by Amy Patrick
The doorbell rings as I turn off the water.
Shit. Is Father finished with Nicole already? I hope he didn’t disregard my instructions and bring her here anyway. Maybe it’s Brenna bringing Cupcake home. Charging into my bedroom, I rummage through the drawers, yanking on the first pair of shorts I come across. I stride to the front door and look through the security port.
All my breath leaves me at once. It’s Laney. She’s standing alone, and she appears to be crying.
Oh God. I backtrack a few paces. My heart is simultaneously bursting with joy and filled with dismay. Everything inside me wants to throw open the door, drag her inside, and claim her so no one else will ever have her.
No. I can’t let her in. In my current state of mind, she’ll be on her back and underneath me in ten seconds flat. Oh no. I’m enjoying that mental picture far too much.
I take a step back toward the door, my hand on the knob before I force myself to stop, grabbing handfuls of my own hair and clenching to the point of pain.
I can’t. I can’t.
She rings the bell again. “Culley—please let me in,” she says, the sound of her sweet voice an absolute torment to my inflamed body and mind. “Are you really with her? What happened, Culley? Please open the door.”
No one should ever come this close to the fires of hell. I’m hovering at the edge of an abyss, my hands shaking with the compulsion to open the door, my body an inferno of wretchedness.
Finally, I force words from my parched throat. My voice comes out stronger than I would have expected based on the shaky way I feel. “Go away, Laney. I’m busy. I’m... not alone.”
On the other side of the port, she stands in stunned immobility for a moment. Then her hands come up to cover her face, and her shoulders begin to shake. My heart shrivels as she slowly turns and walks away.
Go to Brenna’s place, I command her silently. I know my neighbor won’t turn her away, even if she has to give up her own bed. And tomorrow, Laney will have her own place to move into.
She’ll be fine, I tell myself. Me, on the other hand...
Pacing my living room like a caged tiger, I finally pick up my phone and text Brenna.
-Is she there?
The answer comes minutes later.
-She is. What the hell did you do?
-I’ll talk to you in the morning. Take care of her.
There’s no further communication from Brenna, and no sleep at all for me that night. The next morning, I call my neighbor.
“Hello?” Brenna answers.
“How bad was it?”
“Pretty bad apparently. She’s gone.”
My heart freezes. “Gone? What do you mean gone?”
“I mean she’s not here. She got up and left sometime during the night. She took her purse and the clothes she was wearing. And Cupcake.”
That last part is the one that scares me. “She didn’t tell you where she was going?”
“No.”
“Brenna...” My tone is a warning. If she’s holding out on me, mistakenly believing she’s doing Laney a favor by lying to me, I’ll find out.
“I promise. I had no idea she even intended to go. I called her new apartment—they said she’s not there. Where do you think she went?”
Considering it, I literally shudder. She could be anywhere. Knowing her, she spent the night out on the beach. Anything could have happened to her. “I don’t know. But I know where she’ll go today—the clinic.”
“You really think so? She was pretty upset last night. I had the impression she was kind of done with the whole L.A. scene. Whatever you said or did, it was a doozy.”
My frozen heart gathers another layer of ice. My tone is tight and frantic. “Did she ever tell you where she’s from? Think about it—any hints at all.”
“No. She was always really tight-lipped about that. Sorry. What will you do?”
“Find her of course.”
Chapter Nineteen
Assignment
Three weeks later
“Come dance with us,” Deeanna says. The intoxicated pop star stretches her arms out to me, and she wiggles her fingers. Her glossy mouth forms a pretty pout. “Come on, Culley. You used to be fun.”
I haven’t had nearly enough to drink tonight to dance. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink—period. That’s how I spend most of my existence now. The only way I can get any kind of relief from the torment of my memories is to drown them in alcohol. I really need to go see Ava and let her wipe the whole mess of it clean.
Reluctantly I allow the singer to drag me out onto the floor, the swirling lights and pounding bass in L.A.’s hottest nightclub doing nothing to counteract the dead feeling inside me. It’s my fourth night out this week. I’m tired. And bored. I wouldn’t even be here if my absence wouldn’t be noticed.
The girl undulates to the music, making obvious bedroom eyes at me. Her generous and barely covered “assets” bounce with the rhythm of the techno beat. All around us guys are craning their necks to look at her one-woman floor show, but none of it stirs even the least bit of interest in me.
I shout in order to be heard over the powerful sound system. “I think I’m gonna push off.”
Her face contracts in a scowl. “Nooooo. You just got here. What’s the matter? You got a girlfriend waiting at home or something?”
The innocent question slices through me like the sharpest blade. “No. I definitely do not have one of those.”
One of her backup dancers shimmies up next to me. “Boyfriend?” he asks hopefully.
I give a rueful grin. “No. Not one of those either. I’ve got work.”
“I call bullshit,” the dancer says. “I know you don’t have a shoot tonight. Stay here and party with us. Dee has some excellent S. It’ll be a fun night. You can slam a few Red Bulls in the morning to get going.”
“Tempting, mate. Tempting. But no. I’m afraid I can’t do it. You all have some fun for me, okay?”
