The Cloak's Shadow

by Elle Beauregard

  It was a goddamned miracle.

  He looked at Zander. She was the miracle. He hadn’t seen a single spirit since the moment she appeared beside him in that bar.

  "Well, my apartment is just up there," Zander said, motioning to an old, brick building coming up on their right and slowing her stride.

  It was a second or two before Callum managed to wipe what he felt sure was a zen-as-hell expression off his face.

  She smiled, turning toward him with her brow quirking in question before her gaze traveled him down and back up. "Do you...want to come up?"

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  “Yeah, so this is my place,” Zander said, pushing the door open and walking in ahead of Callum who was having a hard time believing this was really happening.

  He’d hooked up before, of course, but never like this.

  Never...undistracted.

  “You can throw your stuff wherever,” Zander said as she kicked her shoes off near the closet across the room. “I’m still unpacking so it’s a complete disaster—you can’t make it worse.”

  It wasn’t a disaster. It looked like she was still moving in, sure, but it was an organized kind of chaos. Boxes sat on the floor where a dining table was probably intended to sit. But there were matching plates and bowls neatly stacked on the shelves in the kitchen, and books in the bookcase. It was a studio so there wasn’t any sofa to speak of, but her bed was made.

  Callum spotted a door that could only lead to the bathroom and ticked a nod at it. “Mind if I...?”

  “Go for it,” she replied. “Then I want you to tell me all about the show you saw in Tulsa.”

  He laughed under his breath as he closed himself into the bathroom. Then he pulled his phone from his back pocket, brought up a text to his basically-brother, and brought his thumbs to the screen:

  Be home late. Or maybe early tomorrow.

  Scott: Rock on. What about Rhia?

  Callum: No need.

  Scott: Runes?

  Callum: No. But it’s fine. I’ll explain later.

  ...

  He could see Scott typing for a solid ten seconds before the message came through.

  Scott: ...I’ll assume it’s worth it. Don’t be dumb.

  Callum rolled his eyes and dropped his phone back into his pocket.

  It was most definitely going to be worth it.

  Then he took a breath and cracked the door open.

  His heart leapt to his throat when he saw Zander lying across her bed, posing for him. But her clothes were on and she was still, her breathing slow.

  Heart moving back into place, Callum slowly crossed the small room to make sure he was seeing the scene correctly.

  Sure enough, her eyes were closed.

  She had been posing for him though, and knowing that made him smile. Her head was back on the pillow, her hand by her face. The neck of her tee was purposefully pulled low, showing what would be the top of her cleavage if she had any to speak of. There was a tattoo on the inside of her wrist that read “I Alone” in stylized cursive.

  He had to respect the Live lyric, though that wasn’t the song he’d have chosen. He wondered what it was about that song that made it worthy of ink for her.

  It took a moment for him to realize he was staring at her while she slept—which was a little creepy. So, shaking his head, he pulled his phone from his pocket once again as he crossed the room to the front door. He should text Scott to tell him he was on his way home so the guy didn’t come out swinging when Callum arrived earlier than expected. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, distracted.

  There was a small garbage can by the door full of disposable coffee cups. Mostly Starbucks—which made sense, there was one down the street—but a couple of local joints were represented in the trash too.

  Zander appreciated a good cup of coffee, it would seem. He could respect that as much as the Live lyric.

  Damn she was cool. And he didn’t even have her number. So, did that mean when he left here that would that be it? Would she just become another stranger he’d talked to in a bar?

  Turning to look at her kitchen counter, he didn’t expect to see anything to write with but a pen was sitting there like it was waiting for him. He took it as a sign from the universe and pulled the receipt from the bar out of his back pocket. He hastily scribbled his phone number across the back of it and left it on the counter.

  He gave her one last quick look—she hadn’t moved a muscle—then he let himself out into the hall.

