Behind me, a pair of hands clamped down on my shoulders.
I jerked, screaming and jumping in my seat, and flung my head around.
“Sorry, geez,” Dante said, patting me on the back.
“Morning,” I gasped. I was certainly awake now. “Sorry, just had a rough night.”
He swung onto the stool beside me, suited up in his chef gear, perky as always, the energy radiating out of him in waves. I hoped to catch some by osmosis. “A rough night? Does that mean your date went well or badly?”
“Funny.”
“You looked superhot.”
“Thanks.”
“So.” His brows fluttered searching for details.
“The date was fine. My night was . . . I don’t know where to start.” A sense of comfort blanketed me, relief at not being alone. Now everything could feel less upsetting and confusing. I could expel my fears into the air and he could catch them and defuse them.
“It was just fine?”
“Wait. Before I get to that, what’s the story with that plant you gave me?”
“I know, gorgeous, right? Etan was like, ‘These are so pretty, bring one to your friend.’ And I was like, ‘What a great idea!’” He was talking a mile a minute. I couldn’t figure out a way to jump in. “Speaking of, I have got to tell you about my Valentine’s Day! I’m soooo in love, Hav! I’m just like—”
Normally, I would’ve been all for girl talk, but I was too worn-out and confused. I just needed some answers first. “Dan, I totally want to hear all about it, but what was up with that plant?”
“Hmm? Keep up, honey, we’re talking about love now. You look tired. I’m making you some coffee.” He clapped his hands and rose from his seat, pouring the beans and firing up the machine. “I know you don’t like coffee, but you’ll thank me.” The grinder buzzed and gnashed, but he spoke over it, pulling two mugs down from the cupboard. “Now let’s talk Etan and, you too, let’s talk Lucian! Can you bel—”
So, Etan told him to give it to me. “Dan! The plant somehow caught fire.”
“Huh?” He looked at me with befuddlement, like the day during school spirit week when I showed up in pajamas only to find out it was actually hat day and pajama day was the next day. Like that.
“I think it, like, spontaneously combusted or something.” I shook my head. “I know this sounds crazy, but last night it was on fire in my room. I mean, you didn’t know it would do that, right?”
The grinding stopped and there was silence for a moment, then the coffee machine started to spit and percolate.
“Your room was on fire? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, it just freaked me out.”
“I didn’t hear a fire alarm.”
“Yeah—” Now that I thought about it, shouldn’t something have gone off with all that smoke? “It wasn’t that bad. I took care of it. But you didn’t—” I stopped midsentence; my mind had seized on something.
He went on, filling the void. “I promise, I didn’t do anything. I still don’t even know—”
“Etan.” It just came out like a bullet, before I could soften it. I recalled the talk I had heard in Aurelia’s office. I didn’t think there would be any such thing as an accident here. “It had to be.”
Dante shot me a look that sliced through my skin and my thoughts.
“What are you talking about? You think he knew that thing would set fire to your room? You’re crazy. You probably put it right up against the radiator or something. You’re always doing dumb stuff like that.” He spat this out in a way that shook me up inside. We just didn’t fight; we didn’t talk to each other this way.
I tried to stay calm. “I’m just saying, it seems weird. There’s a lot of stuff here that seems weird.”
He looked enraged. “I’m not gonna have you talking shit about Etan!”
“Dan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“You don’t get it. That guy, he’s, like, the most amazing . . . He gets me. He knows that no one else gets me and he gets me.”
“I get you,” I said softly, hurt.
“You don’t get how hard it is to be me.”
“Dan, you know I’m always here for you.”
“Are you?”
“Are you serious? Where’s all this coming from? What’s going on?”
“He knows what it’s like to be me. I’m doing really well here and you just can’t handle it.”
“I promise you, that’s not it at all.” I should tell him all the things I’ve been seeing here, I should tell him about that book, I thought. But I was too thrown to even know how to respond. “I’m happy for you. You know that.”
“He warned me about this,” he said under his breath, shaking his head.
A light bulb went on. “I’m just, I’m getting kind of worried now. I feel like Etan’s telling you these things that just aren’t true. Talk to me. Can you trust him, Dan?”
“He said you’d say that. You’re just jealous that I’ve been spending all my time with him. And that I’m in love.”
This one, single point may have had a sliver of truth to it.
“Of course I miss you, but you know I’m happy for you.”
“I don’t know what happened to your room and I don’t care. Don’t go attacking my friends just because you don’t have any yourself.”
That stung. It felt like I’d been knifed in the heart. Nothing makes you feel more alone than when your best friend lashes out like that, turns his back and walks away without another word.
“Dan,” I called after him, but my voice was too soft, buried under the weight of my despair. I ran out the door but was too late. He stalked off through the lobby, amid the guests who had begun filtering down from their posh rooms in search of breakfast and the excitement of a new day. The sun gleamed through the skylight. “Dan!” I called again. He didn’t so much as look over his shoulder. Instead, he made the sharp turn down the corridor toward the kitchen entrance to Capone. I let him go. I had to, didn’t I? I crept back to the Parlor kitchen, my heart bleeding out, deflating and leaving me weak and lost. Alone.
19. Please Give Me Your Soul
I tried Aurelia’s office again. This time, she summoned me in on the first knock.
“Good morning, Aurelia,” I said as I found my way to the chair that the Prince had sat in hours ago. I set the camera in my lap.
“Here’s the list of gift recipients for today.” She held out a piece of paper to me. Her hand trembled and her eyes left mine for a moment. Usually her gaze was that of a magnifying glass filtering the sun to fry an ant.
