A flush of red ran up Kendall’s neck, and her hand trembled as she tried to put the wine glass on the end table, only to almost miss the first time before setting it down successfully. “That’s ridiculous,” she said, a tremor interrupting a smooth delivery.
“Is it?” I asked, actually glad to continue on this matter since it allowed me to momentarily disregard all things supernatural. “I know how he looks when he’s interested in someone. But a word of advice: maybe your ball busting, however much he may pretend to like it, isn’t something he’s into. Guys want to feel powerful. Not emasculated.”
After a long moment, Kendall nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” She snatched the bottle of wine off the coffee table, grabbed her glass, and got to her feet. “But let’s not go any further with this, okay? It would make things really awkward. So let’s pretend this conversation never happened.” She spun around and practically scurried into the kitchen.
I got up and followed her. “Don’t do that.”
That made her stop. She didn’t move for a few seconds. Then she turned to face me. “I need to.” She shook her head as though doing so automatically made her words ring true.
“You’re always honest with me.” I made my way over to her. “Don’t stop now.”
Tears built in her eyes and she looked off to the left. Kendall opened her mouth, but a high-pitched squeak came out instead. As though that gesture was an admission of the truth she hadn’t even spoken, she cringed, pushing tears from her lids that rushed down her cheeks.
I wrapped my arms around her. “Finally,” I said in quiet, joyous relief. “You admitted the truth!”
Kendall let out airy cries as each sob wracked her body, hitching the glass of wine in her hand as her arm shook. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, barely audible. “I’ve tried to like other guys. But I can’t. No matter what I do or say, I can’t feel anything for them.”
“Because you love Brandon.” I needed to say those words because I knew it would be too much for Kendall to admit now, and I wanted her to get to that place. “You always have.”
The crying continued. But this time Kendall put her arms around me. I couldn’t remember the last time she and I had such a touching moment, probably because it took a lot for her to reveal her feelings. Then she started squeezing me tighter, as though doing so released all of the pent-up frustration and longing inside her. The wine glass clinked against the wine bottle.
The noise startled Kendall. She loosened her grasp and backed away from me with a bowed head, since her hands were full, and she couldn’t wipe away her tears. She started chuckling in the bashful way that occurred only after revealing a tightly held secret that didn’t have catastrophic results. She lifted her wrist, cleared some of the mascara tears off her cheeks, and then did the same with the other side of her face.
“Now what?” I asked.
She laughed louder. “How should I know? It’s not like I’ve had a real date in the past three years.”
“I guess that means those guys weren’t real either.” I gave her a sidelong glance. “You haven’t started abusing life-size blow-up dolls, have you? I mean, even if one looks like Ryan Gosling, it’s still just plastic and full of air. Imagine if you jumped that thing one night and punctured his lung. He’d let it rip with a ton of gas! A farting Ryan Gosling is still—”
“Not an image I want to fester in my brain,” Kendall said. “Ryan Gosling does not partake in any ungentlemanly endeavors. He is as perfect as every character he plays in the movies.”
“Yeah, he’d never take on a role where he tries to get romantic with a sex doll!”
Kendall let out a pent up sigh and grinned. “Thanks, I really needed that. But let’s change the subject, okay? I’m tapped out. Let me work up to sharing more as time goes on.”
I’d take whatever I could get, so I didn’t push things.
“You know, I’m curious. What does Alexis do as a job? Does she even have a job?”
“She designs a lingerie line. But I can’t imagine her working in an office or delegating tasks to employees.” Could she have lied? To make herself appear more important?
“I can imagine her wearing lingerie,” Kendall said. “But that’s about it. Maybe you should follow her. See what you can find out.”
*
The next morning, I followed Alexis to learn her daily routine. At 11:00 AM, she entered a strip club named Angels of Babylon. When she didn’t exit the building after twenty minutes, curiosity got the best of me, so I went inside. A pleasant cedar smell wafted through the room. I tapped my foot to the beat provided by AC/DCs song, “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
The interior was immaculate: a few dozen men wearing business attire sat in elegant, plush chairs or walked across clean carpets with drinks in their hands as they made their way towards the stage, where my sister slinked around a pole, canned lights shining down upon her from the ceiling.
If Alexis owned a growing clothing line, why would she spend her days as a dancer at a strip club?
I couldn’t take my eyes off my sister, who rocked a body so toned, agile, and flexible that I couldn’t help but flush…because, notwithstanding the fact that Alexis had a better body and better dance moves than me, we were identical, and she gave me an idea of what I might look like if I were leaner. With her hair pulled back in a carefully constructed messy ponytail and a pair of dark shades cops often used, Alexis wore red sequined short-shorts and a bikini top sporting the red, white, and blue.
I didn’t want anyone to see me (since word would undoubtedly get back to Alexis), so I stuck to the perimeter of the club, watching how the men eyed my sister while she swung her limbs around the pole, sliding up and around it in a sexy rendition.
One man with a watch that flashed silver and gold waited at the stage, waving bills at my sister. Another wearing blue jeans and a black button-down shirt stood beside him doing likewise. Other men, some in the middle of eating seafood or steak for lunch, stared at her, unable to return to the food on their plates until they’d gotten an eyeful of Alexis.
