Deviation

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “You are …” He doesn’t finish and even those two words are hoarse. There is something uncertain in his eyes. Like he can’t quite figure out whether to answer me truthfully or punch me in the gut. I desperately want the first but I brace for the second. “You are not like them,” he agrees quietly. “I haven’t killed you because you are … you.” He blinks and the uncertainty clears. His head tilts, a curious predator studying its meal.

  “You really don’t know yet, do you? I am more impressed with Daniel than I expected. It will be a shame to kill him.”

  “Does Daniel know I’m different?” I ask. It’s a silly question. One I already know the answer to, but it’s the only thing I have.

  “Daniel knows everything. And that’s the problem with knowledge. There’s no real way to unknow something, daughter.”

  His words are cryptic, but more than that, they are clearly about more than just Daniel. I have no idea what to say. No idea the right question to ask. “The woman in the photo in the cabinet,” I say instead. “Who is she?”

  I half-expect him not to answer, or worse, to explode. But he surprises me, his voice silky, when he says, “That is May. She was my wife. You were made in her image.”

  “Where is she now?” I ask.

  “She is untouchable. Gone. Like so many others. And no amount of copying can bring her back.”

  My shoulders sag. For the most fleeting moment, I’d half-hoped she was out there somewhere. Waiting. Capable of caring for or better, saving, another of Titus’s castoffs. I can only imagine how she must’ve met her end, married to someone like Titus.

  “You are not far behind her,” he adds, the steel finally returning to his voice. He pushes to his feet and stands over me. “Remember that tomorrow.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The scent of musky perfume fills the entryway of Whitcomb Manor. It is a heavy but invisible cloud left behind by whoever arrived before me. I wrinkle my nose to suppress a sneeze and hope my senses dull soon. I can only imagine how bad it will smell by the end of the night when the many perfumes and colognes mix with body odor and sweat.

  The mansion boasts a large foyer and even larger ballroom from the looks of the space ahead, but the crowd is already spilling out the door and more arrivals are lined up behind me. It’s a big night.

  I still don’t know why. Titus never came home before the party. I suspect he’s already here somewhere. So is Linc. He wasn’t allowed to escort me or even ride with me.

  It took everything in me not to smear my makeup with fresh tears on the way over. My afternoon is a haze of mourning. Ida. Sweet, gentle, fragile Ida. I wonder what Lonnie’s doing. How she’s taking it. Would they have told her what happened?

  I hand my coat to the gloved butler, my tiny dress shifting and rising in strategic place as I move. I resist the urge to shove it down for the eighteenth time. The prickle of lingering eyes against my exposed skin tells me any attempt to fix it would only draw more attention. I’m aware of Alton and his goons leering nearby but do my best to ignore them.

  Alton says something to one of the men. He walks up to me and slides his hand underneath my elbow. I yank it back.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hiss.

  A few people turn to look but they don’t seem overly interested. The bar for drama is set pretty high in this crowd.

  My grabby guard is undeterred. “I’ve been instructed to escort you,” he says.

  “Like hell,” I snap. “I can escort myself.”

  “Your father insists.” His smile is an innuendo in itself.

  “I can take it from here,” a male voice smoothly interrupts. I turn and find Caine Rafferty walking toward me, a plastic yet much more harmless smile on his face than the man he’s stealing me from.

  I allow him to slide his hand beneath my elbow and guide me away. “Hello, Caine.”

  “Hello, Raven. You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Thank you.” I study him as we walk.

  His light hair is still cropped and edged perfectly. His suit is stylish and somehow formal while being laid back with his skinny tie and crisp white shirt rolled to the elbows. He looks exactly the same as the first time we met. In fact, every single person here is unchanged. As if no time has passed in upper society and it’s all one big party that melds together.

  The only different thing about this night is me.

  “Where have you been, lovely?” Caine asks. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “It’s been two months,” I say wryly.

  “Exactly. Forever.”

