“Okaaay,” Elle says. “What did he look like? He must have been Oscar Isaac-worthy to get you out of your seat like that.”
I shake my head, not understanding it. Not only where he went, but what came over me. That wasn’t normal. I’ve never had my body react like that to anyone before. Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. It’s not enough to just find someone hot or attractive, but to find yourself attracted on some other realm.
Realm? Okay, calm down, I tell myself, forcing myself to sit back down. You’re getting a bit woo-woo here.
“Lenore?” Elle prods me. “How old was he?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe thirty-five? Forty?”
She scoffs. “You and your older men. No wonder you’re so picky. And no wonder he didn’t stick around. Probably stepped in here and realized we’re all a bunch of youngins. The man can’t party.”
She’s right. The mystery man probably figured out pretty fast that this wasn’t his scene. I mean, yeah, it looks cool, but if you look closely you’ll see how cheap and rough around the edges this place is. It’s all for show.
Still, the disappointment in my chest is palpable.
“Do you think it was the guy following you?” she asks.
I glance at her. Her interest is piqued again. “I don’t know. This man was wearing a suit. The other one was wearing a long coat. I think.”
“A suit?” she exclaims, pressing her fingers into the table. “Since when do you go after men in suits?”
“Since never,” I say. It’s true. I have a very specific type. Black leather jackets, boots, white t-shirts, tattoos, maybe a bit of eyeliner. Matt fits the description to a T. This man did not.
But maybe my type’s been wrong this whole time.
“I think you dodged a bullet there, Lenore,” she says. “Men in suits don’t usually go for girls with tattoos. Believe me, I know.”
She’s probably right. It’s not like I’m covered head-to-toe, but I have a lot for someone my age. My parents have tattoos and they’ve always been strangely encouraging toward me getting them. And as long as I ruminate on what I want and what they mean to me, making sure it’s something special, they’ve even given me the money to do it. I know it’s pretty rare to have that kind of support, so I’ve definitely run with it. Tattoos and jewelry, those are my trademarks.
Matt comes back with our drinks, pulling me out of my head for a moment. We make a toast to the semester almost being done. Matt went to Stanford for one year, met his start-up buddies, and dropped out (which seems to be the popular thing to do around here), but he still sympathizes. Then Elle tells him all about my supposed stalker and the hot guy in the suit, and I swear I see his jaw tighten a little, like the fact that I showed an interest in another guy bothers him.
But I don’t dwell on that too much. The more I think about our relationship, the weirder it gets. Better to just take it at face value.
We end up staying at The Cloister for a couple of hours, until I’m pretty buzzed. But I know I need to do some studying tomorrow, so I don’t want to be totally hungover.
“I’m going to go,” I say, grabbing my purse and sliding out of the bench.
Matt reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait,” he says. “I’ll walk you.”
I give him a quick smile, taking my wrist back. “I’m fine. I’m going to get an Uber. Don’t worry.”
I wave goodbye to Elle and head toward the door, but Matt is hot on my trail.
“Don’t fuck him, Lenore!” Elle yells after us. “You can do better.”
Matt gives her an incredulous look over his shoulder. “Hey, thanks.”
I can’t help but laugh, waving her away. Way to make things awkward, Elle.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him as we step out into the night. The fog seems to have thickened, the air damp, but all the spookiness is gone thanks to the crowds of people in the back garden and heading down the path.
I stop at the side of the road and take out my phone, opening the app. Matt stands beside me, hovering.
I steal a glance at him. “I’m fine. Really. No need to babysit me.”
“I’m not babysitting you,” he says. “I’m looking out for you. If you really do have a stalker…”
“I don’t. The more I think about it, the more I think I’m being paranoid. As you always used to say.” I nod at the church. “Go back inside. Don’t leave Elle by herself.”
“You know she’s fine,” he says. “But you’re not.”
Then, before I can move, he reaches out, cupping my face in his hands and kissing me.
Ah, fuck. Elle was on to something, wasn’t she? She picks up on shit that I don’t. I figured Matt was drunk, but I didn’t think he was this kind of drunk.
I press my fingers into his chest and push him back. “Stop,” I say quietly, licking my lips. My red lipstick is on his face.
“Sorry I…” He shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. “I just think we could start over.”
I manage a sympathetic smile, not liking where this is going. “You have a girlfriend, Matt.”
“I don’t have to have a girlfriend.”
My expression turns withering. “If you’re hoping that sounds romantic, it doesn’t. Come on, man. You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“And I don’t know what you want,” he says sharply. “Do you even know?”
I blink at him, taken aback. Matt is always so mild-mannered and chill, this is the first time I’ve seen him get cross with me.
“What are you getting at?”
He takes a step toward me, dark eyes glinting in the streetlight.
“I’m getting at you,” he says. “I don’t know you at all. You never let anyone in. You don’t even know yourself.”
I feel my cheeks burn, hating how his words are making me feel. “Go back inside, Matt,” I manage to say. “Before you say something even more stupid.”
He stares at me for a moment before he lets out a huff of air and turns around, heading past the bouncer until he disappears into the dark.
