At my last apartment, when I had pulled up the grungy, old, seventies carpeting, I not only exposed the lovely, mahogany stained hardwood floors beneath, but I discovered a hidden compartment in the floor. The hidey-hole in which I had stashed away all my cash.
I felt a small thrill as I put the key in the lock. The thrill of new things, new chances and beginnings. Maybe I could do this. Maybe I would be okay.
I felt rather than saw Gideon turn to leave.
“You’re leaving?” I was surprised. I figured he would have some more reprimanding to do, some more warnings to dish out, or at least a lecture about running off.
“I am.” He put his hands in his coat pockets.
“Well,” I paused. There was actually a lot I wanted to say…and ask.
But something about him made me think maybe it wasn’t a great idea right now. But did I want to be alone? Not really. All the excitement of just a moment ago withered away quickly.
This would suck.
“Thank you.” Was what I managed to spit out.
I frowned.
So strange to be thanking the man that I had been accusing of killing me just the night before. And I was still angry about it all, lividly so, but he looked kind of…tired, stressed out. And he looked very taken aback by my words.
“It was already arranged for. When we first learned you were to be coming up, don’t make me regret trusting you with this instead of keeping you under lock and key.” He studied me for just a split second. “And you’re welcome.”
“I’d offer you coffee, but…” I smiled awkwardly and shrugged, hoping he’d come in anyway. Hoping he’d say Liam would be by. Hoping he would not trust me on my own and would have to watch over me…under lock and key.
“Thank you.” He smiled ever so slightly. “But I do own a coffee house, so…”
“Ha…true.” More awkwardness as I hung on to the door frame, stalling his departure. “Okay then…well...” I didn’t want to be alone. “So…when do we talk this out? I still don’t really get it except for the very basics and even that, well…it’s kind of unclear really. And I still have questions.”
He turned and walked away.
“Really Gideon?” I growled, stomping my foot. What was I five?
Jeez he was exasperating as all hell.
And way to good looking. Damn him!
He waved without turning. “Sleep on it,” he called back over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.
And he was gone.
That was it? Sleep on it? Did he want me to stay mad and so agitated? I mean, really, how hard would it be to come in and talk to me, explain it a little better—or a lot—and maybe do it a little slower than the night before? It had been done in such a whirlwind fashion, and my mind had been in such an unreceptive mode, how could I possibly be expected to absorb it all?
I sighed, staring down the empty hall a heartbeat, or five, before pushing open the door all the way to be astounded with how very awesome the place was—and how very devoid of human essence.
I stood in the center of the living room of my nearly unfurnished new apartment, feeling adrift, hollow, and a little on the abandoned side.
I could feel the desolate sobs building in me. Was it so wrong to want to not be alone? Why couldn’t Gideon have stayed, at least for a while? How could either of them leave me to this alone, to adjust and accept alone?
I already knew how long the night would feel. It would seem even longer being in this new, very empty place.
My arms craved Liam. Not that he would allow it, but if only…
His words flew back to me, ‘I make you remember better times. I make you feel like who you used to be. This isn’t a good idea. I don’t want to be a diversion’.
So maybe he was sort of right. So what? Was it so wrong to need to be held, to not be alone after enduring what I had so far, to have a diversion? It’s not as if I’d told him I was in love with him. I just really, really enjoyed how it felt to be in his arms, to be kissed by him. I really liked him. He was fun, he was sweet, and he was so sexy. And I hadn’t been kissed in so very long.
I didn’t like this feeling. It reminded me much too much of the breakup with my fiancé. That panicked feeling where it felt as if I may never breathe again, like I was sinking into a deep dark ocean, one with no bottom.
I forced myself to move, to walk to every light switch and flip the lights on in every room. It wasn’t quite enough.
And it was too quiet. I didn’t want to hear my thoughts any longer as they stampeded heartlessly through my head. I pulled out my tablet and turned on Pandora, picked out my Metric station, let the music waft and tear through my brain, my heart, shoving aside a good deal of the unease with each song that echoed through the apartment.