  Caine smiles disarmingly and continues leading me toward the grand hall’s entrance. People begin funneling our way, all headed to the door. Soft orchestra music spills out. Even from here, I can see the throngs of people dancing in the center and even more milling about at the fringes. My skin tightens in claustrophobia. To my left, a woman laughs at something her escort says. It’s a high-pitched, abrupt sound that grates on my insides and goes on for way too long.

  Caine pays no attention to any of it. He stares at me while somehow still maintaining a perfect course. “No explanations, eh?” he continues when I don’t answer. “You always were cagey. All right, then, I’ll have to settle for the present. You’re here now.”

  We pass through the doorway and sultry music fills the space between us. Caine bends until his lips are near my ear and says, “Dance with me.”

  I let him lead me to the dance floor. If nothing else, it’s a better vantage point to spot a familiar and friendly face. Caine is plenty of both but for all the wrong reasons.

  When we’re lost amid the dancers, he pulls me toward him in a tight embrace. I know better than to wiggle free or even complain. I tried that the first time I danced with Caine and it was almost a giveaway. The real Raven likes others’ hands on her body.

  No matter which Raven I am tonight, dread fills me at what awaits at home. Titus made it clear: after tonight, he’s done with me.

  Caine cuts a smooth path across the floor and I’m twirled and spun and released and caught until I forget to look for Obadiah or feel the weight of Titus’s eyes on me. He spins me hard and fast until my foot catches my own heel. I stumble, barreling into his chest.

  I feel him shake with chuckling laughter and straighten, heat coloring my cheeks. Raven Rogen stumbling on the dance floor. Surely, I won’t live this down. But when I catch sight of his expression, I’m surprised to find it free of derision or teasing. His amusement is friendly, carefree. At his easy expression, I give in and laugh with him. Something inside me unwinds.

  “Well, well, am I interrupting?”

  I whirl and my smile dims. “Taylor, hey,” I say.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I thought we were going to meet at the bar.” She eyes Caine with mild disgust.

  “Oh, right, I completely forgot.”

  “Obviously you were caught up and your brain wasn’t functioning properly,” she says icily.

  Instead of being offended by Taylor’s jab, Caine grins. “Hello to you too, Taylor. You look beautiful tonight. Want to dance?”

  “Ugh.” Taylor rolls her eyes. “Please.”

  “Well, since you asked nicely,” he says, his smile widening.

  Taylor scowls and I elbow him, fighting a smile. Caine’s not my favorite but anyone who can shut Taylor up isn’t all bad in my book. “I’m going to get a drink. Are you coming?” Taylor asks me.

  “Yes.” I step away from Caine. “Thank you for the dance. It was fun.”

  Caine eyes me strangely and I realize I’ve done it again. I’ve been too nice. I consider throwing an insult in but it’s too late now. Besides that, he doesn’t deserve it, not this time, and I can’t bring myself to do it.

  “Yeah. It was,” he says finally. “Save me one later?”

  “Sure.” I follow Taylor, who is already cutting through swaying bodies.

  On the way, I get three more offers to dance—two politicians’ sons and one oil tycoon who is old
enough to be my grandfather. I decline all of them and keep walking. The slippery-smiled oiler follows me for a few steps and tries to grab my hand—or some other appendage—despite my decline, but I scoot around several twirling women in poofy dresses and manage to lose him. By the time I reach the bar, I’m sweating.

  Taylor glances at me, her brows rising in a silent question, and turns to the bartender. “Two rum and Cokes on the rocks.”

  He nods and moves away to make the drinks.

  “I shouldn’t drink,” I say.

  “You shouldn’t dance with Caine Rafferty either.”

  “You hate him.”

  Taylor pierces me with a sharp stare. “Once upon a time, we both hated him. Or don’t you remember?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before shaking her head and continuing, “Just one more thing to add to the list of Opposite Raven.”

  I cringe but ask the question anyway. “What’s Opposite Raven?”

  “You.” She folds her arms over her chest, hiding the neckline of her dress and making it look like the only thing covering her cleavage is her stance. “Ever since you hit your head, it’s like every day is opposite day with you. I’ve started calling you Opposite Raven. You never do or say what I expect anymore.”

