“I should warn you,” Eric told Emma, “that I will kill Chase if he divulges any personal information of an embarrassing nature. So if you like him at all, don’t ask.”
Emma laughed.
“Easy for you,” Chase muttered, “since he’s not going to kill you for asking.”
It had been such a long week. It felt as though Tuesday night had happened months ago. Emma stared out the window as the streets moved past, thinking about her father. Thinking, as well, about Nathan, and where Nathan might be. It was hard. She worked not to think about him, but she wasn’t used to it; there had been no reason not to think of him before.
A year, her father had said. Maybe two. Two years, and then he’d drift back, either to his home or to hers.
“Emma?”
“Hmmm?” She looked up. “Oh, sorry. I forgot.” She started to give him the directions he needed to get them to Amy’s.
If there had been any question about which house the party was at, it was answered definitively the minute the car doors were opened: You could hear the music from the street. Emma listened for a few tense minutes and then relaxed.
“DJ?”
“Yeah. Last time she did this, she hired a band.”
Eric laughed.
“I’m not kidding. The band was louder,” she added, “and they kind of had to be escorted out of the house when one of them got dead drunk and started hitting on anything that moved. And I mean anything.”
“Escorted how?”
“Oh, the usual. Someone called the police before things got really ugly.” She shrugged and added, “Not that it wasn’t ugly afterward. Mr. Drunk and Amorous really didn’t appreciate the shabby treatment and he broke a few things to make his point.”
“She does this often?”
“Not too often. Depends on what her parents have been doing—or not doing, in this case.”
“Not doing?”
“Not taking her to New York City, for a start.”
Eric glanced at Chase, and Chase shrugged. “What’s so great about New York City?” he asked.
“Everything, basically. Look, if you can avoid saying that anywhere where Amy can actually hear you, things will go a lot smoother.”
“What?” Chase shouted, as they approached the front door.
“Good point,” Emma grinned, shouting back.
Amy’s house was huge. If palaces had been built in a modern style, they would probably have been only slightly larger; Emma’s whole house, from top to bottom, would fill only two of the rooms. The grounds—and really, only Amy’s house had grounds, everyone else being stuck with simple lawns—extended back into a forested ravine, and the front was only disturbed by a circular road that was too wide to be called a driveway. There was, of course, a sidewalk beside the road.
Chase whistled.
“Amy’s family is pretty well off,” Emma admitted.
Chase knocked on the door, and Emma hit the doorbell instead. Had Allison been standing beside her, they would now be betting on how many times she would have to hit the doorbell before someone actually heard it. But Eric and Chase were not Allison.
And the answer was five.
Amy’s brother answered the door, which surprised Emma enough that her smile froze on her face.
“Hey,” he shouted.
“Skip?” This was not actually his name, but for some reason, it was what all of Amy’s friends called him. Emma suspected that this was a leftover artifact from elementary school excursions through the mansion that was Amy’s house, but she couldn’t remember for certain. “Aren’t you on the east coast?”
“Something came up,” he replied. “I had to come home for a few days. Good damn thing I did,” he added, although she saw the beer in his hand. “Someone needs to keep an eye out. If the neighbors call the police again, Amy’ll be homeless. These friends of yours?”
She nodded. “Eric’s in our year, but he’s new to the school. Chase is his cousin.”
“Chase? What kind of a name is that?”
“Skip?”
He laughed. “Good point. Amy! The last member of the Emery mafia is here!”
Eric looked at Emma, who reddened slightly.
“Mafia?”
“Don’t ask. Skip has no sense of humor. Unfortunately, he still tries.”
Eric laughed, and they entered the house as Skip left the door and wandered away. Emma caught up with him before he got too far. “Skip, do you know where Allison is?”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Amy’s house was huge. It had five bathrooms, not including the powder room in the main foyer—a powder room that even without shower or bath was still bigger than the main bathroom in the Hall household. The foyer itself was larger than the living room and dining room in the Hall house combined, but at the moment, the rows upon rows of shoes and fall boots that lined the walls near the door made it look slightly less palatial.
“I’m not taking my boots off,” Chase said loudly.
“Why? Someone’s going to steal them?”
He bent down and picked up a pair of running shoes. “They’re better than these,” he said, with obvious disdain. “Or these,” he added, choosing a different pair. “Or these.”
Eric smacked him on the back of the head.
Unfazed, Chase pointed at Eric’s shoes. “Or those. And Eric would definitely steal these.”
Emma said, “Suit yourself. But Amy’s pretty particular about the shoes in her house, and if she sees you wearing those, you’ll probably be waiting outside in the car.”
“But you can wear yours?”
“Mine,” she replied, “are part of the outfit. And I don’t wear them outside much.”
“So are mine, damn it. I’m wearing white socks!”
She raised her eyebrows. “What, white socks in that get-up?”
“They’re all Eric had!”
“You did not get that crappy jacket out of Eric’s closet!”
“Kids,” Eric said, putting a hand on both of their shoulders. “Could we maybe save this for Amy?”
Emma grimaced. “If you make it a fashion question, Chase might be able to get away with the boots.” She shook her head and added, “White socks.”