I needed to occupy myself, but there was not much here.
I didn’t know how to fill the time while I waited in this land of limbo, not knowing exactly when Gideon would contact me. Or Liam. When would I see Liam again? I didn’t have an excuse to go to his place, my belongings were already here when Gideon handed me my keys.
I was going to need therapy if something didn’t change for the better soon.
There was a couch, a pretty decent one; a flat screen television, thirty-two inches I think; quality blinds on the windows, but no curtains. It could still use some work. In the bedroom I found a comfortable looking Queen size bed, a couple of pillows, clean pewter hued linens stacked neatly at the foot, ready to be made up. Against one wall was a chest of drawers. My things had been placed there next to it.
I spent the next thirty minutes or so making the bed and unpacking.
I sighed and meandered to the kitchen, my stomach growling at me, demanding I put something in it. I opened cupboards, the fridge, drawers, taking an account of what was there and what I would need, not only in the kitchen, but throughout the new apartment. I made a mental list as I made myself a meager meal of some perfectly aged Wisconsin cheddar cheese and a bright green apple.
I took in my surroundings as I bit into the crisp flesh of the Granny Smith. I’d need paint—this institutional putty color was way too depressing and had to go—I was going to need lots of paint. Curtains would be good too. And an area rug, the wood floors were bound to get cold at night, and nothing was much worse than waking in the middle of the night and having to cross an icy floor in your bare feet after being toasty warm in your bed.
Speaking of the bed. The solitary set of sheets would suffice for now—they felt to be at least a four hundred thread count Egyptian cotton—at some point soon though, I would need to pick more up. Someone knew what there were doing when it came to happy slumbering.
It must have been Gideon; Liam had said that he was finalizing the arrangements.
I was happy that he had thought to get a couch, and a TV. I was beyond ready to collapse on it and veg out, and I was in no mood to try to be comfortable on the hardwood floor.
Maybe for just a few hours I could pretend everything was normal and lose myself in a movie…or two…maybe three. It could prove to be a very long night. I was sleepy, but incredibly restless. And it was too early yet to head to bed.
So instead I plopped myself onto the sofa with a cup of cinnamon tea—note to self, thank Gideon for the tin of yummy tea—and surfed the multitude of channels my cable equipped television offered.
I settled on an Adam Sandler movie, one of his earlier ones, before all the sentiment. I loved his recent movies, but my heart couldn’t handle mushy tonight. I’d figure out whatever else I needed to acquire in the morning.
For now, no thinking.
No romance.
No desire.
No drama.
Definitely no horror.
Just mindless escapism.
~ Chapter Ten ~
“Why is she different Gideon? Liam asked, concern etched across his face. “She’s so different. There’s something about her, so…”
“Is she human, was she? If she was, how is she l
ike this now? And if she’s not Sióg…”
“Lissa was the Bronntanas…. No one knows how it was changed…”
“What do we do…”
“She must be Sióg…”
“Why doesn’t she know about the Na Síraide Cinn, the Bháis, any of it? Do we teach her?”
“For now…”
I saw Liam speaking with Gideon.
I could see him through the window and the sheer curtains of Elysium.
I could hear them clearly, right through the glass, even though a crow and a seagull were having an unceasing argument over head, making a grand racket. My attention left the window and focused on the gull that kept swooping down at the crow where he sat staunchly perched on the uppermost branch of a tree.
My gaze fell back to Liam and Gideon inside the coffee house, but I couldn’t hear them anymore. A massive, blustery wind kicked up suddenly, pushing me away from the now hazy window, and dry fall leaves on the ground came swirling into the air. I could feel them against my back, brushing against my bare shoulders.
Where had my coat gone? I’d just had my coat on, now I was just wearing some kind of corseted top.
