank you for the compliment."

Snorting in reply, Guiliana let her eyes roam across his office. From the simple bookshelves lining the wall to the crystal paperweight on the spotless mammoth desk, from the ceiling fixture in stardust patterns to the alabaster coffee table underneath between the couch sets, his taste hadn't changed. She returned her eyes to the girl, who had resumed studying. 

"Are you studying this for him?"

"From him, for me."

"Is that so?"

Mira took her eyes off the book. "Why should I lie about that?" She shook the hand with the IV catheter buried in it. "Does everything have to be romantic?"

"Every woman in denial says that," Guiliana chortled, her arms looping around her midriff. "They don the cloak of feminism and pretend as if the talk of romance debases them, while they all secretly desire what they wouldn't deign."

The girl wheezed a sigh. "I like you, lady. But predicting an argument on your speculation as a fact isn't much to like." She closed the book, shifting on the couch as she looked Guiliana in the eye. 

"I've never said I wouldn't deign to talk about romance. Quite the contrary, I believe romantic interest reflects the kernel of humanity's will and conquest. It's the longing to be seen as who we are, and not just a means to an end. For the same longing, the general difference between the male and the female mentality is such, while men seek validation more in the form of the result of their conquests, women do so in the process, to feel the will on them, to be desired. Of course, it goes both ways from time to time, but in general, if the actions of men build civilizations, women are the ideas that inspire faith and drive the actions. That said, conquest is a phrase. Once done, it must move on to the next for it to be meaningful, from winning one battle to the next to conquering a kingdom, so to speak. Romance, on the other hand, is a stand-alone conquest, of precious moments bound to be shortlived, and because humanity is obsessed with only what lasts, it bears the stigma of a trivial matter." 

The voice. The podcast… Guiliana skipped a breath, her eyes staring wide.

The girl offered a dismissive shrug. "I'd love to rattle on and bore you to tears, but," she opened the book again, drawing out a long sigh while she tossed back her head. "I have three hundred and twenty-six pages to remember if you don't mind."

"Mira de Armas?"

There she paused, and the moment of hesitation lasted long enough to affirm Guiliana's suspicion. The girl kept her head low. "Who?"

Shriek cries ripped from the reception hall, drawing their heads toward the door. "Well, I guess that's my cue, and by the way," said Guiliana as she rose to her feet. "This is also the most fun I have had in ages." She left Mira with a loaded smile that vanished the second she closed the door. Huffing a long sigh, she closed her eyes for a bit, her head spinning as she tried to wrap it around everything that had just unfolded. She opened her eyes. Preceding over to the foyer, she put a hand to her gaping mouth. 

"Stop it!" she yelled, bounding up to Zahid who was throwing punches in Warshon's face. "Stop it right now or I'm calling the police!" She grasped at the burly man's shoulder. "You wanna be investigated, huh? Now? While your wife needs you the most?" 

Zahid panted, halting his fist at his side, his chin jutting out. "You're a fucking quack!" he bellowed at Warshon. "My wife has a serious condition! And you dare suggest Tamen medicine on her, you piece of shit!" Then, pivoting on his heel, he regarded the patients at large. "It is pseudo-science! And you're all fools for believing it!" Looking daggers at Warshon, he turned to Sommer paled in the wheelchair. "Let's go, honey," he said, stooping to her side. "We'll find you a better doctor."

The elevator door slid to the side, and a dead silence claimed the waiting area upon its closing. 

"You okay?" Guiliana grabbed his arm, glancing up at his face bruised and scraped, with rivulets of blood running from his nose. 

"Should have hired security." He licked them and smirked, raising his head, the tip of a thumb grazing his red lips. 

Guiliana snapped away her eyes, her heart racing in her throat. 

"My sincere apologies for the disruption," he said to his patients, his gravelly voice measured and magnetic. "Most of you here, you've known me for a while. Whether my treatment helps, common practice or otherwise, you've experienced the first-hand results. But," he paused, pulling a tissue from a box at the front desk to stop the blood from his nose. "I understand if you have second thoughts after seeing this today. And whatever that is you decide, I respect your decision. Kayla here will be happy to cancel your appointment." 

"I just hated the fucker for keeping me waiting," a cranky old man grumbled from the corner lounge chair with a bowler over a cane he held between his parted knees. "My appointment was at one. It's one twenty-six now!" 

"Mr. Martin," Warshon chuckled, whirling to face him. "Always a pleasure to see you." He tossed away the blood-stained tissue and sanitized his hands before he went to help the man up.

"I can get up myself!" Mr. Martin groused, whisking an arm, his droopy brown eyes wide with a stare. "Tell you the truth, I saw you as my last ditch effort when my butler wheeled me here the first time. My sons wouldn't even bother, all just cheering me on to kick the bucket so they could claim their inheritance. But look at me now! I have reason to suspect my sons sent the fucker here because they hate you for keeping me alive for this long!" He clapped his thigh as he got to his feet. "Which room?" 

