Serving in her Blindspot Pt. 03

We didn't speak on the journey down, not after mistress had me plug her phone into the car so that she could listen to her audiobook through the speakers. As always, I stood no chance of following a plot I'd jumped into several hours in. I wasn't even sure if it was the same book as the last one I'd heard her listening to.

I focused on the interstate instead, wider and faster than any road I'd driven on before. It was fun, overtaking big trucks and being overtaken by fast cars. The car always feels more like my car than hers. She might own it, but I'm the only driver listed on the insurance. Besides, legally speaking she owns my toothbrush as well, but I'd never call it hers.

We only stopped once, to take a leak in a gas station toilet and eat Mede's sandwiches on a bench a little way from the pumps. Tuna and cucumber, with "Good Luck!" written on the paper wrapping for my benefit, along with a little smiley face. The gesture moves me more than it should, probably because it's the only recognition I've had that my life is changing too.

Our destination is a small condo building relatively close to the campus, but with a kind of upmarket air that quietly signifies this wouldn't normally be a place for students. At least, ones with my owner's net worth. The parking lot is underground and our host has already put my car into the system, with a dedicated parking space some of the way in. It looks comical among the much newer vehicles, which makes me hope that my disability badge is enough to keep the other residents from complaining or if I'll have to park it further back, where no doubt there's a section of ultrasafe people carriers suitable for nannies and their charges.

The décor in the elevator is modern and neutral, and that trend continues into our corridor on the sixth floor. I was half expecting the penthouse, honestly, but I suppose this is just student accommodation for Toshi, not a permanent home.

There are only two apartments on this floor. Given the size of the building, that means it's ludicrously large for a single apartment. It's worrying; my owner knows how much richer the Arima family -- clan, really -- is than her own, but I think it's one thing to visit her in her father's palatial estate just outside Philadelphia and another thing entirely to stay with a girl her own age who's already richer than my owner will probably ever be.

"We're here," I say, once we've reached the door.

"Thirteen steps to the elevator..." mistress murmurs to herself, as I ring the bell.

The door swings violently open about two seconds later, revealing a short Japanese girl brimming with so much energy it seems like it should have burned through her waifish frame. She's immaculately made up, dressed in a black and gold off the shoulder top and a pair of tight white jeans, with her hair hanging down to her upper back.

"Tori!" she exclaims, my mistress already bracing for the inevitable hug as our host darts forwards, having clearly been waiting right next to the door for us to arrive. She holds the embrace for a moment, eyes closed, before opening them and looking right at me.

"Hi, Ghost," she drawls. "How are you?"

"Well, ma'am," I answer with a curtsey. "Thank you for asking."

"So proper," she giggles, letting my mistress go. "It's so great having you here, Tori."

"I really appreciate this, Toshi," mistress says with a slightly strained smile. "I can't believe campus housing couldn't make something work."

"Their loss," Toshi says, shrugging, then wraps her hand around my owner's wrist. "Come on in, Kanda is making dinner."

Whenever we enter a new place, especially one where we're going to spend a long time, mistress always orders me to describe it for her. Apart from reading documents or textbooks for her, it's the most I ever talk.

"We're in the main room, mistress," I start. "It's furnished in a much more western style than Miss Arima's family home. There are two different clusters of couches, one around a coffee table, the other in front of a TV, and a long dining table with six chairs. Some of Miss Arima's art is on the walls."

Unlike my owner, who's determined to face down economics and higher maths in a fanatical self-improvement drive, Toshi is the youngest of four children and the only girl. Apparently, that made her the universally beloved favourite from the moment she was born and exempted her from any and all expectations.

Like so many idle rich children, she's naturally drifted towards the arts and will probably wander through one humanities module after another until she somehow accumulates enough credits to graduate. In fairness, I do like her art. It's an imitation of traditional Japanese painting in stark red lines on a matte white canvas. I'm not a connoisseur, though, and I don't think she's enjoyed much popularity outside her father's ultranationalist political clique.

"You make it sound so boring," Toshi drawls, some more of her accent slipping through. "I have a tatami room, in case I want to show off, but what's the point in leaving home if I bring home with me? If I wanted that, I could have gone to Tokyo."

I'm not sure she could, actually. I've never quite figured out what the political situation is, but I think her father is persona non grata in the homeland.

Something moves on the other side of one of the couches, a long pale leg appearing for just a moment as it stretches out. I watch, dumbstruck, as a moment later a lithe figure gradually emerges into view, crawling along on all fours with an almost impossible grace, rolling her shoulders and hips as though she was more liquid than solid.

I couldn't imagine how long it took to train a slave to move like that, making every motion of an arm or leg feel as erotic as a striptease. She pauses at the very moment all of her body is revealed, hunching her shoulders down and stretching her hips back before moving on, like she doesn't even know we're here. Her hair shifts like water as she moves, revealing flashes of a red leather collar cinched tight around her neck.