A moment later, my sister shimmied toward the front of the stage toward the two men who smiled up at her, waving money in her direction. With a coy smirk, she bent over, giving them plenty of cleavage to admire before sashaying closer to get on all fours along the polished hardwood floor. She crawled toward them with a lusty grin.
One of the men attempted to hook a bill in her bra, but Alexis swatted his finger, which turned him on based on the way he grinned at her, and shifted her hip, allowing him to slide it in that section instead. When the other man came forward, she allowed him to slide a bill into either side her bikini top, giving the impression that each zone of her body required a specific amount of cash. She slinked closer to him, placed a palm against his cheek, and almost kissed his lips. Then she hopped to her feet in one slick motion and strutted away until she disappeared behind the curtain as the song ended.
The way she interacted with these customers looked rehearsed, as though she’d performed this ritual so frequently that she now went through the motions, bored and uninspired. And that stunned me. It seemed that dancers needed to vary their performance and rely on spontaneity in order to retain their client base. A second later, however, a different line of logic presented itself: Alexis had most likely read her customer’s minds and lived out their fantasies. And who knew how many times she had lived out this exact routine? Which would explain her disinterest.
That brought on other questions. Did Alexis give lap dances? Or private dances? Did she do…other things? Repulsed by the perverted possibilities, I had to get out of there.
I spun around and headed for the exit. Just as I grabbed the door handle, I saw a debonair-looking man wearing a black suit, watching me from the corner of the room with rapt attention. Rather than irises, the circular portions of his eyes glowed white and electrical currents spread toward his eyelids in every direction like spider webs. That bizarre image sent a shiver down
my spine.
He didn’t leer. It seemed like he’d recognized me, that we’d met once before and he was trying to place me. For whatever reason, I stopped, unable to leave until I, too, could put a face with a name. But the longer I stared, the more confused I became.
After another five seconds, I concluded that I’d never seen him before, but something about his querulous look seemed familiar. He shifted in place, allowing the light overhead to shine down on his face, revealing a scar on his left cheekbone. I scanned my memory for that same expression, and it didn’t take long to realize that I’d seen it only yesterday in The Antique Boutique.
Mephisto!
Although his eyes hadn’t flashed red, as had occurred earlier in the shop, I had no doubt that the demon had once more entered my mind, just as Alexis had done, only without any tipoff, and had forced me to stand still until I identified him.
But Mephisto had ditched the fanboy outfit for a three-piece suit. Gone were the childish Minnie Mouse watch, the bulging belly, and the unrefined air of someone who cut his own hair because he didn’t trust a hair stylist to do a competent job. Instead, he had broad shoulders, short, dark hair, and the air of a multi-millionaire playboy who flew across the globe for business deals and couldn’t spend more than one night with the same woman. Obviously, he had shapeshifting abilities.
But what was he doing here? Was he spying on me…or my sister?
I blinked, only to find that he’d vanished. I craned my neck in every direction, wondering where he’d gone, but just as he’d done yesterday, Mephisto had disappeared without a trace.
When would he appear again? And whom would he appear as? It seemed like he enjoyed messing with me, and I suspected that he’d continue doing so for as long as he liked. That meant I might not find out the questions that haunted me…for quite some time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After my sister left the club six hours later, I followed her to a gym named X-Sport Fitness in Logan Square. I figured that Alexis would need at least ninety minutes of conditioning at the gym each day to maintain her figure, but I grew antsy at the idea of sitting around for more than another hour. That’s when a startling thought struck: my sister might be able to give me some information about the grimoire, but given Delphine’s duplicity, I doubt she’d have told Alexis everything she knew about her heritage.
So why not question Delphine to get as much information as possible? Only not as me, but as Alexis!
Uncertain whether or not I could pull off the transformation, I caught sight of a bag of clean yet somewhat revealing clothes I kept in a bag on the backseat…in case I happened to be invited on stage at a fellow band’s show and needed to present the proper attire as the vocalist of a heavy metal band. After changing in a stall at a nearby gas station bathroom, I headed over to my mother’s house and planned to knock, but thought better of it: Alexis wouldn’t knock on her own door.
I tried the front door. It shocked me that Delphine would leave the front door unlocked. Then I realized—what would a trio of witches have to fear…from anybody?
“Mother?” I called out.
Celestina sat up against the couch reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, while a tune by Blake Shelton played on the stereo in the background. She had most likely just wrapped up the school year. She drew back, confused. “You’re not…Wait! Aunt Serena?”
I put my finger to my lips, eliciting a shhh-sound.
She jumped to her feet and gestured to the other room, tipping me off that Delphine was nearby. My niece hurried toward me with a sneaky smile. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“I want to talk to your grandmother. But I don’t think—”
A door down the hall opened. “Is your mother home?” asked Delphine.