I head out to the parking lot, trying to shake off the putrid reaction I’ve been having lately every time I see people using S or hear them talking about it as if it’s a good time. I actually feel compelled to talk them out of it. Damn Laney. It never used to bother me. Now I can’t help but think of her brother Joseph and the things she said about his loss. Somehow I’ve gone from wanting to eradicate S for her sake to actually caring about the whole sodding lot of the human race.
I’ve been unable so far to find much information that would help Ava and her Light Elven allies in their fight against the Scourge. So I go to work every day on some modeling gig or other, and I spend most evenings out, maintaining the appearance of continuing to work for my father.
It’s hardly necessary anymore anyway. The roots of the epidemic have already been sunk so deep, the cases of S addiction are increasing almost on autopilot. Even if I were to stop pushing the drug entirely, the Scourge would continue to spread. Before long, it will even make its way to the small town where Laney lives, wherever that is.
Damn it—there she is again—always in my mind, waiting to take over and pull me into a depressive gloom at the slightest reminder.
I went to the clinic the morning after the charity gala looking for her. When I arrived, Shane stared daggers at me and said Laney had called him late the previous night, informing him that she would not return to her volunteer post there.
“I offered to hire her, to pay her for her work if money was the issue,” he told me. “She said it was not that. It was a personal matter. She said she had to go home, that she couldn’t stay in the city. She didn’t have the heart for it. She was crying. I don’t know what you did to her, man, but you did a real number on that girl.”
He shook his head in disgust. “I’m not sure what she ever saw in you.”
I didn’t have the energy or the inclination to argue with him. “Me either, mate.”
Before leaving, I used my Sway on him and each of the clinic workers, quizzing them about any information Laney might
have shared regarding her hometown or even her last name. No one knew anything. Because she wasn’t on the payroll, she’d never filled out any paperwork. I left the place no closer to finding her than I was when I arrived.
The hopeless, empty feeling hasn’t dissipated since then. It’s increased in fact. Any notion I had of time healing the gaping wound left by Laney’s abrupt departure is now gone. It only grows larger every day.
Why didn’t I open the damn door?
The sound of her voice, asking me to let her in, haunts my dreams. That is, when I can go to sleep at all. Most of my nights are spent tossing and turning, imagining the feel of her small body next to mine, burning with longing to touch her, to see her, to talk to her. I’d give up everything I have—eagerly—just for the chance to see her one more time.
Of course, if that actually were to happen it would change nothing. Looking is the extent of what I’d do with those precious moments. Over the course of the long, empty weeks since she’s been gone, I’ve become convinced leaving was the best thing for her. Even if she were to knock on my door tonight and ask me to let her come back, I’d say no.
Maybe.
No, I would. I’d have to. She was wrong about me. There is no good inside. Though I’m no longer as interested in my father’s approval, I still do his bidding. Even knowing what the human toll will be, I do it. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does.
I pull into the gated drive of Father’s Bel Air mansion. The lavish home could be better described as a palace, featuring a lushly landscaped Italianate courtyard, elaborate ironwork, three pools, and a panoramic view of the city as well as a five bedroom “guest cottage.” Inside the mansion itself, there are ten bedrooms and twelve baths, a gym, and enough gold leaf, marble, and chandeliers to put Versailles to shame. As far as I can tell, Father uses about a tenth of the place and appreciates none of it.
Leaving the keys in the car, I let myself in through the ornate iron and glasswork front door and head for his library office. I wasn’t lying to the flirty back-up dancer. I really do have work to do tonight. Father summoned me by text to meet him here.
“Ah, Culley. Come in. Sit down.” He’s casually dressed in slacks and a cashmere sweater but still looks ready to host a cocktail party or pose for a spread in a lifestyle magazine.
I take a seat on the leather sofa flanking one wall of his office. He sits behind his desk.
“How was your evening, son? Find any fresh amusements?”
I know he’s referring to girls. The answer is a resounding, “No.” I have absolutely no interest in any of the girls who throw themselves at me during my nightly forays into the city’s hot spots.
Though I’m at the age of bonding for Elves, and the drive to find a mate becomes increasingly insistent for our race at that time, my own libido seems to have gone on permanent hiatus. When Laney was around, all it took was a whiff of her sweet vanilla scent, or the sound of her voice, or one glance at her tiny bare feet and I was raring to go. Now? I could spend an entire night at the 4Play club in West L.A. and not feel a single stir.
“Yes, Father,” I lie. “A few. L.A. is a wondrous city. I’ll be sorry to leave it.”
“Yes, it’s been good to have you around. You have matured into a capable and reliable ally. But I know you’ll enjoy living in Europe again. And it will be very advantageous to have you there, where you can influence the Court overseas. Speaking of which, plans for your wedding celebration are coming along nicely. Only a month to go in your enforced celibacy. No doubt you’ll enjoy that perk even more.”
“As you do?” I quip bitterly.
Though still married, my parents haven’t lived together in years. Because they’re Elven, neither of them can take another mate. Which means, for all practical purposes, my father is as celibate as I am, his everything-but dalliances with attractive human women notwithstanding.