  I don’t know what to say. She’s nailed it. “Taylor—”

  “Don’t.” She uncrosses her arms and holds up a hand. The bartender sets our drinks in front of us and moves away. I don’t question how she was able to order them or why she doesn’t have to pay. “Don’t waste your breath on another lie or vague excuse. I’m tired of it. You can either explain yourself now once and for all or we’re not friends anymore.”

  I bite my lip, knowing I can’t agree to the first but I can’t afford the second. My deal with Titus hinges on convincing those around me. If he knows I can’t do that anymore … I swallow and shove away an image of Linc, beaten and bloody. “I don’t want to lie to you,” I say.

  “Then don’t.”

  Alton moves into my peripheral vision. Taylor scowls and shoots him a look before locking eyes with me again. A challenge. This is it.

  Alton’s presence gives me an idea. It’s risky but it’s all I have. “Can I trust you?” I ask Taylor.

  “You know you can.”

  “All right.” I take a deep breath and lean forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her ear closer so I can whisper. “Remember how you thought I was into something with all those marks on me the other day?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I am. Just not like that, but there’s someone special ….”

  She pulls away to look at with wide eyes. “Who?”

  Craning my neck, I scan the room. I do two sweeps before I spot him. He’s over by the patio, leaning against the wall next to a large potted palm. People move between us, cutting him off from my view, but every time the path clears, his gaze is trained in the same place. Me.

  I turn Taylor around and lean my head next to hers so our line of sight matches. When we’re facing Linc, I point my finger at him and lean into Taylor. “Linc Crawford. I’m in love with him.”

  Taylor stares at Linc for all of three heartbeats before she exclaims in an overdramatic drawl, “Ohmygod, it all makes sense!”

  She whirls on me and something in her expression makes my blood chill.

  “Really?” I ask, hopeful.

  Her eyes lose their disbelieving look and everything ices over. “No. Not really. What the hell is really going on, Rav? I mean it. This is your last chance.”

  “But—I’m telling the truth. Linc and I are in love.”

  “Whatever. I’m not stupid. Here’s the thing. The Raven I know would never fall for a guy below her station and she would absolutely never, ever use the L-word. So there is more to this than you’re saying. And if you’re not going to tell me what it is, I have my answer.”

  “Taylor—”

  “Yes?”

  Silence hangs between us. I can’t think of a single thing to say that will fix this. Taylor’s right about one thing. She isn’t stupid. But there’s no way I can ever tell her the truth.

  “Right. So, our friendship is over. And look, whatever happens next, just know this, Opposite Raven: you brought it on yourself. I tried to help you. Now, well, we’re not on the same side anymore. You’ve been warned.” Taylor grabs her drink from the bar and disappears into the crowd.

  I stare after her until I lose sight of her blonde hair and, even then, I watch the faces without really seeing them, still searching my brain for something I can tell her that will make it all okay. Someone bumps my elbow and I jump. Dark liquid sloshes over the rim of my glass and runs down my hand. I hold it away from my body to keep it from spilling on my dress.

  “Shit, sorry, Ven.” The sound of my name—and the voice uttering it—make me forget all about my spilled drink.

  “Obadiah.” With my free hand, I throw an arm around his neck and hug him. He laughs but gently pushes me back. “Uh, no hugging the lower level elites in public, Miss Rogen. It’s frowned upon. Here, let me get you a towel for that.” He reaches behind the bar and hands me a dish towel. I use it to wipe my hand and then the sides of the glass. “Besides, if you raise your arms over your head, your dress is going to eclipse whatever show Titus has planned for all these reporters.”

  “I didn’t choose it,” I grumble, tugging at the ends.

  “Obviously,” he says in a tone that says he’s enjoying my discomfort way too much. “What are you drinking?”

  “I’m holding a rum and Coke. I’m not actually drinking anything. You want?” I offer it up and he takes it with a shrug.

