Innocence (Tales of Olympus Book 1)

by Lee Savino

  As she got up, she noticed the bedside table. There was a glass still there, with a few ruby drops clinging to it. And she realized that last night, in the club, she had accepted one drink—red and rich. The guy who gave to her had said it was cranberry juice.

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, and sat up groggily. She put a hand to her head: it felt thick and swollen, with her hair mussed over it. Looking for a clock, she wondered how long she had slept. When she ventured out of bed, moving carefully as if she was made of glass, she found a bathroom adjacent to the room. There the cool marble stung her tender feet. Squinting over the two sinks— both made out of a striking black marble— she saw the color had returned to her cheeks. She must have slept long, and well.

  There was a new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste at the sink, and towels—black and cream colored to match the marble— all there as if they were waiting for her.

  After she had showered, she found that someone had left a shopping bag on a chair near the door. The skirt and top she found inside were her size. She dressed, wondering if she was alone or if the person who had brought these things was still there, waiting for her to wake.

  Leaving the bedroom, she squinted, expecting a blast of morning light. But the long wall of windows was covered with sleek Venetian blinds, and the only light that got through was grey. There were no lights on in the living room, either. She ventured forward, wondering if she was alone.

  “How did you sleep?” The voice came from the darkness. There, in an armchair in the sitting area down by the bar, was Marcus Ubeli.

  “Fine,” she said, clutching her body with her arms. She moved down towards him, looking around. The room stretched out in shadow, massive against the long wall of windows. The penthouse must take up one whole side of the building, she realized. There was a kitchen and bar, sunken areas for lounging, TVs and, in one corner, a baby grand piano. Everything was in grey or black, with touches of cream.

  “Do you like the place?” Marcus Ubeli asked. He was sitting like a king among the expensive furnishings, drink in hand. The shadows were grey on his face and under his eyes as he watched her move through the room.

  She shrugged. “It’s nice.” To get into the lowered seating area, she passed a statue, a contorted figure in white marble.

  “That’s mine,” he commented, and she paused politely to stare at it. “The hotel lets me furnish this place to my tastes.”

  The statue was of a woman, a body and thin cloth all finely sculpted. It looked Greek, and well done, but the figure’s face unsettled her—a sweet youth’s features twisted as if in some horror or fear. She moved on, descending into the sunken area where her host was sitting.

  “Is this where you live?” Cora asked.

  Marcus Ubeli chuckled. “No, I just keep it in case I want to get away.”

  Drawing in her breath, she nodded as if this was normal. But she couldn’t imagine what a place like this would cost. Whatever it was, Mr. Ubeli was a man of means.

  “Would you like a drink?” He stood abruptly, and she shrank away from his dark and tall figure, suddenly imposing. But he only turned and went up the steps to the bar.

  “No, thank you.” she shook her head, feeling the wooziness still clinging there. At the bar, glass clinked and then he was back. “How long did I sleep?”

  Again, a small chuckle. It wasn’t unkind, but it made her feel like she missed the joke. “I just watched the sunset.”

  Suddenly horrified, she went to the window. Pulling at the slats of the blinds, she peered out into a city, bright with rows of light, artificial and multicolored against a very dark night sky.

  “Oh, no,” she said again, for the second time since waking. She turned back to her host, who now was standing, his figure cut half through with black, half in grey.

  “Forgive me,” he said, and she was startled again. He didn’t look like a man who would apologize. “I let you sleep as long as you could.” His face was in darkness; she couldn’t make out any expression beyond that which was in his voice. “I made sure you were okay; someone stayed here, just in case you woke. But when I returned you hadn’t woken.” His voice dropped, became softer. “I figured you needed it.”

  “It’s okay,” Cora said, although she felt weak. She’d slept a whole day! And someone had stayed with her—she wondered who, and hoped it wasn’t the muscular bouncer she had seen in the club. She had so many questions, but she bit them back, feeling the dark eyes on her.