Finding Amy was not as easy in practice as it was in theory, which, given that she always stood out, said something. As Emma was mostly concerned with finding Allison, this didn’t bother her too much.
“You recognize all these people?” Eric shouted. Everything, at the moment, had to be shouted, but you expected that at Amy’s big parties.
Emma shook her head, because she didn’t really enjoy shouting all that much.
“Do you recognize half of them?”
She nodded, because it was more or less true. You also expected that with any of Amy’s big parties. “Just look for Allison.”
“What?”
“Allison.”
“No, but I see Michael.”
“Where?”
He pointed into a crowd so dense there seemed to be more people than floor space. Before she could tell him—loudly, because there wasn’t much choice—how helpful this wasn’t, he rolled his eyes and grabbed her by the arm.
Two people trying to snake their way through a thick crowd are notably less coordinated than one. Emma, who felt she already knew this, didn’t really appreciate the refresher course. On the other hand, she had to admit that it would have taken twenty minutes to cut across this particular room, and Eric had just carved about fifteen minutes off that. He had also almost knocked four people over, although the sound at her back implied that almost was no longer the correct word for at least one of them.
She looked around and realized that he was actually heading toward the large, enclosed sunroom. Or, more accurately, the sliding doors that led from the slate-floored, sparsely decorated room, with its wicker chairs and footrests, to the patio. She realized, again, that Eric was actually taller than she thought, because he could see Michael sta
nding outside in the floodlights. Even in her shoes, she hadn’t.
Michael was, not surprisingly, talking to Oliver. He was also, therefore, not paying much attention to anything else that was going on around him. But Allison was standing just to one side of them, out of the worst of the lights’ glare, and Emma shook herself free of Eric and ran over to her.
“Sorry,” she said. “But you and Michael are still in one piece, so I’m assuming there was no menace to telephone poles.”
“And we didn’t run any stop signs, either. Philipa’s really gotten a lot better behind the wheel of a car. You didn’t have any trouble?” There was a slight tinge of anxiety in the question.
“Us? No. We’re late because Chase took his time getting dressed.”
“Chase?”
Emma nodded in Chase’s general direction. “The redhead in the studs.”
“I heard that,” Chase said. In the bright lights of the patio, he looked even worse. His skin was washed out, and his hair looked like a bad edifice that might just topple if you breathed on it the wrong way.
“Allison, this is Chase. He’s a friend of Eric’s. Chase, this is Allison, my best friend.”
Chase immediately put both of his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. Allison laughed, and to Emma’s surprise, Chase—in his black leather—smiled. “I’m not stupid. Eric’s afraid of Emma,” he said to Allison.
Eric glared at him.
“I’m not technically allowed to embarrass him in public,” Chase added, by way of explanation. “Like the jacket?”
“It’s…interesting,” Allison replied.
“I can’t stand it either.”
Allison laughed again. Emma turned to stare at Chase.
“What, do I have an enormous zit or something?”
“She is staring at you,” Eric replied, when Emma failed to answer, “because you are actually capable of charm, and this is the first time you’ve shown any.”
“I figured she’s used to no charm.” Chase’s smile was very smug. “She’s spent the week with you, after all.”
Allison was polite enough not to laugh out loud at this but amused enough not to be able to keep the smile off her face. “Are you sure you’re not brothers?”
“Please,” Chase said, at the same time as Eric said “Positive.” He turned to glance at Michael, Connell, and Oliver, who existed at the moment in their own world.
“I don’t suppose you play Dungeons and Dragons?” Allison asked Chase.
“Not often.”
Emma stared at him again.
“What?”
“Fourth edition rules, if you want to join the discussion,” Allison said politely.
Emma gave Allison a look, and Allison laughed. “Or not.”
“Have you seen Amy at all?”
“Sort of. Her brother showed up yesterday, with a friend from law school in tow.”
“Good looking?”
“Very. And impeccably dressed. I think. Do you want to meet him?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I suggest we move,” Allison replied. “And quickly, because they’re heading this way.”
“Emma!” Amy’s voice—which was, like the rest of her, exceptional—cleared the distance between them as Emma squared her shoulders and fixed a friendly, party smile to her lips. She turned in time to see Amy step through the open doors, followed by the sound of very loud music, Skip, and a stranger.
Amy was wearing a black and white dress. It was cut to suggest, in some ways, a harlequin, but it was fitted, and the black diamonds that trailed from throat to hem glittered; the white was soft and pale in comparison. Her hair framed her face and fell, in a thick drape, down her back. Her shoes were the inverse of the dress; black with a single white diamond.
She looked, in short, fabulous. Emma, who had long since given up any attempt to compete with Amy, repressed a sigh. Which, Amy being Amy, was noticed anyway. “Well?” she said, demanding her due.
“You are gorgeous. And I love the shoes!” Emma, on the other hand, was perfectly willing to grant what was due.
“Notice the earrings?”
“No—come here.”
Amy did. The earrings were also black and white—but they were the yin and yang symbols, not the straight lines of trapezoids. “Nicely understated,” Emma told her.