There’s no guarantee my own arranged marriage will be any less miserable. But what does it really matter? I have no desire for any girl beside Laney anyway. I won’t love anyone else—so it really makes no difference who I am forced to marry.
He gives me a grim smile. “Your mother and I have a powerful alliance—and an understanding. It works. We’re both getting exactly what we want out of the arrangement.”
“Did you ever love her?” I ask, suddenly curious.
He skewers me with a glare. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? Love serves no purpose. It’s a silly human notion.” He lets out a weary breath. “Letting you interact with them has been a necessary evil—I certainly hope their peculiar ideas and traditions haven’t infected you. We have too much work to do to waste time pursuing pipe dreams and fairy tales.”
“No Father,” I say. “There is nothing in my life but the work.”
The accuracy of the words hits me full force. Though my attitude toward humans has changed, my life has not. I am still living as I did before I ever met Laney—obeying my Father’s commands, following his prescription for my life, putting all of their lives in danger. The only difference now is I actually feel lonely when I’m alone.
“Very good.” He stands and walks around his desk, holding out a large manila envelope.
“What’s this?”
“A list of our S factories with notations beside those that are new or set to come on line shortly. I’ll need you to inspect them with Hakon, and get it done before your marriage takes place. It will require a bit of travel.”
I get to my feet and take the offered treasure, trying to hide my excitement. “That’s no problem. Anything you need.”
This could be the break we’ve been looking for. With a complete inventory of the S production facilities, Ava and her allies might be able to concoct a scheme to shut them down or perhaps interfere with delivery of the drug. I leave Father’s house with my mind spinning. I’ll need to pay close attention at each plant I visit, making note of entrances and exits, operating hours, and delivery routes and schedules.
I can’t say I’m “happy.” I’ve blown my one chance at experiencing that emotion in this lifetime. But for the first time in weeks, my life feels like it might have a little purpose, some reason to go on. I cannot be with Laney. But there’s a chance I could protect her and her friends and family from afar. Now I just have to figure out how to do it.
Chapter Twenty
Perfect Weapon
Our first factory visit takes us to Denver. Father’s private jet is at our disposal, so it takes Hakon and I only two and a half hours to reach the plant where we do a walk-through and interview the supervisor. The healer does his quality check of the product while I inspect the delivery vehicles and schedule information, making copies for my own later use.
Houston is our next stop, followed by Orlando. At each location, I gather what intel I can. I’m sure I’m missing something important, but without knowing exactly what the plan will be it’s hard to know what to look for.
“I think that’s all we can do for today,” I say to Hakon. “Want to stay here tonight or go on to Charlotte and spend the night there?”
“Let’s stay here, if you don’t mind. I’ve always wanted to see Orlando. Ever been to the Magic Kingdom?”
I shake my head. “Nah. Mother rarely leaves Australia, and Father never had time when I visited him here in summers.”
He looks at his watch. “Well, it’s a little late for the parks, and I’m more than a little old for them, but maybe we could get a cab to Downtown Disney and have dinner, look around.”
“Sure. Whatever. Sounds fine.”
Though it’s after nine when we arrive at the entertainment village, the parking lot is filled, and pedestrians pack the balmy well-lit walkways. Hakon and I stroll from restaurant to restaurant, laughing when we spot Planet Hollywood.
“If only they knew the place was filled with relics of Elven domination of the TV and film industry,” he says.
“Well, I don’t care where we eat—as long as I can get a beer and a burger—and soon.
”
“Agreed.”
We select a cafe with sidewalk seating, having spent the entire day indoors. The food is fine, but the real attraction of the place is the people watching. Families of every size, shape, and race imaginable walk past, some smiling, some struggling with overtired toddlers who are beyond ready to call it a day.
Hakon watches a father and son go by, the little boy riding high on his dad’s shoulders. The expression in his turquoise eyes could only be described as “wistful.”
“Are you a married man?” I ask, wondering if he has a child of his own he might be missing.
His gaze darts to mine, his expression shuttering and becoming unreadable. “No, I... never married.”
“Why not?” It’s highly unusual among our people to stay single. The Elven race is perilously small in number, so members of both courts are strongly encouraged to marry early and start trying to produce offspring immediately. It takes most couples decades to conceive. Some never do.
“It wasn’t in the cards for me,” he says. “My duty to the Dark Court under Davis and now your father keeps me constantly busy. I don’t get much time away from work. I would have been a poor husband. And I know my fathering leaves—would have left—a lot to be desired.”
Trying to make light of his rather depressing explanation, he gives me a wide, dimpled smile. A zing of recognition shocks me. Who does he look like? Someone from my past—a school mate at Eton perhaps? Maybe one of the other male models I’ve worked with?
“Ah,” I say. “Who needs home and family when you’ve got duty to keep you warm, right? No wonder my father loves you.”
“Actually,” he says. “I wouldn’t recommend it. If I could go back and be your age again, I’d make very different choices.”
My age...
That’s when it hits me. When I picture Hakon at my age, he bears an undeniable resemblance to someone I’ve met recently.
Asher.
“That sounds like a good story,” I prompt. “Care to trade tales of lost loves and bad decisions?”