  “You hungry?”

  She shook her head sharply, remembering the pitch of her stomach during the chase. The memory didn’t seem a day old.

  Too late, she thought of her manners. She had been raised to always accept food or offers of hospitality. Probably a habit she needed to break in the city. “I’m sorry. My aunt,” she said awkwardly. “She’ll be wondering where I am.”

  Marcus Ubeli nodded, and set down his drink. “And we should get you to her.” He gestured smoothly to the door, and held out his hand. “Are you ready to go?”

  When they left the elevator to go through the lobby, she was now aware of covert glances the hotel staff was giving her. Biting her lip, she lowered her eyes so she wouldn’t have to meet them. The new clothes she wore, though less skimpy than the dress, were still quite form fitting; the skirt a tad too short. The only shoes she had were the tall heels, so she wasn’t surprised when she tripped a little. Mr. Ubeli had her arm, so she made it out of the hotel and into the waiting car without a fall.

  “Take us east,” he ordered the driver. “Out of the city,” At the wheel, Sharo nodded without turning around. Cora saw his face in the rearview mirror, expressionless. He wore a suit, cut smartly over his large frame. A headset wrapped around his shaved head. Every so often, he cocked his head and touched a hand to it, as if receiving its messages. Then a glass divider rose between the two seats, and Cora could no longer see the bald head through the tinted glass. Mr. Ubeli took his hand from the button, and leaned back with a smile.

  “Just relax, kid. It’ll take a while.”

  The trek out of the city was long, but Cora let it pass in silence. The lights of the city slid over the gleaming black car, and the high rises fell away, replaced by long lines of drab houses.

  At one point, she covertly studied her host. Marcus Ubeli was sleek in a grey suit and silk tie, his black hair shining even in the dark. His temples held a little grey, but he was a young man still, she could tell. His dark eyes didn’t miss much, and when he caught her looking at him, he gave her a study of his own, so intense that she blushed and looked away. His features, sharpened by the shadows on his face, held no smile, but she felt he was enjoying himself, somehow. Curling away from him, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked out the window for the rest of the way.

  When they reached the neighborhood of her aunt the divider between the seats went down again, so she could give the driver directions. After an awkward time of twisting down streets, following fragments of Cora’s memory, they finally turned onto a road that she recognized. The houses were particularly run down, but it was still with relief that Cora pointed to a middle one and said, “There. That’s the one.”

  The car stayed as she ran up the path to the house. After ringing the bell twice, a sinking feeling replaced elation. The houses on either side were alive with light and noise, but her aunt’s was silent, its windows curtained and grey. Without signs of life, the place seemed eerie and deserted.

  She knocked again, loudly, and called a few times. In the end, she had to turn around, face the car and the two watching faces, and shrug helplessly. After a moment, Sharo got out and opened the back door again. Inside, she knew, Marcus Ubeli was waiting for her.

  Before her lay an invitation, a glorious city swelling with people and night lights. Behind her was nothing: no aunt, no way to get in, and no prospect of a homey, warm welcome. But it was still with dragging steps that she walked back to the car and got in.

  *

  Weeks later, Cora walke
d down the street in the big city. Her skirt and shoes were her own—the ones her friends had lent her were returned, with little thanks. When she had finally found them again, they had professed worry about the night they left her at the club. But any guilt was short-lived compared to their curiosity towards Cora’s new life. She had found an apartment, thanks to Mr. Ubeli. It was not close to her friends, but soon after Cora started dating Marcus and faced their sharpened curiosity of her dark and mysterious knight, she grew tired of them. Declining all invitations to go clubbing again, she lost touch with her old friends.

  Watching her reflection in the glass windows of the shops she passed, she realized she had no regrets. The young woman looking back at her was a big city girl. Her apartment was only a walk away from the boutique where she worked and the neighborhood was a better one than she would have been able to afford. But seeing as it was let out by a relation of Marcus Ubeli, and he was willing to put in a good word for her, she got it for astonishingly little, furnished, with no down payment required. When she asked who owned it, he said it was his cousin.

