by Evelyn Avery
I told myself that Vaughn wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole, but that was just to make myself feel better. Not only was Chloe gorgeous, but she had absolutely no shame in capitalizing on it. She could have almost any guy at this school eating out of the palm of her hand if she wanted.
Briefly, I considered putting on the track pants that I wore to bed the night before, just to get under Chloe’s skin. But the last thing I needed was for someone to snap a photo that could get back to Greta. If she saw me out in public looking like a hobo, I’d end up committed again.
I kicked off my clothes and chose a simple shift dress from the closet. I was pretty sure Greta had picked it out because the dress had that virginal look she liked while still hugging every curve. My hand rubbed up my calf to check for stubble, but my legs felt smooth enough even though it had been over a week since I last shaved. My body hair grew so slowly that most people didn’t notice how little effort I put into personal grooming.
When I turned toward the door, I caught a reflection of my face in the mirror. My dark hair was wild and full of untamed curls that cascaded over my shoulders. It always managed to look like I just stepped out of a wind tunnel. As dark as my hair was, it made a stark contrast with the paleness of my skin and nearly colorless gray of my eyes. I looked a little bit like Snow White if that apple had killed her instead of just putting her to sleep.
Sometimes, I imagined that I didn’t look like anything at all. Like I was a wraith drifting through the world without anything as physical as a body tethering me to the earth.
Greta would say that I need blush and some decent mascara.
For a moment, a different reflection flashed across the mirror. Another girl who wore my face but I knew couldn’t be me. Her hair cascaded down her shoulders in perfect curls as the lace dress floated around her body. Our gazes met, and a stab of premonition shot through me.
When I blinked, the vision was gone.
I grabbed the bottle off the nightstand and swallowed my evening dose dry with the ease of long practice. The voices I used to hear had been gone for years, but every so often, I would see something that could only be called a hallucination. Medication kept the worst of it at bay, but not entirely.
Chloe cast a long-suffering look over me as I marched into the living room, but kept her mouth shut. At least I was wearing a dress, even if it was more Sunday school than clubwear. She’d learned her lesson about commenting on my wardrobe. At the first snarky comment, I would go back into my room and change into something even worse, like pull dirty clothes out of the hamper or throw on a paint-splattered art smock. She had to be seen with me, so if she played with fire, we were both getting burned.
I couldn’t care less what I looked like most of the time, so making Chloe suffer was the icing on the shit cake of being forced to go out in the first place.
I wasn’t even sure if she spoke with Greta. But Chloe knew I wouldn’t call her bluff, because that would mean getting in touch with my guardian myself, opening up a can of worms that I rarely had the energy to deal with.
Greta cared, but she treated nagging like it was her job. And business was good.
“Ready?” Chloe asked as she rose and tottered on her too-high heels to the door.
A shiver of foreboding worked its way down my spine, even though I had no idea why.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Vaughn was already at the Stockhouse when we arrived, sitting with a handful of other people from our theater program. He laughed at something one of them said, and it lit up his face like a beacon of light in the darkness. I’d never met anyone so genuinely carefree in my entire life.
His smile only widened when he turned to see us approach. He scooted further into the booth and patted the seat next to him when I got to the table. “Take a load off, Izz. I didn’t think you’d make it.”
Before I could sit, Chloe slid into the space, forcing me to pull up a chair from a nearby table.
“Everyone is ready to get wasted, right?” she asked, giving Vaughn a huge smile.
There was a chorus of cheers, although I noticed Vaughn only responded with a small smile and didn’t say anything else. I planned to bow out before anyone ended up under the table, but the rest of them were welcome to spend the night killing off brain cells.
“They have really good milkshakes here,” I said, picking up the menu.
“Oh, don’t puss out on us now.” Chloe shifted closer to Vaughn as if they were in on the joke together, even though his expression remained impassive. “I know you keep a bottle of bourbon under your bed for the weekends.”
Alcohol didn’t mix well with my meds, making me groggy and off-balance after only a few drinks. But I liked the taste of it, so sometimes I put up with the consequences. That didn’t mean I wanted to be one of those girls tottering down the sidewalks of downtown Los Angeles in the middle of the night, too drunk to have any idea where they were going.
Drinking took away your control, and I didn’t have much of that left on a good day.
“The burgers here are great, too,” Vaughn said to me as he picked up his own menu. “I don’t think the kitchen has closed for the night yet.”
“I don’t eat red meat,” I reminded him.
He cast me a droll look. “I know that. Obviously, I was talking about the black bean burger. They put this chipotle sauce on it that’s amazing.”
It was a small thing, but it made me feel good that he would remember something that I probably only told him once before.
“We need drinks.” Chloe surveyed the other occupants of the table before turning to me. “Izzy, you should get the next round since you never come out with us. It’s only fair.”
Vaughn’s smile was easy, but he shook his head as he looked at me. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You know Izzy is loaded, right?” Chloe insisted, leaning forward, so her cleavage practically rested on the table. “She could buy every building on the block and still have plenty of cash to spare.”