  “Sure. Thanks.” He takes it and sips delicately. We lean back against the bar shoulder to shoulder and face the crowd. “How are you?” he asks without looking at me. “Captain America tells me troublesome things.”

  Troublesome. Yes. “I’m …” My eyes well but I blink furiously. It’s far too crowded, too exposed. A flashbulb goes off in my face and I wince.

  “What the hell, man?” Obadiah takes a step forward and the offending photographer shrinks away.

  “Sorry,” the guy mutters.

  “No flash photography until the show,” Obadiah yells after him. He turns to me. “Sorry. You all right?”

  “Yeah I’m fine. I just … I wish I could get out more. I miss the orphans.”

  If he notices the hitch in my voice, he doesn’t comment. We go back to scanning the crowd. “I know. But we all appreciate you being careful. And we understand when you have to stay away.”

  “I don’t know if staying away is still the best option,” I say.

  Something in my voice finally alerts him. He shifts his gaze to me and his eyes narrow. “Oh, Lord. I know that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The look of imbecile determination that always precedes you putting yourself at risk,” he says.

  “I do not … Always,” I amend when he send me a withering look. “We’re all at risk. Just getting out of bed every morning is a risk.” Ida shouldered my risk. I bite back the urge to cry.

  “I don’t know.” Obadiah winks, an attempt to humor me. “I would think with a security guard boyfriend like yours, even lying in bed is a pretty naughty risk.”

  My cheeks flame pink. For a mortifying moment, I wonder if he knows something. He just laughs and shakes his head at me. “You’re way too easy to heckle.”

  I mumble at him to shut up again and then stare at the room until my blush fades.

  We watch the dancers for a while. Dresses and skirts in an array of colors swirl and spin until the entire dance floor looks like a moving tie-dyed painting. It’s pretty—if you don’t know what sort of evil and uncaring lies underneath the layers of fabric.

  Beyond the dance floor, there is movement on the stage. The orchestra fills only one side of the raised platform. On the other side, several important-looking men have gathered in a circle, all with snifters in hand. Their expensive suits and matching shoes shine under
neath the bright stage lights. I recognize one of them as Senator Whitcomb, Obadiah’s father. I’m fairly certain the others are all members of some cabinet or another. As I watch, Titus climbs the side stairs and joins them, patting Senator Whitcomb on the back as he smiles a predator’s greeting to them all.

  The entire thing makes my skin crawl. “Who’s that man?” I ask, pointing to the man beside Obadiah’s father. He is handsome in that same polished way Titus has. His salt and pepper hair is combed back in a slick and charming sort of way. His expression is open and when he smiles, it’s a disarming sort of welcome. I can see it in the response of the other men. They gravitate toward him.

  “Are you serious?” Obadiah asks. “That’s Jeremiah Douglas. How do you not know that by now?”

  “Douglas?” I frown. “That’s Taylor’s dad.”

  “Duh. Are you living under a rock? Oh, right, yes. Yes you are.”

  He’s right, I should’ve known Taylor’s dad by now. But Titus has me so cocooned away that I don’t. I stare at the men on the stage with a strange, unsettled feeling in my gut. “Things are changing, Obadiah,” I say quietly.

  “Of course they are. It’s the circle of life.” His joke falls flat when he sees my face. I don’t turn away from the group of men. It’s too riveting. I don’t know what they’re planning, but it feels important. This entire night feels important. A crossroads. A gathering storm.

  Obadiah’s eyes are on me, searching. “What is it? What happened?”

  “What did your dad tell you about tonight? About why all the reporters are here?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s a Presidential campaign party. I just figured it was normal.”

  “Is anything normal anymore?” I say, forcing my eyes away from the stage. His face is familiar and gentle and a reminder that he is unconditionally on my side.

  “What is it, Ven? What happened?” he asks again.

  The words die in my throat. I can’t explain without also hurting him. “It’s nothing,” I say finally. The bartender catches my eye. I nod once to signal for a second drink. Obadiah is clearly unconvinced but he lets it go. I exhale and when the next drink is placed in my hand, I set to work draining it.