Rosemary read the files spread out before her, a black curtain of hair draped down her side, the ends brushing against the paper. Rectangular spectacles were perched on the end of her nose. Unlike Piper’s, Rosemary’s eyes were coffee-coloured.
Piper wondered where she got her own green eyes from—not from her mother, and if the curious encounter was anything to go by, not from her father either.
Piper placed the business card on top of the files. The corner flicked as she removed her hand.
“I met him,” said Piper. “About half an hour ago in Soho.”
Her mother’s gaze slid to the business card.
A moment passed before the muscles in her shoulders tensed, and that nervous jaw tick resurfaced. She did that when she had a board meeting at the hospital, or some important interview to do.
Piper watched as the colour drained from her mother’s face and her brown eyes slipped from the card. Her mother’s almond-shaped eyes creased with worry and lifted to meet Piper’s. That was all Piper had needed.
The confirmation.
Piper Reed had met her father that day.
CHAPTER 3
Piper sprawled out on the chaise lounge in the living room.
Her legs draped over the edge, and her hands splayed over her face. Her mother had made her promise not to call the number on the business card. Not until she’d ensured that it was safe.
Rosemary wanted to be the first to contact him, perhaps meet him. Piper supposed they had a lot to talk about. What was the protocol when an estranged father just popped up in their daughter’s life after seventeen years? Did that happen, was it normal?
Piper wasn’t certain—she’d never expected to meet her father. After all, she was the result of a drunken one-night-stand.
The one keepsake Piper had of her father was his name. Colt Stirling. And that’s all.
A flap caught her attention.
Piper slid her hands from her face and looked at the buffet table. Candles scattered the table, and one of the flames flickered as though a breeze had wafted over it. But there wasn’t a breeze, the air was calm. The flame flapped, and then, without warning, it vanished.
A wisp of grey smoke slithered up from the burnt rope like a ribbon. That had happened twice already that week. She’d make sure to never buy candles from Soy Solace again.
Piper sighed and swung her legs over the side of the couch. Her gaze rested on her phone, face-up on the coffee table. The business card was placed beside it, glaring up at her in bold print.
Her tongue darted over her glossed lips. The flavour of cherry stung her taste buds, but her eyes never strayed from the thick white paper on the table.
She leaned forward and snatched the phone. The couch creaked beneath her as she dialled the number and stared at the glowing screen.
Her thumb hovered over the call button.
Tendrils of anxiety coiled in her tummy and slinked all the way up her body, down her arms, to her tingling fingertips.
The pad of her prickling thumb smacked against the call button. The number dialled—a ringtone came from the phone. Piper inhaled, her chest rose and shoulders fell back. She exhaled with a whoosh just as the ringtone stopped. He’d picked up.
As she lifted the phone to her ear, she heard his voice. “I was hoping you’d call,” he said. No welcomes, no greetings, just a statement. One she hoped was true.
“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.
Her eyes slewed to the candles on the buffet table. A crease formed between her brows—all the candles were lit, their flames reaching up an inch, glowing orange into the room.
“I understand this must be difficult for you,” said Colt.
His voice was gentle, much like it had been when she’d met him on the street, but there was a distant edge to it.
“I apologise for reaching out to you the way I did,” he added. “I couldn’t wait. There is something I need to tell you.”
“I’m listening,” she said. Her guarded voice matched her narrowed eyes.
“It cannot be said over the phone. It must be discussed in person.”
“I-I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Her fingers dug into the upholstery, her nails loosening fine threads from the fabric.
“It is imperative that we meet. I have made reservations at La Cheminée.”
Piper knew the place. It was one borough away. The tautness in her face softened as she realised how public the restaurant was.
“7pm,” he said. “I hope to see you there.”
Piper hadn’t noticed the background noise until the call ended. He’d hung up and taken the distant song of traffic with him.
A breathless whisper came from her lips as she looked down at the chaise lounge. Her finger had hooked around a loose thread and pulled it free, above a burn mark. Her mother would be furious.
*
Piper had an extensive wardrobe.
There were outfits for every occasion tucked inside the walk-in wardrobe. All except a meeting-your-father-for-the-first-time ensemble.
It might be silly, but picking through her wardrobe that evening had been the most stressful activity she’d experienced since her mid-year exams. The final result was plain black dress that swept over her knees, red-bottomed heels, and a thin coat.
One could never go wrong with black.
The cab crawled to a stop in a traffic jam.
The driver hadn’t bothered to park or pull over, he just stopped on the road. Piper threw a tenner at him and climbed out.
Idling cars were at a stand-still, so she weaved her way through them to the pavement. Antique lampposts were planted along the street and shone above like city stars.
A red phone box stood near the entrance of La Cheminée, but it wasn’t operational. Not many of them were since the coup d'état of mobile phones. But they had their uses—reflection.
Piper neared the phone box and studied herself in the glass. Her fingers combed through her silky hair that roped down her back in a black waterfall. Dotted freckles pierced through the thin layer of makeup on her cheeks, and ruby-red gloss shone on her plump lips. No matter how often she stared into the mirror that day, she saw the traces of her mother looking back at her.