The money might have sounded great, but I’d rather have my parents still around instead of the money they left me. One devastating fire and the lack of extended family had made me rich before I was old enough to understand the concept of money.
I was also completely alone.
My wealth wasn’t a secret, but I didn’t like to make a habit of flaunting it. But whatever Chloe’s game was, I didn’t mind the excuse to leave the table. “I’ll go to the bar. Everyone good with beer?”
Without waiting for a response, I got up from the table. They could drink the beer or drown in it for all I cared.
The Stockhouse was busy, even for a Friday night. We arrived just early enough to get a table, but now it was standing room only. I wove through the crowd with my gaze firmly fixed a few feet above people’s heads, so I didn’t accidentally make any eye contact.
I had no idea that Vaughn had followed me until I felt a hand touch the small of my back. He pulled away as soon I turned my head and saw that it was him.
“I figure you can’t carry an entire table’s worth of drinks all by yourself,” he said, by way of explanation.
“Having fun?” I asked, gesturing with my chin to the table full of people that I almost never saw him hanging with.
“I needed to blow off some steam. My director for the showcase has been working me like a dog.” He teasingly squeezed my arm, holding on for a beat too long before pulling away. “I was a little surprised when I heard you were coming out tonight. This doesn’t seem like your scene.”
Coming from him, I didn’t take it as an insult. This wasn’t my scene, that was obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes.
“I may have been strong-armed into it,” I replied with a sardonic smile.
“Do you really expect me to believe that anybody can make Isabella Doherty do something that she doesn’t want to do?”
“You might be surprised. I spend more of my time than you think getting bossed around.”
His eyebrows went up. “Bossed around, huh? I didn’t know you were into the kinky stuff.”
“Very funny.” I turned away before he could see me blush. The bartender met my gaze and started moving down the long bar, stopping to help a pair of giggling girls who got there right before us. “Are you drinking the pig swill they have on tap, or do you want something actually fit for human consumption?”
He smirked at me. “Is pig swill for the poors?”
“Oh, shut up.” I hated that I was embarrassed, even though I had no reason to be. “Thornhurst is a private school. Most people here come from money.”
“Not as much as you, apparently.”
With a sinking sort of feeling, I glanced back at his face. I’d thought he was better than this. “Does that bother you?”
“Nope.” He stuck both hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “It’s just weird that you being a Rockefeller never came up in conversation.”
“And how would that go, exactly? Hey, here’s the blocking for Act One. By the way, my parents died when I was a toddler and left me enough money to buy and sell your entire life.”
There was a moment of tense silence while Vaughn stared down into my face like he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen me before.
Then he grinned, and it was like the sun coming out from behind rain clouds. “Fair enough.”
The bartender finally arrived to take our order. The Stockhouse made their own whiskey, although most people seemed to think the giant copper still in the middle of the restaurant area was just for show. Their private label wasn’t bad for something local. Vaughn widened his eyes when I ordered two glasses of it straight-up.
I raised one to him before taking a sip, welcoming the smooth burn as it slid down my throat. “Cheers.”
“Sláinte,” he replied with a wink. “You’re always full of surprises, Izz.”
The way he said it made a spot of warmth bloom in my chest, or maybe that was just the hard liquor.
We took the beers back to the table while I tried to decide if I was losing my mind. I knew Vaughn liked me as a friend, he’d said as much a dozen times. But every so often, I got these flashes of something else that made me wonder if we could be more. The moments were gone before I could decide if I wanted to act on them.
“Drink up,” Vaughn said with a signature bright smile. “Next round is on me.”
If I wasn’t sure whether Chloe had designs on Vaughn, it became much clearer when she decided to make an effort to point out all the things that made me the strangest person she had ever met.
“So we have to talk about this play you’re doing for the showcase,” she said to me, leaning closer, so her barely covered chest pressed against my arm. “If it’s half as weird as all that shit you keep in your room, then we’re in for a show.”
“This is the fantasy one, right? I think I heard some people talking about it,” one of Chloe’s friends said. His name was Paul, maybe. “What’s it about?”
Vaughn answered before I could think of what to say. “It’s excellent, actually. Like a fairy tale you’ve never heard before but will think you have, totally surreal and excruciatingly familiar at the same time. Might be the best one in the showcase.”
A burst of pride made me smile.
Chloe shook her head. “Well, the concept art I’ve seen is creepy as hell.”
“One man’s creepy is another man’s masterpiece,” Vaughn replied, glancing at me before he looked away. “We’ll have to let the audience decide.”
The girl beside Paul set her empty beer glass down on the table with a loud clink. “Obviously, we know who’s going to play the male lead. Who are you casting opposite Vaughn?”
My fingers played in the condensation on my glass, and I wished I were somewhere else. “I’m not sure.”
She was insistent. “You haven’t held auditions yet?”