  Change of plans. Be home in 30.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Zander came awake on a deep inhale, her eyes opening and alertness finding her like a cork springing from a bottle of champagne. Her head hurt, but not the way it would have if she was hungover. As she found more alertness she realized the why of it; when she’d fallen asleep for the second time last night, she’d done it with her head at a seriously weird angle, her body half sitting up against the wall behind her bed.

  She groaned as she sat up and stretched the kink out of her neck.

  The first time she’d woken up had been in the middle of the night, to the sound of her apartment door clicking closed.

  As Callum left.

  After she fell asleep on her bed like a passed-out college freshman.

  Embarrassment and agitation crept up her spine just reliving it in her head. What must he have been thinking as he closed that door behind him?

  Ugh!

  She hadn’t even been that drunk! She just...hadn’t really been sleeping much lately. Her brain had been on overdrive for the last two weeks, and not in the this-is-cool-I’ll-get-stuff-done kind of way. More in the my-brain-is-going-to-cough-up-every-bad-thing-that’s-ever-happened-to-me kind of way.

  Which is exactly what had happened last night.

  She’d woken up too late to recover from the serious social blunder of falling asleep after asking the guy up to her apartment—and then she hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep to save her life.

  All this shit was supposed to get better when she moved, she thought bitterly as she swung her feet over the side of her bed. But no, in the two weeks since she’d been here it had gotten worse. She was better in some ways—she was no longer nervous just walking down the street, scared she’d run into the last person in the world she wanted to see—but she was so much worse off in the sleep department.

  It was the new place, she told herself for the tenth time. She was adjusting to a whole new city, a new job—a new life! So, yeah, some backsliding in the anxiety department was to be expected, right?

  Right.

  Besides, eventually she had managed to fall back to sleep, which was better than it had been a week and a half ago when she’d woken up at two in the morning and still been awake when her alarm clock went off at seven a.m.. That had been a rough day at work.

  So, yeah, she’d fallen back to sleep eventually last night—or rather very early this morning.

  What time even was it at this point?

  Zander reached for her cell phone, lying on the table beside her bed, and brought it into her line of sight.

  8:58 a.m..

  So she’d logged, what? Four hours of sleep? Not too bad, all things considered.

  Wait.

  Holy shit! It was nine a.m.!

  She was meeting a friend for brunch in an hour!

  Zander bound from her bed and made a beeline for the tiny bathroom. She cranked on the shower and glanced in the mirror, noting the make-up smudged under her eyes despite having washed her face after Callum left. The dingy yellow light in the bathroom was so unflattering she didn’t take time to scrutinize herself there. That kind of thing was best left for the mirror she’d hung by the only window in the place, near her bed. If she timed everything right, she could squeeze in a shower to counteract the bedhead she was rocking, and still have time for a quick do-I-look-okay check before running out the door. Her standards weren’t anything to write home about, she just liked to know there wasn’t anyth
ing stuck in her teeth and that her hair and make-up looked I-don’t-give-a-shit good. That’s all.

  Fifty-five minutes later, Zander’s head panged with discomfort when she jostled out of the way of a waitress carrying a tray of coffee cups across the lobby of a small, bustling restaurant. Scratch that. The restaurant was small by chain standards, but relatively large for being an apparently popular local hole-in-the-wall. Which led her to believe this was going to be good. Finding off-the-tourist-track local places to eat was one of Zander’s very favorite things.

  She had managed to shower, brush her teeth, throw on a pair of low-slung jeans and her favorite tee, even slap on some eye liner in the hopes of camouflaging the didn’t-get-enough-sleep look she was rocking, all before hitting the sidewalk to order a ride. She hadn’t taken anything for her headache, but she’d downed a bottle of water while she waited for the lift to the restaurant—which she hadn’t realized was out on Algier’s Point. She’d panicked for a second when the driver drove over a bridge, but a quick and discrete check on her phone confirmed the driver wasn’t taking her out to a place where her body would never be found. At least probably not.

  Zander grinned when she spotted the long-lost friend she’d risked her life to meet up with. She weaved her way across the lobby and knew Wren had caught sight of her when her brown eyes went wide with recognition.