I look away, only to find Toshi grinning at me with smug satisfaction as the sleek creature crawls towards us, somehow moving very quickly without looking like she's even trying. She's wearing a skintight white bodysuit, some kind of spandex fabric patterned with white stripes that have me think zebra for just a moment, before I see the cat ears on her head, the band carefully hidden and fur the exact shade as her raven black hair. When she looks up, I can see whiskers painted on her pale cheeks.

She's heading for Tori. I move quickly, putting myself between the two even as Toshi laughs.

"What's going on?" my mistress demands. Not panicking, but she isn't great with surprises.

"Miss Arima has a catgirl, mistress," I say, as the girl in question sits back on her haunches and looks me dead in the eye as she licks the back of her hand. The stripes on her bodysuit end just before her breasts, framing them like a bolero jacket and leaving a bare patch of white down to her crotch. She's probably about as old as the rest of us, her eyes dancing with amusement. Whatever sympathy I might have felt disappears in an instant; the bitch is fucking with me, and she's enjoying it.

"She's painted whiskers on her cheeks," I begin, in a probably futile effort to embarrass the pet, "and she has black cat ears that match her hair. She's not nude, but she is wearing a skintight white bodysuit with black stripes.

"My Siberian Tiger," Toshi interjects, giggling. "You can pet her if you want, Tori."

"She has a tail, too," I continue. "I can't see if it's a plug."

Toshi huffs, crossing her arms indignantly.

"Of course it isn't; that's not where the tail goes. Honestly, Ghost, haven't you ever seen a cat?"

"Toshi," my mistress interrupts, slowly. "Why do you have a... human pet?"

"Birthday present," she says, simply. "Don't worry, she wasn't, like, raised from birth. I know you don't approve of that."

I didn't, but Toshi has known mistress for longer than I have and, even if she was more talkative, the morality of slavery isn't a common topic of conversation with any owner.

"I just like seeing her slink around, but she's really useful," Toshi continues. "She can help Clara bring your things in while we catch up? Dinner will be done any minute now."

"Sure," my owner says, after a moment's thought. "Do you have anything to drink?"

The cat rises in a single elegant motion that pulls down the fabric on the front of her suit as her legs extend, drawing it tight over her washboard stomach and doing distracting things to her breasts. She flashes me a grin and saunters out into the hall, hips shaking as she reaches back and flicks her long tail to one side, sending its weighted end swinging.

I wait until the elevator doors are fully closed before saying anything, but the cat beats me to it.

"Sorry about that," she says, her voice faintly accented in a way I can't place. It might even be fake, to give an exotic air. "Orders, you know? I'm Sphinx."

"But you're not Egyptian?"

"Is that really what you're hung up on?" she asks with an amused smirk, one hand resting on her hip in a much more natural motion.

I sigh.

"No, I guess not. Clarisse, but most people call me Clara."

"Or Ghost," she says, pointedly. "I've heard a lot about you from mistress."

"So quiet you forget I'm here, right?" I ask. I've never heard the exact reason for Toshi's nickname, but it's an easy enough guess.

"Honestly I think it's awesome what you do," Sphinx says, seemingly genuinely. "It's hard to think of more meaningful work."

"Thank you," I say, taken aback. "And you? Are you..."

"A cat full time?" She flashes me a grin, all pristine white teeth. I almost expected sharp canines. "Yes and no. I was a birthday present, but technically I've been hers since we were both ten. Her father bought me from a made-to-order brokerage that trains up their products to the client's exact specs."

We hit the basement, the doors sliding open. Sphinx leans against them.

"Think you can bring the bags in while I hold the doors? It'll save us a few trips."

"Sounds good," I answer. It means I'll be doing most of the lifting, but the plan does make sense. "So, what else can you do?"

"I got put through a crash course of everything, really. I can be a personal assistant, handmaiden, dancer, seneschal, concubine, translator, therapist, housekeeper. Not quite an accountant yet, but I've done some foundational courses. A lifelong companion, basically, with a price tag to match. The pet stuff started in about year five because that's when mistress got a say on my curriculum and I think she was going through a phase. Until she needs the rest, that's basically what I am."

"Translator?" I ask, grabbing the first few bags from the trunk.

"I hear you're Francophone?" she asks, effortlessly switching into my native tongue.

"God, I've barely spoken French since I was sold," I muse, grateful for the chance. "We should probably stick to English around our owners, but I'd love it if we could talk some more when we're alone?"

"Absolutely," Sphinx confirms with a nod as I push past her with the next set of cases. "I could teach you some Japanese if you want?"

"I don't know if I'll be able to learn. I don't really get much free time."

"I wanted to ask about that," Sphinx says, once the last cases are in and the doors have slid shut. "How intensive is your workload?"