Shit, what the hell has gotten into him?
With trembling fingers, I manage to get an Uber, only a minute away. It pulls up, and I slide into the back, trying to get some sense into my head. It was such a strange night anyway, but to have Matt get all weird at the end really pushed it over the edge.
But I’m not so concerned with what he wants from me. He was drunk.
I’m toiling over what he said.
That no one can get close to me.
That I don’t even know myself.
Because he’s right.
And I hate that he sees that in me, and that he used it against me.
I sigh and lean back against the seat. It sucks, but I think it’s probably for the best if I don’t see Matt for a while. Let him get his head on straight.
The ride to my apartment is only ten minutes and I get the Uber to drop me off on Laguna Street. Though the shops and bars of Hayes Street are just blocks away, the neighborhood is dark and quiet as usual. But I’m so lost in my head, I can’t be bothered to be spooked.
I cross the road and go to my door, my parents’ door right next to it. My parents actually live above me. They own the whole row house, and had it split into two residences when I graduated high school. I had the choice to live on campus, and they’d rent this out, or stay here. As much as I wanted to experience the college lifestyle, this apartment is so much cooler than a dorm, and my parents totally leave me alone. For the most part.
I fumble for my keys in my purse, glancing up at their place above. It’s nearly midnight and the lights are all off, my parents fast asleep. They tend to get up at four in the morning, for reasons I’ve never understood. As for me, I never sleep much. My brain won’t turn off.
I take my keys out when I feel a presence behind me.
I gasp, my eyes going wide, the hair at the back of my neck standing on end.
I wrap my fingers around t
he keys, making a fist, prepared to whirl around and stab the attacker in the eye.
“Lenore Warwick?” a man’s smooth voice says from behind me.
I pause, then turn around.
There’s a man standing on the curb. Tall, long dark coat, the shadows too deep to make out his face.
For a moment I think it’s the man from the bar, but I already know it’s not.
My stalker, however, that’s another story.
“Who’s asking?” I say, my voice shaking a little, my fist tight around the keys.
“Forgive me,” he says, stepping forward until he’s in the dim light of my front window, his face emerging from the shadows. “But I’ve been looking for you for quite some time.”
Chapter Two
I stare at the man across from me, trying not to feel disappointed that he’s not the sexy suit man I saw at the bar. That said, he’s still pretty handsome. Aquiline nose, black mussed up hair, light eyes that bounce between blue and green. He’s probably in his early thirties, dressed head to toe in black.
Handsome, and a little creepy.
Can’t explain why.
It might be the fact that he just propositioned me at midnight outside my house, and is most likely the guy who’s been following me.
He gives me a quick smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and reaches into his trench coat, swiftly bringing out a business card, sticking it out for me.
I have to take a step closer to him to take it and I don’t let go of my keys. I quickly snatch the card from him and go back to where I was standing, holding it up to the light.
“Atlas Poe,” I read the card. I glance up at him. “That your real name?”
Another quick smile. “I get asked that a lot.”
All the card says is “Atlas Poe” and “The Guild” and a local phone number.
“What do you want?” I ask. “You some Poe fan obsessed with hunting down women named Lenore?”
He shakes his head slightly, eyes looking dark. “Not a fan of Poe, to be honest.” He clears his throat, gaze narrowing as he looks me over, focusing on the tattoos on my legs below my cut-off denim shorts, the ravens that wrap around my calf, the ram on my thigh. “I tried to stop by earlier to speak to your parents.”
Uneasiness prickles my skin. “It’s midnight. You’re lucky you even caught me.” I pause, feeling brave. “Was that you following me earlier? In Upper Haight?”
He frowns. “Someone was following you?”
I study him for a moment. I don’t think he’s pretending.
“Yeah. Or maybe not,” I tell him. I sigh. The guy is still creeping me out, but I feel a smidge better knowing it wasn’t him. His shoulders are broad but not quite broad enough to match what I saw. “So, what do you want with us?”
He stares at me for a moment, then glances up at my parents’ house. “I’m an associate of your parents.”
“What kind of associate?” My parents work for the California and San Francisco Historical Societies. All their co-workers are hella boring.
He brings his gaze back to mine. “I represent a section of the guild that they belong to.”
“There’s a guild of historians?”
“Something like that.”
“So just call them like a normal person. Send an email. Don’t accost their daughter outside her place at midnight.”
“My apologies,” he says. “I just…” He peers at my chest, and for a moment I think he’s checking out my boobs, but then I remember I buttoned my plaid shirt all the way up. He’s staring at the black skull pendant on the end of one of my many necklaces.
“Black tourmaline,” he says softly, glancing up to meet my eyes.
I frown. “What?”
“Your necklace. It’s black tourmaline.”
I glance down at it, letting the black skull dangle from my fingers. I always assumed it was onyx or something.
“Did your mother give that to you?” he asks.
I make a fist around the skull. “Yeah…”
“Interesting,” he says. Then he offers me a quick smile. “Well, I’m sorry to disturb you so late at night, Lenore. I’ll be sure to drop your parents an email. Again.”