  "Holy shit!" Wren exclaimed, opening her arms like she'd seen Zander just three weeks ago—instead of three years.

  Zander hugged her with a laugh then pulled back. "How do you still look like the day we graduated?"

  "You're one to talk!" Wren shot back, smiling broadly. "You’re such a babe! I love the pixie cut, by the way. When did you do that?"

  "Just after undergrad, come to think of it," Zander replied with a grin. "When did you stop straightening yours?"

  Wren tilted her head like she was trying to remember. One of her long gold earrings grazed her shoulder when she did it. "Around the same time, I guess. How have we not seen each other for so long?"

  "Right?" Zander agreed. It was the right thing to say, but Zander knew the reason.

  The last three years had been a whirlwind—or maybe more like a tornado. She’d been tossed around in the winds of family drama, her father’s substance abuse, and her parents’ violent divorce. Now that she was done with the Dorothy routine, she was ready to cast all that debris aside and have a real social life again. Assuming she still remembered how to do that. Sometimes she worried she’d forgotten how to have friends.

  When they were finally shown to a small table on the edge of the dining room, Zander watched while Wren ordered two mimosas, two cups of coffee, and an order of beignets—“to start”—while she slipped off her light jacket and hung it on the back of her chair.

  “I’m still not used to the heat,” Wren said as she sat down and the waitress walked away. “I bet you’re cooking.”

  Wren's medium-brown skin seemed to glow in the light streaming between the wide slats of the shutters on the window beside their table. Her hair was shoulder length and corkscrew curly, but the same caramel color Zander remembered from their time in college together.

  “You could say that, yeah,” Zander laughed. She had moved to New Orleans less than two weeks ago for a fresh start and to launch her career. Reconnecting with an old friend was a surprise, but now that she had she could appreciate what a relief it was to see someone familiar. It didn’t matter she hadn’t seen Wren in more than three years, the comfort of the familiar was there nonetheless.

  "I suggest the crepes," said Wren.

  "Crepes it is, then," Zander replied, though she continued to review the menu for good measure.

  From her peripheral vision, she saw Wren fold her hands on top of the menu she’d never even opened.

  "I'll wait until you're done perusing to begin grilling you with catch-up questions," she said with a smile.

  Laughing quietly, Zander abandoned her perfunctory review of entrees and appetizers. "Fire away,” she said. “I'm an open book.” Well, almost.

  "We'll start with the basics," Wren replied. "What have you been doing since undergrad?"

  That would normally be a basic question, wouldn't it? She went to answer but stopped when the waitress reappeared with the coffee, mimosas and beignets Wren had ordered for them both.

  How had Wren known Zander needed carbs, coffee, and a little hair of the dog?

  "To answer your question, mostly trying to find a job. Then more school," Zander said a minute later as she prepped her coffee. No raw turbinado, so she grabbed a packet of the bleached stuff.

  "That's right, I heard you got your master’s degree," Wren said, reaching for a sugar packet of her own.

  "I did, yeah. Urban Planning." Zander had never expected to graduate from college only to go back a year later—or incur the debt that entailed—but having her master’s degree was part of what had landed her the job she had now, so it wasn’t like she could be mad about it.

  Wren shook her head, her expression all joking as she brought her coffee cup up for a sip. "You're such a brainiac."

  Zander laughed more heartily this time. "Hardly. Besides, aren't you a nurse now?” She thought she remembered hearing that. “That takes a whole hell of a lot of smarts."

  Wren shrugged. "I guess that's true. But I’m still trying to figure out how I didn't know you were moving here until you'd already arrived," Wren remarked. "So I’m either not as smart as I seem, or I wasn't keeping up on social media as closely as I thought I was."

  Zander shook her head. "You only see what the algorithms want you to see anyway." If the last three years had taught her anything, it was how unreliable social media was for maintaining friendships. She took a sip of her freshly cream-and-sugared coffee. Not bad. Would have been better if they'd had raw sugar.