Warshon mouthed a thank you with a genuine smile such as Guiliana hadn't seen for a long time, one that folded a dimple in his cheek. "This way." He looked over the shoulder at her with the slightest nod. 

She took the cue, roaming her eyes around the waiting area. Patients and those accompanying them had gone back to what they were doing, and a couple of nurses were scurrying across the floor. A look at the security footage later would suffice to point out the one who shouldn't be here. But what if they were friends of the patients Warshon hadn't met before? 

She went over to the receptionist, the heels of her palms bracing on the edge of the desk.

"Kayla, is it?" she asked, raising her voice.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"May I take a look at the names of the patients for the afternoon?" 

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the receptionist with too polite a smile. "But it's against protocol." 

"But I'm," she took a deliberate pause. "I'm a very, very good friend of Dr. Qusbecq." 

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she apologized again. "Only staff here have access."

Guiliana sighed. "I understand," she smiled back. Out of the corner of her eyes, she espied a man who got to his feet and left. 

A suspect, perhaps, she thought. He'd report to those waiting downstairs, and they'd try to confirm his report by chatting up the patients when they left on what happened. Another call from Lord Qusbecq she should expect in the coming days would tell whether their plan had worked. 

Turning back to Warshon's office, Guiliana furrowed her brow. Despite the grudge she held, she had to admit that Mira was right about her being unprepared. She didn't even know what to expect. Her feet brought her to a halt as she drew a long breath, her head tilting back. She needed allies. 

Putting in the passcode, she opened the door. 

Mira was leaning on her side on the couch against the backrest. "What happened? Is… is he okay?" she wheezed through parted lips, her emerald eyes a whisper of worry. 

Guiliana cocked a brow, her arms folding. A half smile tugged at her lips as she tumbled to Warshon's intention. What a swag – she thought. He didn't just get punched for the theatrics but to get a reaction from her. "Why don't you find out for yourself when he comes back." 

But Mira shook her head. "And what about the DEA commander? Is he okay with being turned away like that? And his wife…" She gagged on a feeble fit of cough. 

"They're all fine," Guiliana said, going over to her side and patting her on the back so thin it gave her a shudder. But are you, though?"

The girl dipped her hand into her pocket and put an inhaler to her mouth—a press followed by an inhale. She buried her head in the crook of her elbow. "I am," she gasped. 

"You sure? Want me to grab him?" 

Mira grabbed her wrist before she turned away. "It comes and goes. No need to bother him." She glanced up at her, a smile hoisting the corners of her lips. 

Guiliana sat next to her. "You sure it's your stubbornness that keeps you alive?"

"The more stubborn you are, the less fragile life becomes," she shrugged, her faint smile turning impish. "That's what I've gathered."

Guiliana shook her head in disbelief as in resonance. To do the impossible, we must convince ourselves first that it is nothing to be afraid of – an idea that inspires faith against all odds. And nothing built character like a tough time. "You're full of surprises, Mira."

The girl shrugged. "All I've done is prattling." 

"Didn't you say that ideas drive actions?"

"Yes, but," Mira coughed and wheezed, drawing a fist to her lips. "I'd rather be the action to carry out my own fate," she continued at length. "Not some abstraction waiting to be fulfilled. Haven't you read novels where characters who talk and only talk are the most annoying?" 

Guiliana loosed a laugh. 

"But with this body," she panted, puffing out her cheeks. "I only have short windows when I can put my thoughts into action. The other time, I can only have them in words. But words, they're subjective. To the ears that understand or are willing, I may be full of surprises, but to others, I'm full of shit. And it sucks. Rambling on, I'm my least favorite character." 

"It wasn't rambling when you mapped out the relationships between all the names by just hearing what I said."

"You should take the credit for explaining the situation well." She hauled herself up a little, bracing an arm on the backrest, a little color returning to her plump cheeks. "I only wrapped up what you said."

"And the analysis?"

"I had the benefit of an outsider's perspective." Another dismissive shrug rippled through her thin shoulders like sunlight glancing off brittle glass. 

Guiliana hissed with a long sigh. "I suppose you aren't going to tell me about Mira de Armas."

Those emerald eyes shuttered dodging hers while she chewed on her lip. "You know her? Maybe you can tell me."

"Not in person, but she writes very much like how you talk," Guiliana replied, her voice flat. Crossing her legs, she leaned forth, her chin propping on the knuckles as she studied the other. "You sure you don't want him to check on you? You don't look well." 

"He has enough on his plate already." The girl firmly shook her head. "And he's only going to mock me for making so little progress." She opened her book with a cry of protest. 

Guiliana smiled. "How about you teach me what you just studied? I have hours to kill and nothing to do."

"Teaching is an effective way to learn," Mira observed, looking incredulous as she lifted her eyes. "But heads up, it's boring."

"Make it interesting."

The impish grin narrowed her emerald gaze. "Challenge accepted."