Amy nodded, satisfied. “I like your dress,” she added. Which, to be fair, was a genuine compliment, because if Amy didn’t like your dress, the best you could pray for was silence.
Because she had perfect timing, Amy paused and then looked at Chase. Whose dress, for want of a better word, she didn’t care for. “Emma?”
“This is Chase,” Emma said quickly. “He’s a good friend of Eric’s.”
“Really?”
“Eric doesn’t dress him,” Emma said, with a perfectly straight face.
Chase, on the other hand, had fallen silent. While Emma was used to this reaction when a new guy was put in the vicinity of Amy, it was the wrong type of silence for someone like Chase. She glanced at him and then turned to look at Eric.
Both of them were utterly still. And both of them wore the same expression, or the same lack of expression; it was as if something had sucked all the life and warmth from their faces. What it left was disturbing.
Amy noticed it as well, but, being Amy, she ignored it. She turned as Skip and his friend joined them. “Skip,” she said, “this is Eric, a friend from school. He’s new here,” she added helpfully. “This is his friend, Chase. Eric, Chase, this is my brother. And this is his friend, Merrick Longland. They met at the beginning of term at Dalhousie.”
Merrick Longland stepped into the light, standing with his back to Michael and his friends, who remained entirely unaware of encroaching strangers. He was, as Allison had said, impeccably dressed. The dress in question was casual, not formal, but there was something about the crisp lines of a loosely fitted coal jacket and the collarless white shirt beneath it that suggested formality. The shirt was partly unbuttoned, and the telltale gleam of a gold pendant lay across his exposed chest. Emma didn’t notice what kind of pants he wore. She noticed that his hair was a short, clean-cut brown, that his cheekbones were high, that his chin was neither too prominent nor too slight; she noticed that his brows were thick.
But mostly, in that quiet moment that exists just after you’ve drawn and held breath, she noticed his eyes. They were gleaming, faintly, as if lit from behind, and she could not honestly say, then or later, what color they actually were.
Merrick smiled, and it was a deep, pleasant smile; it transformed the lines of his face without exactly softening them.
“Merrick,” Amy said, although her voice now sounded quiet and slightly distant, “this is Emma Hall. She’s one of the Emery Mafia,” she added.
“Emma?” Merrick said. He held out a hand.
Emma stared at it, as if she couldn’t quite remember what to do. Shaking her head, she grimaced. She held out her hand in turn, and he grasped it firmly in his.
His hand was cold. Not like ice, but like winter skin. She started to pull back, which no amount of apology could excuse or convert into good manners, but his hand tightened.
“Oh, Emma,” he said softly. “We’ve only just been introduced, and I think we have a lot to say to each other.”
“I—I’m here with friends,” she replied, knowing how lame it would sound even before the words left her mouth.
“Ah. Yes. That could be awkward.” His eyes, the eyes that were somehow luminescent, flared in the dark of night sky, becoming what the soul of fire would be, if fire had a soul.
And then the world stopped.
IN THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF THE PATIO, all the shadows cast against the stonework suddenly stopped moving. The music, transformed by solid glass into the thumping of loud bass, continued its steady, frantic beat—but no one was shouting to be heard.
No one, it appeared, was talking much at all. She couldn’t tell if they were even tryin
g; she couldn’t look away from his face. She knew. She’d tried. But she could see their shadows—Amy’s, Skip’s. Allison, Eric, and Chase cast shadows that fell past her line of vision.
“Better?” Merrick Longland asked.
“No.”
He smiled. It wasn’t meant as a threatening smile; Emma was certain he meant it to be friendly. But her hand was cold, and she could have shaved her dog with the edges around that smile. She tried to dredge up an answering smile from somewhere, and she managed. Unfortunately, it was the same as the smile you offered a dangerously furious dog while you were carefully reaching for a big stick.
“What have you done?” she asked, speaking softly because the unnatural quiet almost demanded it.
“I’ve provided us with a little bit of privacy.”
“I don’t think we need it.” It was hard to keep her voice even.
“It’s better. For them,” he added. “There are things I have to tell you—things about yourself—that they don’t need to hear.”
“Need to hear?”
He nodded. “I’ll be brief, because I have to be; this is costly. When Skip mentioned that his sister was having a party, I didn’t realize I would have to control a small village’s worth of teenagers.”
She laughed; it was a thin sound, and it quavered too much. “It’s one of Amy’s parties.” From his expression, it was clear that there were people in the world who hadn’t heard of Amy’s parties. And while Emma knew this was in theory possible, it wasn’t often that she met them.
“We can explore the delights of Amy’s party in a few minutes.” He was clearly underimpressed. “What I have to say to you is important. Your life is in danger. I was delayed some few days in my arrival,” he added, “but so were our enemies, it appears.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re alive. The delay might have cost you your life. There are people who will be hunting you, and if they had found you before I did, you’d be dead. But I have some measure of defense against them.”
She nodded carefully. “I’m willing to talk about this, but I want you to let go of my hand.”
Silence: Book One of The Queen of the Dead Page 11