The leaves were making my back itch where they relentlessly struck my skin. I closed my eyes as a bundle of orange, red, and brown blew against my face, I pushed them away with my hands.
I heard music, heard laughing. I opened my eyes. I was on a rooftop. It was a rooftop party. Everyone was dressed darkly.
Well, that was pretty much the norm for the parties I frequented, but something felt off. The vibe of the party was wrong. Ominous, deceptive. The feeling swirled around me like the leaves had moments ago.
It was my old rooftop, and my party decorations, but I didn’t recognize anyone.
There was the couch.
There was me.
And all the people dressed in beautiful black clothing were pointing at me. This me, not the one on the couch. But this breathing, confused version.
I backed away, bumping into something warm and very solid, large, much larger than a person. I could smell it before I turned. Honey-like, hay, sunshine, dust, musk.
Horse.
I turned and ran my hands down his flank. I marveled at his strength and beauty.
A Friesian. A horse of war. He was here for me. He was mine now.
I climbed onto him using the arm of the couch to boost myself up to his grand height. He wore no saddle and I could feel his muscles and raw power beneath me, my legs, could sense the urgency in the great animal to leave.
He began his march across the roof, knocking aside the ones that laughed at me. Though their mouths were no longer open in cackling amusement, but in shock and awe, contempt.
This horse, my horse, Eyvindur—that word, his name, whispered through my brain, through me—cantered across the rooftop…
And right over the ledge.
No! My heart jumped and then crashed to my stomach. I twined my hands tightly through his silky mane, squeezing my eyes shut—waiting for the inevitable plunge. We dipped, I felt us plummet…then we lifted, remained aloft, and we were flying.
I felt pure joy. Overwhelming elation as we soared over the city, hidden in the night, cool briny ocean air ruffling through my hair.
Until I saw them. The people from the roof. They were behind us. They were pursuing us. I let go of Eyvindur’s mane and let loose my bolts at them.
Arrows? Where had those come from?
One struck, and I watched as one of the hideous trackers fell from the sky, spiraling downward. Then they were upon us, my bow was ripped from my hands. The maddened creatures pulled and tore at Eyvindur.
They scratched at my legs and pulled feathers from my wings. My wings? I screamed. The pain was searing. My back was on fire from the shredding of my wings by their claws. I cried out and twisted from their grasp, fell from Eyvindur’s back, tumbling down through the night sky, as the ocean below rushed up to greet me.
~ Chapter Eleven ~
I hit the hardwood floor shoulder first, scrambled across the floor on my knees.
My eyes flew open, flying around me, taking in my surroundings, holding my shoulder that ached fiercely from the tumble, and then searching my back for my wings.
My wings?
My apartment. I was in my apartment. Not a roof top. Not the ocean. Not plummeting from the sky. And I was alone. Nothing, no one else was with me. No creatures dressed in black…and certainly no giant war horse.
I collapsed onto my back—my featherless back—holding my head, sniggering lowly with relief. It was a dream. Of course it was a dream. As insane as my life had become, even that dream was too much to be reality.
But it wasn’t new; it dawned on me after a moment of lying there. I continued to rest on the floor in stunned realization. I’d had this dream before, some of it anyway. I’d just never recognized, when seeing myself on that couch, that I’d been dead. And those people, those things, had never chased me. Before they had just been people at a party.
“At least I got to see Long Beach,” I said aloud to the room.
Sun was peeking through cracks in the blinds, weak, but some was better than none. Morning had arrived, no need then to try and make it back into sleep, and chance reentering that craziness.
I padded in my bare feet to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. Thank you again Gideon, a morning without coffee would have been nearly as hellish as that dream. While the coffee maker burped and gurgled away making its heavenly sanity-saving brew, I hopped into the shower, hoping to wash away the remnants of the dream.