She didn’t see Colt Stirling.
Before she turned to walk up the stairs to the restaurant, Piper stuck her hand into her coat pocket and switched her phone to silent. If her mother realised she’d left the house, she might call in a panic.
Piper spent most nights out of the house doing what every other teenager of Westminster did—ate at fancy restaurants, blew her allowance at new boutiques around the city, and bribed her way into nightclubs. But that day wasn’t like most days, she thought, as she climbed the limestone steps.
The door to the restaurant opened to a narrow lobby that ended with the hostess standing like a statue at a podium. The wall to the left, Piper saw, was crafted from frosted glass. It was smooth, no shadows flickered on it, which was odd given that it was a Friday night. The restaurant should have been crawling with patrons.
“Good Evening.” The hostess smiled, and it tugged on the edges of her collagen-lips. Piper wondered if they would burst. “Are you here for the party?”
“No,” she said. “I’m here to meet my … someone.”
“I see.”
The hostess had that annoying expression of surprise that Piper had seen so many times before.
Her lips pouted, and she frowned down at the reservation book on the podium, dragging her finger along the list of scribbled names and times.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “We are booked out for a private party tonight.”
Piper huffed and rammed her hands into the deep pockets in her coat.
“I’m to meet Colt Stirling,” she said, failing to keep the impatience from her snappish tone. “He said that he had reservations at seven.”
“And you are…?”
“Piper Reed.”
The hostess stepped away from the podium.
“Right this way, Ms Reed.”
CHAPTER 4
Piper followed through a set of doors to the main dining area.
Just like the shadow-less frosted glass had hinted, the restaurant was empty. The tables were bare, chairs were stacked against the far wall, the bar had stools on top of it.
The hostess zig-zagged around the tables and led her to the back of the restaurant—panelled glass doors pulled open to reveal a cosy courtyard. Stone benches were plotted at the base of leafy trees, fairy lights sparkled above and roped from pillar to pillar, and wrought-iron archways opened to flowery nooks in the corners.
The courtyard wasn’t what Piper had imagined.
She hadn’t expected to walk into a courtyard filled with a dozen people. She noticed, scanning the others, that they were all around the same age as her, in their late teens.
They each had one thing in common; the anxiety that showed in their habits—fiddling with the stems of wineglasses, checking their watches every other second, shifting from one foot to another.
Some wore suits without blazers, others a simple pair of shorts and t-shirt, and Piper even caught a glimpse of a guy in a romper. A daring fashion statement that she respected.
Piper accepted a flute of champagne from a waiter.
He inclined his head and dipped back into the crowd.
No one spared her a glance as she swept down the stairs. After a brief wander, she chose to perch herself on a pew, beneath a low-hanging tree.
A boy slumped on the edge of the bench. His hands were clasped between his thighs, his back curved and head bowed.
Piper read the side of his face. He had long lashes, the kind April paid to have glued on, and soft amber eyes that simmered beneath them. His nose, while fine, had a slight dent in the side, as if it had been broken in a fight once or twice.
He turned to face her, perhaps feeling her gaze on him.
“Kieran,” he said and stuck out his hand. There were smears of dirt on his fingertips and one of his nails had chipped into the nail-bedding.
“Piper,” she said, shaking his hand.
Once their palms separated, she wiped her hand on the underside of her thigh. He didn’t notice.
“You know what’s going on?” he asked, flicking his auburn hair from his forehead.
She looked up at the others in the courtyard and shook her head.
“I heard a few of them saying they’re here to meet Colt,” he said. “You as well?”
Piper turned her head and frowned at him. “Colt Stirling?”
Kieran shrugged, a lazy lift of the shoulders, and replied, “That’s who he said he was.”
A waiter appeared, balancing a tray on the palm of his hand. Atop the tray were red ramekins, overflowing with a crumby crimson food.
Piper supposed it was couscous or ground rice, dyed to match the ramekins. She waved her hand and dismissed the waiter. Kieran didn’t look at the appetisers.
“They’ve been serving that since I got here,” he said. “Nothing else.”
“You aren’t partial to hors d'oeuvres?”
“Not posh-people food,” he said, shaking his head. “Never tastes any good, and looks worse than garbage.”
On behalf of her entire circle, Piper wanted to argue. But then she thought of caviar and escargot and truffles. He had a point.
“When did you get here?” she asked.
A watch didn’t match her outfit, and her phone had been banished to her pocket. If she fished it out to check the time and saw missed calls from her mother, her nerves would break free of their cage.
“Ten to seven,” he said and checked his phone. “Half an hour ago.”
“He’s late.” An iciness glazed her voice. Tardiness was just rude, she thought.
Not a moment after she spoke, a ripple of silence clutched the courtyard.
Kieran and Piper lifted their eyes to the stairs. There, at the open doors, was the reason for the sudden hush. A cloaked man faced them. His hands raised and slid the baggy hood from his head.
It was Colt.
CHAPTER 5
“Does he reckon he’s a Dementor or something?” muttered Kieran.