  "I’m not sure I even knew you’d moved," Zander went on after downing another quick sip. "Which is pretty shitty of me.”

  “You had other stuff going on, I think,” Wren replied. “And I didn’t broadcast it. I needed to get away from my family—not exactly something you can post online when your cousins follow you on all the platforms.”

  Zander was relieved when Wren didn’t press her for details about the “stuff” she’d had going on. Her chuckle was a little dark but only because she knew the feeling of needing to get away from everything you knew. In her case, she hadn’t wanted to get away from her family—well, most of it at least (if she never saw her father again, she wouldn’t be upset)—as much as to get away from everything else. Sure, it had been stressful back home, worrying she’d run into her dad, especially when she was in parts of town he was known to frequent, but it wasn’t him she’d been running from, not really. She’d needed to get out of Seattle so she could let old scars heal. At home, the scars inflicted by the violent dissolution of her parents’ marriage had sealed over so they no longer bled, but they hadn’t been able to truly heal under the constant reinjury of memories and worry. Which was why, when the job hunt had proved less-than-fruitful in the Pacific Northwest, she’d looked elsewhere.

  “Do you like it here?” Zander asked her, looking up from her coffee. “Are you happy you left Seattle?” But her eyes caught on Wren’s expression.

  Her brows were furrowed, her gaze far away.

  Zander went to ask her what was wrong, but before she could get the words out, Wren lurched forward slightly. Then she stood from the table with a gasp. Her bangle bracelets jingled when she turned, looking behind her.

  Then her eyes cleared, her gaze coming back into the room like she’d just remembered herself. She looked at Zander, who felt certain she was staring at her long-lost friend like she’d lost her mind.

  Because it sort of seemed like she’d lost her mind.

  “...You okay?” Zander asked. She tried not to sound critical when she said it but fell just short of the mark.

  “Sorry,” Wren said, shaking her head as she took her seat again. “I mean, yeah. I’m fine
.” She pulled her jacket off the back of the chair.

  Zander was eying Wren, watching her shrug the jacket on and wondering what in the hell had just happened when she heard a song she recognized. It was a semi-popular tune from a couple of years back. Very ethereal, very boho-chic. Which was why Zander wasn’t surprised to see Wren reach into her bag and retrieve her ringing cell phone. The song was very much in line with the aesthetic Wren had been rocking since before it was cool.

  “Hey baby,” Wren said, bringing the phone to her ear. “Yeah, I did.”

  Zander cast her gaze around the restaurant, trying to give Wren the illusion of privacy so she could talk to whoever she’d just called “baby.” But looking away did nothing to lessen the awkwardness pressing on Zander’s awareness like fingers against her skin.

  The restaurant was warm and muggy, like everywhere Zander had been since arriving in New Orleans. So then why was everyone around her pulling on their jackets? All around the restaurant, customers were shrugging on cardigans or buttoning blazers.

  Just like Wren had done.

  But it wasn’t cold in here.

  “Yeah, me too,” Wren said, drawing Zander’s attention. “Everybody. Well, almost everybody.”

  Zander turned back just in time to see Wren’s gaze skirt away.

  “Almost everybody,” as in everybody but Zander? Had Wren noticed the way everybody was cold but her?

  You are such a narcissist, Zander thought at herself. There were a hundred reasonable explanations for whatever had just happened. She could only think of a couple of them offhand, but the couple she could think of—HVAC and social anxiety, primarily—were very likely. She needed to cool it.

  “I’m okay. I’ll see you when I get home... Love you.”

  Zander made sure she was smiling when Wren looked up after ending her call and tucking her phone back into her bag. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  Wren gave a dismissive chuckle and wave of her hand. “Totally. All is good. What were we talking about?”

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Callum padded down the hall toward the kitchen, where the smell of crappy coffee was promising relief from the last traces of just-woke-up-mental-fuzziness the shower had left behind. He found his brother staring at the coffee pot, watching it drip.