Celestina motioned to her grandmother’s presence. “She’s coloring her hair. She does it, like, every week or something. Otherwise, she’d have white hair.” She gave me an odd look. “Will you get white hair like that?” Then she drew her head back, aghast. “Will I?” She took in a deep breath and turned toward the hall. “It’s Mom,” she shouted. “She didn’t go to the gym.”
Delphine slammed the door, disinterested.
I hoped that my mother finished stripping her hair sooner rather than later. Alexis could appear at any moment, and I wanted to get as many answers as quickly as possible. I took a spot on the sofa beside my niece and glanced over my shoulder. “When do you think she’ll be done?”
“Who knows?” My niece shrugged. “Mom and Granny keep asking me questions about the last time you were here. You know, when you were here, but you really weren’t?”
I nodded. “It’s called astral projection.”
“That is so cool. Can you teach me?”
“No, it’s only something I can do. Sort of like how you can foretell the future.”
“Oh, got it. So what are you doing here? If they find out—”
“We’ll have to make it quick then.” I figured that it might take Delphine a while before she finished, so I thought I’d hit up my niece for information. She may have overheard something she shouldn’t have. “Why do your mom and grandma want the grimoire?”
She shrugged. “To learn stuff, I guess.”
“What will they learn?”
Indifferent, she said. “Beats me.”
When I thought about a thirteen-year-old girl stuck in the midst of our family power struggle, I became uneasy. “But they can’t read it,” I said. “Only if Grams allowed them to own it could they read it. So why would they want it?”
“It’s a book?”
Puzzled by her inquiry, not to mention her curious expression, I had no follow-up question. I’d presumed that my mother and sister sought information in the form of the written word.
“I’m sorry your granny died.”
Seeing such an empathetic expression, I clenched my teeth, trying not to let sadness overwhelm me. I spotted a half-filled bottle of liquor in the kitchen. In order to convincingly play the part, I needed to act like Alexis, so I went over and retrieved it.
“Was she a good granny?”
I nodded, a knot constricting my throat, making it impossible to speak.
Celestina balled her hands in her lap. “My granny doesn’t like me.” She met my gaze with a shamed expression. “And I don’t like her. I know I should, but I don’t.” Tears shone in her eyes. “She’s soooo…” She looked at a long-sleeve of her Black Widow sweatshirt and had a difficult time swallowing. “She…” Celestina dropped her head. “I hate...” She let out a hesitant, yet silent, cry, and moisture spilled down her cheeks. “I hate her so much,” she wheezed. “I hate her.” She slammed one fist into the other. “I just hate her!”
A swell of emotion overcame me. I put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Once more, I was stunned by how natural that gesture felt, and judging by the smile on her face, she also appreciated our close bond.
“I’m sorry.”
It figured that Celestina would blame herself for something outside of her control. She took on too many burdens that had nothing to do with her, and for that, I sympathized with her.
A door opened down the hall.
Celestina pushed me away in fright. “You’re not you, remember?”
“Oh,” I said, irritated for letting my feelings erase my uneasiness. In my pocket, my cell phone vibrated. I slipped it out to find that Kendall had texted: “Why won’t you unlock the door? I’m right outside the shop.”
That didn’t sound right, so I typed in, “I’m not at the shop. I’m at my sister’s house talking with my niece.”
“That means Alexis is inside the shop.”
My sister’s unpredictable nature shouldn’t have surprised me. But I hadn’t expected her to impersonate me at the same time I was impersonating her. “How did she get inside? Is the door still locked?”
“Yes.”
“She probably used a charm of some kind.” I turned to Celestina. �
��Is there a spell to open a locked door?”
She chuckled. “There’s a spell for everything.”
“Uh, huh,” said Delphine from behind me. “But not everyone can enact a spell.” She strutted down the hall, her head glistening wet and black from the dye she’d just put in her hair. She gestured toward the bottle in my hand. “Did the booze make you forget you had a mind? Lay off the sauce, like your sister said. Maybe then you’ll be able to remember simple shit!” She looked at Celestina. “It’s grown up talk time. Go to your room.”
“Don’t talk to her like that,” I said, anger burning into my chest.
“What do you care? You’re the one pleasuring men when she gets home from school. I’m the one helping her with her homework.”
“And she’s scared of you!”
Delphine set a grimace on my niece. “What did you tell her?”
That mistrust dialed my anger toward levels of rage: only someone with something to hide would act with such vehemence toward a child. “What do you mean?” I asked her, doing my best to force down the heat rushing through my body.
My mother ignored the question. Instead, she glared at Celestina. “What did you say?”
Celestina’s head sagged. She didn’t respond, lest she get a tongue-lashing.
Delphine reached out, grabbed my niece’s forearm, and yanked Celestina toward her, evoking an unexpected grunt as she slammed into my mother’s hip.
As Celestina’s shirtsleeve drew upward with movement, I spotted a dark, circular bruise on her forearm, which sparked an answer to my unasked question of why Celestina constantly wore long-sleeved shirts. She did so because Delphine abused her!
“Let her go,” I said, raising my gaze from my niece’s bruise to my mother’s face. “I said, let her go. Now!”
Nightwish (An Echoes of Eternity Novel Book 1) Page 24