"I can help with the housework once my mistress is familiar enough with the apartment that she can move around without my help, but if she goes out I have to go with her."

"We can work with that."

"I take it you're running the show?"

"Ehh..." she murmurs, waving a hand. "It's up in the air. I'm more qualified, Kanda has seniority. She's in a bit of a funk right now, so I've been letting her take the lead on the housework."

"Great," I murmur, rolling my eyes. A staff of two and there's already infighting.

"Don't worry, neither of us will drag you into it. Mistress has made it very clear that your work takes priority."

"Do you like her?" I ask, the words escaping my mouth before I can stop them. Maybe speaking in French has me letting my guard down?

"Yeah, I do," Sphinx answers plainly. "I mean of course a lot of that's conditioning; I slept beneath a picture of her for eight years, and she'd visit every now and then for familiarisation. Even so, I like her. She's a spoiled princess whose every whim is treated as a universal law, but somehow she's not a terrible person. I mean, look at what she's doing for your mistress."

I wince. "Sorry, that was insensitive of me. But please try not to bring up why we're staying here. Mistress gets insecure about charity."

"Noted. I'll tell Kanda and drop some hints to Arima-Sama." She pauses, grins, the motion shifting the black whiskers drawn on her cheeks. "You know, you're a lot more talkative than I'd heard."

"Do you still pretend to be a cat when your mistress isn't around?" I ask, then sigh. "It's charity, again. Mistress doesn't like how much she depends on others now, so I try to make myself as unobtrusive as I can. Let her live her life, on her terms."

The lift arrives, the pair of us shifting the luggage into the hall before Sphinx makes up the difference by grabbing the two heaviest bags herself, her back muscles shifting beneath the black and white stripes as we get the bags inside and lock the door.

She doesn't shift back into cat mode as I was half expecting, but our owners are both preoccupied with the meal being laid in front of them by a short woman who must be Kanda, wearing the same undecorated deep blue kimono as all of the Arima family's servants, including the older, free staff Toshi's father brought with him from Japan, though they've mostly aged up into senior posts or found less servile work in his corporate empire.

The girl definitely isn't free, with a red silk collar looped tightly around her neck, the same shade as the wide band around her waist holding the garment together. She's maybe a little younger than the rest of us and a mix of Japanese and some darker stock, which probably makes her a houseborn bastard like me. I wonder if she was assigned to this post or if there was some fierce competition among the household for the privilege?

She serves dinner with the uncanny grace I've come to expect from that household, setting down plates of salmon and steamed vegetables in front of the two free women and pouring out exactly the right amount from a bottle of white wine. I can't help but notice that it's western food, served at a western table. Clearly Toshi is spreading her wings now that she's free of the family compound.

While Sphinx and I shuttle the luggage through, the maid remains at her place a metre back from the table, hands clasped in front of her and head bowed just far enough that she can still see the diners. She fades into the background as well as I ever have, and I can't help but smile at the performance. It's almost nostalgic; the uniform is different, of course, but before I was sold my family and I all moved and stood in the exact same way.

My owner's room is large, of course, with its own bathroom and a really nice view of a park that will go completely unappreciated. The bed is absurd, almost larger on its own than the quarters back at my owner's home, the little shower-toilet included. It's already made up with deep blue sheets blooming with red roses. Sphinx follows my lead as I try to get everything stowed in a way that would be easily accessible for my owner, organising the dresser in the same way as home and decorating the place with enough of her belongings that it'll be clear to any guests that a person does actually live here.

Not that I want to think about guests in that big bed and all the complications that implies, but she is attending college and if that's her will then I just have to go along with it.

"Do you know where she wants you?" Sphinx asks, holding up one of my old uniforms. "There's space in the quarters, unless she's used to having you in her bed."

"No, she..." I trail off, then push on as best I can. "I've got a futon, slept next to her bed because there wasn't room in our quarters. I'll ask, see what she wants."

I step back, surveying the space. It's a good room, light and airy with more than enough space for a desk and an armchair even with the absurd bed. There's a painting directly across from the bed, one of Toshi's. Red lines flow like water on the canvas, sparse circles and squiggles creating the barest impression of a pond and lily pads on the left side. On the right, the red lines are like a dense, flickering firestorm of light, creating a figure seated on the edge of the pond, one foot dangling into the water.

Like a magic eye picture, the features of that figure leap out to me, the lines on her face encouraging the viewer to fill in the blanks. It's Victoria. I know the pond from the Arima estate, but I've never seen her near it. It's probably based on a photo taken before she went blind.

On a whim, I lift up one corner of the bedsheets and carefully sit down on the mattress, letting out a surprised but appreciative noise at its comfort as I study the painting, perfectly positioned to be the first thing a sleeper would see when they woke up. If only she could.

"How the other half lives, right?" Sphinx teases, with wry grin and a knowing look in her eyes.