  Standing now in front of her door, picking up her mail, she threw a glance at the door to the other apartment. Whoever this cousin was, she was rarely at home in the adjacent apartment, where Marcus claimed she lived. At least it was quiet.

  Cora turned the key and stepped into the darkness with a smile. She breathed deeply the smell of lemony cleaner and florist flowers. She knew before she flicked on the lights the apartment was spotless and picture perfect. The housekeeping, which was included, always happened Cora was out; often she returned home to crisp new sheets and cabinets stocked with food, drink, toiletries. And Marcus always left her a bouquet of flowers.

  Marcus is a perfect gentleman, she told herself an hour later, as she put in her earrings in front of the foyer mirror, waiting for Sharo to knock on the door. Sometimes Marcus sent his employee to pick her up; he got caught up in meetings sometimes but didn’t like to be late for their outings. Sharo was a decent stand in, taking her to a restaurant, where they would serve her a glass of wine, and Marcus would always arrive soon after, smiling and full of compliments to her beauty.

  A perfect gentleman, she thought again. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her, just put his arm around her to keep her warm whenever they went on long drives through the park, or to his favored private club on the edge of the city. And when he took her to more dangerous parts of town in order to show her a friend’s restaurant, he would loop her arm through his as they walked from the car into the building, and stay at her side all night. She felt safe with him.

  He was generous, too. The roses in the foyer were a gift from him. The dress and necklace she wore were other gifts. She always blushed when she got a gift—it seemed too much.

  Once, telling her that he had to miss a date because of business, he told her to go into a shop and try on some of the wares. Sharo had followed, a silent shadow who saw everything, and said nothing. Everything she touched, whether she liked in or not, arrived in large shopping bags at her apartment the next day.

  She certainly lacked for nothing. Indeed, sometimes it seemed that she was given too much attention. Once in a while, returning home from work in the evening, she would be coming down the street and get the feeling that she was being watched. She’d look over quickly, and there would be the sleek tip of a car, just turning out of an alley, or parked on the street. Its windows were tinted, but she could just imagine the smooth head of Sharo, waiting patiently and following her movements with a steady stare.

  It’s just a coincidence, Cora thought to herself as she got ready for her evening out. You’re making up something to be worried about, things are so perfect. Standing in the small room that served as a foyer in front of the door, she faced the mirror one last time.

  Tonight was important. Marcus had been busy lately, working early and late and all hours in between, so that she barely saw him for weeks unless he was worn out. Their last date had been three nights ago, at a new restaurant called simply Nectar. His car had met her after work and taken her straight to the place, despite her protests that she wasn’t dressed for the occasion. The night started with champagne in the car, and ended with them both on the top of the building, looking down over the world while the band played softly for the few late customers.

  “This is beautiful,” she said.

  “You’re beautiful,” Marcus wasn’t looking at the city. “I think I like you in your work clothes.”

  She half-frowned. “You owe me for this, Marcus Ubeli.” She rarely spoke so freely to him, but tonight she was relaxed. His mouth quirked—the closest thing to a laugh he had—and she went on. “Dragging me to this fancy restaurant, plying me with champagne… I’m barely fit to ride on public transport in these clothes.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he had said. “I’ll buy you a dress.”

  She had blushed; she always did. And his face, usually so serious under the dark hair, had held a little half smile. “I’d buy you all this if I could.” He swept his hand over the city, glittering below them like a box of jewels. Cora had giggled. She knew he was teasing.

  “You mean you can’t?” she smiled back. “Mr. Ubeli, what will we do with you? You’ve been working so hard.” She had looked up at his dark features, at the slates under his eyes, evidence of long, long nights.

  “I’ve missed you, kid.” He said. Two fingers came to stroke her cheek. “I can’t believe I have someone like you.”

