Chapter Fifty - Red Flags

Chapter Fifty - Red Flags I went out and fetched Misses Tone. She happened to be walking past in the corridor just outside a loop ago, so I knew she'd be around. It wasn't cool, but yeah, I politely asked her--with some insistence--to open the letter for me, making up some drivel about it being an acceptance letter that I couldn't read myself because of nerves. She opened it and didn't explode. No mysterious powders. No magic that I could feel with my less-than-acute magical sense. "Looks like a very nice letter from a... Miss Francisca Ojou," she said. "This Miss has very nice calligraphy. Oh, was this done with a calligraphy pen?" I Reloaded. This time, I paced back and forth, waiting until the letter just popped into existence on my nightstand. Then I used a knife from my kitchen to open it. A clean one. My dear Deadline, I hope this message finds you intact, unscathed, and perhaps even a little pleased with yourself. I, for one, have been thinking quite a bit about our recent encounter. Your timely intervention was... well, let's say it was very much appreciated. You spoke of sending me a bill, yet none ever arrived. Was it forgetfulness, professional modesty, or is it so hard to reach out to me? In the spirit of tying up loose ends—and exploring a new opportunity that I believe may pique your particular kind of interest—I would like to invite you to dinner. You'll find me at Le Sémaphore this coming Saturday at six in the evening. I trust you're familiar with the establishment. The table will be under my name. Come for the payment, stay for the conversation. There's something else I'd like to discuss, something that may require your particular... talents. With warm regards, Francisca Ojou "What the hell," I muttered. "Meow?" Mister Couchtop asked. I continued to pace, then looked over the letter again. Ojou... did admittedly have very pretty handswiring. Mine was chicken scratch. Hers looked like it wasn't far from art. I... sniffed the page. Because it might have been a clue. It smelled like perfume. "Damn," I said. I didn't stop pacing. Okay, so... she sent me a letter, somehow. It would teleport nearby, no matter where I was at about eight in the afternoon. That was some serious magic. Well beyond D-ranker shit. Well, maybe not, I didn't know magic well enough to tell... but my gut told me that this was serious stuff. The letter invited me to a restaurant called... Le Sémaphore? My French was improving, but that didn't quite ring a bell. I checked it out online and found two results. One, a roof-top restaurant in City Centre. A heap of Michelin stars. Three hundred dollar meals. Clientele that were all posh and pretty. A C-ranked chef who hunted his own ingredients? Damn. The other result was a translation of the name. Semaphore, as in the flags. Yeah, this was a red flag alright. The content of the letter... well it wasn't a direct threat, at least. In fact, it was cordial and polite and nice. That almost had my hackles raised even more. Ojou had corpo written all over here. I couldn't exactly start pointing fingers, not when I worked for a corp myself and was happy with the job, but there were levels to these things. Ojou had family who sat on the board. I'd never even see the place where boards met. She lived in a penthouse, and on some days the place where I lived barely qualified as a house. Still... How much had it cost to send this letter? Assuming it was a C-ranker that did it, because this level of magic seemed to be around that level... yeah, she was sitting on heaps of cash. The restaurant had hors d'oeuvres that cost triple digits. Main courses could hit four digits, and there was a waiting list for seating that stretched back months... unless you were a premium member of some club or another, which probably cost what I made in a year to join. Then you could book the place without a reservation. It was also private and discrete. The serving staff were noted for all being deaf and in some cases mute. What the hell. If she decided to pay me... well, how much was her freedom worth to her? Plus, I was certain she'd hit D-rank. That couldn't be placed on me, it was all her, but I was around to help, in a way. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on novelhall. Report any occurrences. I chewed on my lower lip. There'd be security. It was probably, definitely, not worth the risk. But hey. I had awesome magical powers that let me not take risks, so that was worth it, no? I... didn't know what to do. So, I called someone for advice... after Reloading. I needed time to think, and I could get as much as I wanted now. "Heyo?" Jane's voice crackled through old ass phone. "Hey, Jane," I said. "It's... it's me." "Beanstalk!" Jane said. I could hear the sudden happiness in her voice. "Miss me so much? Or did you need me for something?" "The latter," I said ruefully. "I need your professional advice." "As your number one best friend and fixer and potential fuck buddy if you're feeling the itch? Nah? Damn. Anyway, as the best Jane in all of North America, I invite you to throw your woes upon me. As long as they're fashion related." I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Thanks. Only North America?" "Yeah, there's Jane Régny in Europe, though she's long dead." "Let me guess, a fashionista?" I asked. "Hey, I'm not entirely two-note... but yeah, totally. So, what's wrong?" I paused, considering, then launched into it. The line might not be secured, but I didn't care too much, though I'd make an effort to avoid names. "Remember that girl I helped out on Sunday?" "Yeah." "She reached out. Sent me a letter. Like, an actual letter. Don't know how she got it to me. Like magic. Anyway, she invited me to a nice upscale restaurant." "Which one?" Jane asked. I blinked, not expecting that. "Le Sémaphore," I said. Jane whistled. "When?" "Saturday," I said. "Okay... shit. But hey, you had that gig for me, right? We can move it up, do that on Friday after your boring ass job. Then we can see about fitting you. Jane will work miracles! What time?" "Uh, six? Wait, fitting?" "Your dress." "What dress?" I asked. "You are not going to Le Sémaphore in a fucking leotard. Nu-uh. You'll be wearing a Plain-Jane original." I blinked at that. "What, like a little black dress?" "Maybe... no, too cliche. I have this really nice fabric though.... Fuck, now I'm gonna have to pull an all-nighter. This would be so much easier if you let me get my hands all over you. Then I'd know your sizes better." "That might be the worst pickup line I've ever heard," I said. Tempting, though. "But... I wasn't calling about what to wear, I was wondering if I should go at all." "That bitch is loaded. Squeeze her for all she's worth. Better yet, show up looking like god's gift to the gays and her purse is gonna leak more than her panties." I sighed. "You're a real poet, Jane. We'll talk more about it tomorrow. Where did you want to meet for that scouting job? Was that still on the table?" "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'll be there when you take off, not when you return. Got a friend for that. His bike, actually. I'll bring a measuring tape and some shoes for you to try on." "I'll be going to that restaurant armed," I said. "With that sweet new sword? I can work with that. Complicates things, though! Gonna need a belt for the sheath... your ears pierced, right? Got those gauges in? I'll find something silver. Go with a black-silver look. I think. Oh! Pauldrons! Okay, I need to go, Beanstalk. I've got ideas. I'll send you the bill once this is over. Don't faint! And remember, I trade inappropriate PDA for discounts for anyone cute enough! Toodles!" She hung up on me. I was very tempted to Reload, but... Jane might not be entirely wrong. Showing up dressed to impress might not be a bad idea. And I really didn't want to redo that conversation. So, tomorrow was going to suck. Mostly because I already knew that Saturday was gonna suck, and it was only a few days away. And I wasn't going to sleep a damned wink. I really needed to look into a 'go to sleep' spell. Actually... yeah, that was a good plan. What was magic good for if not solving minor inconveniences? I sat down, looked at some online databases that being a D-ranker gave me limited access to. It was boring, but that was fine. It was good to know that there were other options to cure stress-induced insomnia. ***