Paint, curtains, area rugs, coffee table, bookshelf, nightstand, framed art, books, lamps, more books….this place needed a lot of help. I jotted it all down on a lavender piece of stationery from my purse, before pulling out my tablet and doing a search for the necessary shops in the area. I had enough in cash to get the most essential items on the list, plus some groceries, and still leave me plenty in the kitty. I didn’t want to go nuts and spend it all. Was this a paying gig? Did a Coimhdeacht earn a wage? Would there be rent due? What about utilities and all those other troublesome peeves of life? All were kind-of-important details of this new existence that I had yet to learn, really, anything about.
I sighed. For now paint. Paint was a good start; I needed the perfect foundation coat for my new place. And for now, it would keep me busy. Busy was good. Busy might help me to keep my sanity—what little was remaining.
I was craving something different. Something I’d never thought to do before.
A very foreign color palette was going to come into play for me. I was envisioning light, airy, classic, French baroque. It would fit the new space perfectly with its high ceilings, gleaming wood floors, intricate moldings, and mirrored French doors. My brain jumped to images from Dangerous Liaisons, one of my favorite movies that I used to watch with Gigi, and also to Marie Antoinette. Paris-uber-retro-chic. Why not? I wasn’t Isabelle anymore. I could move away easily from the color scheme of that other life—the richly deep hues of gothic earnestness and solemnity—this life called for luminosity and airiness and joie de vivre! New life new style, right?
I pondered whether or not I should wait around for Gideon. He hadn’t mentioned when he would call, or if he would come by. Was I really expected to sit in a nearly empty apartment and just stare at either the walls or the television? Maybe I should just go on ahead and go out to buy some of the things I needed. I really wanted to get started on the painting, those dusty mushroom toned walls really had to go. Should I get his permission before painting? Naw…his bad for leaving me with no set of rules. Beware my super dangerous rebellious streak!
The entire day flew by with no word from Gideon, or Liam. What the hell? I was glad I’d made the decision not to just sit on my duff and wait. It felt very similar to when I’d been stood up when I was only fifteen, multiplied by at least ten...thousand. And really, who needs that?
At least I was satisfied with the painting results. I’d spent part
of the morning in a local mom-and-pop paint and hardware store and returned with the perfect colors…well, they’d been delivered for me…same difference.
I’d chosen French Blue Sky, and French Sky Mist for the outer rooms; for the bedroom Lilac, and Lavender Storm.
The color of the walls after two coats was perfect, and using the lighter shade, French Sky Mist, on the ceiling was genius, thank you Mr. Paint Store Man…what a wonderful tip.
Both the kitchen and living room were now breezy and light, a much better atmosphere…to be stuck in.
As pleased as I was with the end result of the sprucing up session, I was equally discontented with the lack of communication, sort of. On one hand it was a relief to have a break from the drama, to forget it all, pretend I was normal, doing a normal person thing. But, on the flip side, I didn’t really appreciate being left to flounder and wonder all day.
After cleaning up the painting mess, and myself as well, I had placed an order for Chicken Pad Thai and a Thai iced tea from the same restaurant that I’d wandered into the other night, I was still awaiting its delicious arrival and didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Yet again.
My laptop was set up on the dining table. I stared at it from across the room. Maybe I should write. No. Maybe not.
I roamed around the room. Looked out the window to the park. Looked out the other windows to the courtyard. A fine mist was hanging in the air, lit softly by the lamps below. I sighed. I was bored. So bored. I paced. I was pacing. Waiting. Not just for my food, I realized. But to hear from either of them.
The food arrived and I still I was on edge. I picked at it. I thought I had been ravenous when I’d ordered it, but now it tasted like paper on my tongue and I had a hard time swallowing it. My appetite had gone completely. I picked up the television remote, flicked through some channels, turned it back off.
Would they be at the coffee house, at Elysium? Should I go there, seek them out? What would I say if they were there? Demand answers? Make Liam speak to me? No. I should stay here. Maybe I should have gone to the restaurant instead of ordering in. No. I didn’t want to do that either. This was driving me nuts. All this indecisiveness.
No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) Page 8