And at that, he turns and walks down the street, his black trench coat flapping behind him until they both merge into the darkness.
I watch the empty space, the street seeming to turn into a black hole, and then I quickly turn, shoving my keys into the door and stepping inside my apartment.
Sanctuary.
I lock the door, checking several times to make sure it’s secure, then go around to the windows in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, and bathroom and make sure they’re locked too. Even though I don’t normally go to sleep until 2 a.m., I quickly get into my nightgown, then go into the bathroom to take off my makeup. I look in the mirror.
Ugh.
I forgot that Matt had kissed me, so I was talking to Atlas that whole time with red lipstick smeared over my lips. Combine that with the fact that my hair is looking unruly and my mascara is smudged under my eyes, it’s no wonder Atlas seemed a little apprehensive about me.
Then again, I’m the one who had every reason to be apprehensive.
I quickly wash my face and crawl into bed, hoping sleep will come for me earlier than usual.
Thankfully, it does.
* * *
The next morning, I wake up tangled in my necklaces. I guess I forgot to take them off last night.
I delicately wrap my fingers around them, careful not to break the thin chains as I pull them away from my neck, briskly rubbing my fingers over the indents left in my neck.
And then everything about last night comes flooding back to me.
The man under the streetlamp.
The man in the suit.
Matt kissing me.
A man named Atlas Poe at the door.
I pull back the skull, staring at the stone. Black tourmaline? I’ll have to ask my mom. I have a lot of questions for her now.
I roll out of bed and blink at the light streaming in through my bedroom window, my eyes straining. They’re especially sensitive this morning, probably from all the drinks I had. I’m glad I don’t have a hangover though. I must have fallen asleep right away, so that helped.
I stagger to the bathroom, filling a glass with water and downing it, repeating the motions a few times, before I get into the shower, trying to wash away the night before.
When I feel clean enough, my head a little brighter, I get dressed in my studying clothes, leggings and a long burgundy sweater, putting my rings, bracelets, and necklaces back on, wrapping my hair into a towel. I have long light-brown hair, but I get blonde highlights done every so often, so I should probably take better care of them and do hair masks and the like, but my beauty practices always fall to the wayside when it comes to school.
I put on my slippers and pad over to the kitchen, searching for coffee for my French press. I should have got more Blue Bottle last night, but I know my parents have a ton of Peets upstairs, so I send my mom a quick text: COMING UP FOR COFFEE and then I grab my keys and head out the door. It doesn’t matter that I have a towel on my head, I’m only outside for a second, using the key to their house and unlocking their door.
I lock it behind me and go up the narrow stairs, letting myself through the top door. My mother is in the kitchen, already pouring coffee into the French press.
“Morning sweetie,” she says to me, smiling. “Run out of coffee or just wanted to see your mom?”
“Both,” I tell her, coming into the kitchen and kissing her on the cheek before sitting down at the kitchen island, elbows on the live wood counter. “Where’s Dad?”
“He already went to the farmer’s market to see what vegetables they had,” she says, pouring hot water into the press. “I’m hoping they still have Romanesco.”
So, my parents are kind of hippies. I grew up surrounded by organic produce, plants in every corner of the house, crystals, tarot cards, my mot
her using moon cycles for everything, a super clean diet. Really, like a lot of families in the Bay Area.
“If they do,” she continues, “will you come over tonight for dinner? I’ll make your favorite pasta.”
“Can’t say no to that.” It’s not the best dish when I need to study, as it makes me rather comatose, but hopefully I’ll need the break by then.
She steps away from the press and peers at me, hand on her hip. My mother looks exceptionally young for her age. Granted, she’s only forty-five, but we often get mistaken for sisters when we’re out and about. Okay, so no one has ever said sisters per se, but they definitely think we’re friends, especially with our tattoos.
Our faces don’t look much alike, but her skin is even better than mine is. She’s got all the glow while I still get acne from time to time and I hate my pores. Her hair is long and blonde, though she always wears it back in a braid. She’s also super slim, and while I’m athletic (years of playing field hockey, basketball, and volleyball helped with that), I have boobs and hips and a butt that can’t be contained. I spent a lot of time trying to get the flat stomach that never came, but I’ve decided there’s better things to do with my time. Her arms are covered in tattoos, hiding scars that she got when she fell into a fire when I was very young.
All I know is that I hope I look like that when I’m her age. My dad looks awesome too, though he’s in the middle of competing with his co-workers at the historical society at trying to grow the longest beard, and my mother and I are so tired of it. He looks more and more like Hagrid every day. My mom says she tries to convince him to give it up, but the man has a lot of pride. He’s in it to win it.
“You look a little tired,” my mom says after a long moment. “How was last night?”
I shrug lightly. “It was fine. The usual.”
“Have a lot to drink?”
Another shrug. “Not really. I kept a good head. Went home early. Do I look hungover?”
“You’re a bit squinty.”
“Oh. Yeah. Light’s bothering me today.” I eye the sun coming in through the east window.
Black Sunshine Page 3