  Then they both stared at each other. These words were like nothing they had ever spoken to each other, and stunned them both. For a moment they were silent, looking down at the city. Then Cora spoke up, haltingly.

  “You’ve been great too. You’re kind, more than generous. You’ve treated me like a princess. I came to the city with such big dreams, but… every girl dreams of a life like this. You’ve made it come true.” She looked up at him there, knowing that her cheeks were alive with the heat of the moment and the cold of the wind. His fingers were still there against them, but still as if any movement more than breathing would shatter it all.

  “Cora,” he whispered, and she strained to hear, for the wind nearly took his words. “I want…”

  “What?” she had whispered back, but there was no answer. In the silence she had shivered a little, and then he was there, folding her into his chest, suit jacket and satin handkerchief pressing into her cheek. And he had been warm, so strong, and nothing could take her away from his shelter, or his heat.

  “I want to keep you safe,” he had said. “I want to hold you, like this…”

  “Shh…” she had said, and closed her eyes. They had stayed that way for a long time, till after the band stopped playing, and the waiters swept up, and finally they went back down to where Sharo sat in the car with a fist over his mouth to keep from yawning. She had kept her head on Marcus’ shoulder all the way home, as the light on the car window softened with dawn.

  Cora looked up again to the mirror in the foyer. Marcus had kept his promise. The dress had arrived that afternoon, with a note: Wear it, and we’ll call it even. She had grown used to opening gifts in the weeks that he had been preoccupied with work, but this one made her gasp as she lifted it from the tissue—the fabric was luminous grey and covered over with clear beads that glinted like city lights. A small box accompanied it. It opened to showcase a necklace. The setting was shaped like tear, two diamonds and another stone, a large red one she could not recognize.

  So she found herself standing in the dim light of the little foyer, allowing herself one last look in the mirror before her escort knocked on the door and whisked her away to Marcus. The dress was lovely, soft and grey, like the stuff of clouds. The tiny beads twinkled, even though the only light in her dark apartment came from the cityscape outside her windows. She had turned out the lights in preparation to go out, and now saw her reflection in stark shadow and dulled light.

  Still, her eyes were shining, and the jewels at her ears and neck flashed
in the light of the city. She smiled. A happy, but pale face smiled back. She touched her cheek with cold fingers. So white, as if she’d been frightened. Patting them sharply to give them some color, she breathed in the scent of the roses…

  A knock sounded behind her, and she jumped out of her skin. Grabbing her clutch, she turned to the door and checked through the peep hole, as Marcus had instructed her. City instinct, he had told her. Don’t trust you know what’s beyond your own front door.

  The head outside the door was bent. Frowning, she waited for it to straighten so she could see a face. It certainly wasn’t Sharo; his head was shaved. The one she was looking at had a full head of hair, brown and a bit tousled, though wet as though it was raining on the streets.

  Finally, the head raised. She went cold as she recognized the face from that night at the dive, the night that ended with her on her back for brief seconds in a car, and then a brief chase through the streets, and, finally, the empty club where she had met Marcus.

  She backed away from the door, fright closing her throat, and though she knew he hadn’t seen her, she still wanted to run to her bedroom and hide, like a child, under the bed. Instead, she retreated to the kitchen, grabbed her phone, and went into the bathroom, closing the door. Shaking, she dialed. It was a number Marcus had given her if she needed to reach him. No one ever picked up, but she had never left a message before without Marcus or Sharo getting the information.

  “Hello,” she whispered in the bathroom, “this is Cora.” Her voice was probably shaking, but she gave every detail as carefully as she could, speaking slowly, like a small child. Then she hung up and waited.

  Twenty minutes later, she thought she could hear another knock on the door. Phone in hand, she didn’t move. Again, a knock. Then the phone rang, breaking the silence and nearly causing her to scream. She answered it with a half-strangled,