Piper’s lips quirked at the sides into a snide smile. The cloak wasn’t suited for the weather and event—whatever event that was, Piper still wasn’t sure.
“My sincerest apologies,” Colt announced. “I was derailed on my way here. I hope you have all used your time together wisely.” He dragged his dark eyes around the courtyard, lingering over those who clustered together. “As some of you may have guessed by now, I invited you here for one reason, and that reason applies to all of you.”
Piper crossed her ankles together and straightened her spine. She didn’t like it, the way he spoke in drawl of arrogance and superiority.
To be sitting in a courtyard of teenagers and an odd man wasn’t what she’d agreed to.
At least, she hadn’t had that in mind when she called a cab to take her to La Cheminée. She’d pictured an uncomfortable dinner-for-two in the middle of a bustling restaurant.
Colt spread his hands, as if embracing them all, and said, “You, my children, are special.”
My children.
Piper ticked her jaw—a habit inherited from her mother—and gripped onto the edge of the pew. Her nails dug into the stone, and her knuckles whitened.
“You are all born of my essence,” he said. “Some of you may know what I refer to when I speak of my essence. And, by the looks of disgust I see some of you wear, you assume I hint to something a little more … crude.”
“He’s dodgy,” whispered Kieran.
Piper nodded, though she was sure he had been thinking aloud, not speaking to her.
“Who among you have tasted the offerings?” asked Colt. He flicked his hand, gesturing to a waiter who carried a tray of red couscous.
Some hands raised in the air, other hands gave a lazy wave instead. Kieran and Piper were among the three who didn’t answer—the third was a petite boy by the far pillar, sporting a mop of carrot hair, and wearing clothes much too big for him.
“For those of you have,” said Colt, “welcome.”
Piper frowned as a waiter approached them, stretching out his arm so that the tray hovered in front of their faces.
“Those of you who haven’t,” Colt continued, “I must insist you try it before we go any further.”
Piper pulled her head back, trying to evade the tray. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m allergic.”
She wasn’t, of course. But only Colt and the cook knew what was in those dishes. And the whole spectacle was growing more peculiar and suspicious by the second.
Whatever morsel of trust she’d given to Colt by agreeing to meet him, had vanished. The odd-ball himself seemed to have heard Piper’s lie. He swerved his hollow gaze to the bench and glided down the steps.
The small crowd parted, like a river around a rock, and watched in silence. Piper noticed that they each held empty ramekins that had been filled with the couscous.
They’d all eaten the entrees.
“I don’t like this,” muttered Kieran. But he fell silent as Colt stopped in front of them.
“Piper,” he greeted with a smile.
She could see the harshness behind it, the way his skin pulled over his chin and cheekbones. The waiter stayed where he was, holding out the tray.
“I can offer you a purpose,” said Colt. “I can offer you everything a father can, and so much more. All you have to do is accept my gift.”
Piper’s muscles jumped as he plucked a small cup from the tray and handed it to her. She sniffed and said, “I’m gluten-free. Carbs and I … We’re not a good mix.”
Kieran snorted beside her and Colt nodded. “Brother and sister,” said Colt, “banding together already. How poetic.”
Kieran rose from the bench and challenged Colt with a steady stare. “She said she doesn’t want it, mate.”
Piper stood and brushed air off her sleeves.
A gentle grunt of agreement came from over Colt’s shoulder. Piper sourced the sound to the freckled red-headed boy who grabbed his satchel and slung it over his shoulder.
He, Kieran and Piper were ready to leave.
But the others stayed standing on the spot, staring at Colt with clouded eyes. Piper wondered if they had been drugged by whatever was in the couscous.
“I think,” said Colt, “you’ll find that it’s too early to leave.”
Piper heard the crash before she saw it coming. The tray of couscous hurled to the ground and shattered.
The waiter had lunged at Piper.
He looped his arm around her neck and wrangled her around until her back slammed against his chest. His limbs caged her in, and she found herself gaping at Colt, her eyes bulging out of her face.
Kieran jumped forward to help her. But he didn’t make it an inch before he was struck into a pillar by two waiters. They tussled in a cloud of flailing limbs, until the waiters had Kieron pinned to the ground.
“What is this?” shouted Piper, her heels grazing the stone floor. “Get your grubby hands off me!”
“This is your initiation,” said Colt. His faux-gentle tone had given way to a voice made of icy daggers. “The payment you owe me.”
Piper screamed, a fierce sound that screeched through the London night. Colt kneeled and scooped up a handful of spilled couscous.
Piper kicked her foot out, aiming for his face, but he dodged the attack and stood. Holding a sludgy pile of couscous, he looked at her from beneath his short lashes.
“Open up,” he said, advancing on her like a panther closing in on its prey. “It will be easier once you eat.”
Piper pressed her lips together and shook her head back and forth. Colt’s hand reached forward, ready to pry her mouth open, but he stopped.
His fingers stilled an inch from her face.
A cry had torn through the courtyard.
It came from the entrance, and just as Piper looked over, the glass of the doors shattered. The glass burst in an explosion of glitter, shredding through the air. Black blurred on the steps, and then stopped.
London Academy 1 Page 2