To be an actor was to be desperate for attention at all times. It was a hazard of the job, nobody got into the spotlight by accident. They had to make a conscious decision to take it for themselves.
“We’re still trying to decide what we’re looking for,” Vaughn said, sipping his whiskey.
“We?” Chloe repeated with a smirk. “I didn’t realize you were so involved.”
“What can I say, I’m invested.”
“Well then, you probably have a copy of the script. Izzy has been keeping that thing locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Let’s see it.”
For a moment, he looked like he was going to deny it. But then Vaughn shrugged and bent down to rummage in the shoulder bag resting against his foot on the floor. He drew out a sheaf of papers. “Final edits aren’t done yet.”
“Nothing’s ever done until the moment the show starts.” Chloe grabbed for the script, but Vaughn evaded her and laid it down on the table between them. “I’m going to read for the female lead, even though I don’t need to audition for you to know I’d be perfect for the role.”
I wanted to beg them to stop. But I didn’t have a good reason for my sudden dread, so my mouth stayed clamped shut. Next time, I was going to risk Greta’s censure and stay home. This was excruciating.
“I haven’t done much work on the first part,” Vaughn said, leaning closer over the script so that his head was close enough to Chloe’s that they practically touched.
Only theater students would sit in a crowded bar on Friday night and run lines.
“Why don’t we get together tomorrow morning?” I asked.
“Don’t be such a spoiled sport,” Chloe chided me. “We all just want to assuage our curiosity. If your play is as good as Vaughn says it is, then you shouldn’t mind.”
Putting your creative work out into the world was like giving birth to a baby that you were forced to abandon on the sidewalk. Then all you could do was hope someone came along to take care of it before it died. For reasons that made no sense, I didn’t want Chloe reading the lines for the female lead, much less playing her on stage. I had no interest in acting, but the character felt like it belonged to me. It rubbed me the wrong way to hear her saying the lines.
In a gravelly voice that was completely uncharacteristic but totally worked for the role, Vaughn read the first line. “I would rescue you from this life of darkness, dear princess, and make you Queen of the Summer Court. Simply take my hand.”
Ever the drama queen, Chloe brought her hand to her breast and sighed.
He laughed bitterly. “Lies from beautiful lips cut deeper than a blade. I would save you and love you. Ask me for the world, and you shall have it.”
Chloe’s voice was low and sultry. “You would make me your slave.”
“I would master you, serve you, and everything in between.” Vaughn growled, sending shivers up the spine of everyone in earshot. “Just say you will be mine.”
“That’s pretty hot,” Paul commented “Anybody want to split some nachos off the late menu? The kitchen closes in like a minute, it’s almost midnight.”
“Wait, what?” I said, taken aback.
It couldn’t be that late.
I looked down at my wrist where my watch would normally be and realized that I must have taken it off when I got home. It was set with alarms for all the moments when one stretch of time transitioned into another. Like daybreak and sunset, solstices, equinoxes, and even the Chinese New Year. These were the times when it was most critically important not to step on cracks, walk under a ladder, or break a mirror.
Dangerous times.
Greta called it another one of my superstitions, but I’d always believed that these transitions were a point of transformation. The world was at its most vulnerable in the space between one thing and another. That was why I liked to be safely in bed behind securely locked doors whenever the sun was setting or rising.
There was a reason why movies always showed the spirits rising at the stroke of midnight. And why the witching hour was set at the time when daily prayers in the Christian and Jewish traditions halted. It was in the ga
p between spaces, when contrary states drew close together and the veil separating different planes of existence weakened, that the world became its strangest and most dangerous.
I reached for the script. “We should stop.”
Chloe pulled it away and read the next line. “Erlking, disgraced Prince of the Summer Court, hear my plea— “
“That’s enough,” I insisted, rising the table. “Don’t read anymore. Not right now.”
But like always, Chloe didn’t listen to a word I said. “I want to be with you. Take me away. Take us away.”
That was when the lights went out.
Before all the medication robbed me of my ability to remember what happened when I slept, I used to dream about my parents. They died long enough ago that I couldn’t remember their faces. In my mind, I saw these ghostly figures shrouded in darkness. As a child, I would run towards them when I dreamed. But no matter how fast I moved, I never got close enough to see their faces clearly.
I didn’t have pictures, although I’d never quite understood why not. Greta told me that by the time she became involved, all I possessed was a suitcase full of toys and the clothes on my back. She couldn’t give me any insight into what may have happened before.
But for as distant and unformed as images of my parents might have been, the other figure that haunted my dreams had a face clearer than a beacon of light cutting through the night sky. Even when I woke up, a vision of him was burned on the inside of my eyelids. I’d spend the rest of the day seeing flashes of him whenever my eyes drifted closed. I knew his face better than the one that stared back at me in the mirror. His image was so vivid that it took thousands of dollars in treatment to convince me it couldn’t be real and was only something I imagined.