“Thank you.” I took the list and noticed there were only a few names, nothing like the cavalcade of yesterday.
“You may order Lance to carry out this task if you wish.”
“Thank you.”
As she looked through the papers on her desk, my eyes searched the wall behind her desk. The flat screen was alive with the animated LH logo shimmering. Because of the height of the screen, I thought I might have been looking out from just above the center of it—there seemed to be a shadow there, a groove in the design of the panel surrounding the monitor. If that was the spot, the holes were small enough that I couldn’t imagine anyone seeing a pair of eyes there. She didn’t seem to find what she was looking for on her desk and stopped trying.
“I’ll have more for you to do later. I need to locate some materials.” Her voice had been drained of some of its life and power. She was jumpy in a way I’d never seen, a mood mutating out from that first crack in the veneer I’d viewed last night. “We have an outreach program you’ll be working on. We’re going to be hosting the proms for some area high schools. Including yours.”
“Oh, wow.” I said it with more shock than enthusiasm and wondered if she noticed. Part of the joy of this internship was that I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about all of the hubbub of prom and the activities at the end of the year and wouldn’t feel like a loser for missing them—or for not having much int
erest in going in the first place. But now, it would be coming to me. “I’ll be, uh, looking forward to that.”
“You don’t need to look forward yet. It’s in May. But I suppose you can wait and begin tackling that in the next day or so. I’ll have that information for you shortly.” She patted at her desk again and looked at me like it was time to leave. “Thank you.”
I nodded and rose from my chair, remembering: “Oh, and, I, uh, think my keycard isn’t working. I tried—”
“The gallery is closed today.”
“Closed to the public?”
“Yes.”
“But . . . closed to me too?”
“For now. Try back in an hour or so. We’re doing some repairs and then you’ll be free to return to your office, but the gallery itself will remain closed to the public indefinitely,” she said with her usual glass-cutting sharp authority, giving the impression that I shouldn’t bother with follow-up questions. But I couldn’t help it. I allowed myself one. If last night’s adventures had taught me anything, it was that I needed to start asking some questions around here.
“Is there any particular reason?”
She paused, looking at me like I was truly annoying her now. “Some of our photos have been . . . vandalized.”
“Vandalized? But . . .”
“We’re going to need to replace the photos of the Outfit.”
“Oh, I can have the photo place print more, it’s no—”
“Thank you. No.” She snuffed it out so forcefully, I shuddered. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll be replacing them with something else entirely. Try back in an hour or so,” she repeated. “In the meantime, if you need additional supplies for the deliveries, you’ll find them in the closet in the gift shop. Thank you.” She looked down at a paper on her desk. A sign, it seemed, that I should go. She was in such a hurry to get rid of me, but there was just one more thing.
“By the way.” I fished into my pocket for the business card. “A gentleman stopped by there last night—you were gone from your office—and he was interested in buying the photo of you.” I handed her the card. “I don’t know if that one was damaged but—”
“No.” She stared at the card, holding it so carefully as if it were made of crystal.
“Oh, good.”
“No, I mean, no. It’s not for sale. It was indeed compromised.”
“Oh, well, if you wanted me to have another printed and framed, he seemed really interest—”
“No. Tell him those particular photos are not for sale. Give him a discount on anything else in the gallery.”
“Sure. Did you happen to have the price list? I know you mentioned you would write one up so—”
“Just find out if he had seen anything else he liked, anything at all. I’ll draw up the price list later.” Her voice was clipped. She held the card out for me to take. “We’re finished for now.”
I nodded, leaving without another word, anxious to be out of that room.
I spotted Lance pacing around near the gallery entrance, arms folded across his vest-clad chest. He glanced at his watch now.
“I’ve gotta get a keycard for this place,” he said to me when I was still several paces away.
“Doesn’t matter, it wouldn’t work—we’re locked out for now. Something happened to the photos of the Outfit.”
“Seriously? What’s that about?”
“Got me. Aurelia called it ‘vandalism.’”
“Weird. Did you hear we get to plan the friggin’ prom?”
“I know.” I felt better knowing that he was as thrilled as I was about this new assignment. “That’ll be fun.”
“Does that mean we have to go?”
“Probably. But technically, we’re being paid to be there,” I offered.
He pushed up his glasses. “I like your thinking.”
“So, anyway, we have a few more of these deliveries to make. I guess we can do that now. Then I’ll have some photos to put up on that screen, you know, at the front desk?”
“Sounds like a plan. Want me to grab the chocolates from Dante?”
“Yeah . . . thanks.” I was relieved to not be the one to go. He and I probably needed some cooling-off time, even though it saddened me to think about our strange fight.
I collected what stationery and supplies we needed from the gift shop, passing by a few guests loading up on LH-logo-bearing souvenirs—and one of the Outfit, who was staffing the place. She stood behind the checkout counter, seemingly eight feet tall, swizzle-stick thin, with long blond waves cascading over her shoulders. She managed to look in my direction when I explained I was taking a few things from the closet on Aurelia’s orders, but she gave me no sign of actual recognition. However, when the couple browsing the collection of tote bags finally checked out, their arms full of purchases, she smiled her most seductive smile. How nice for them.
I had made it only a few steps out of the shop, my arms full of supplies, when I heard my name in that sweet voice: “Haven . . .”
I stopped in my tracks, catching my breath and slowly pivoting to face him. He crept to me, slowly, cat-like, his eyes secured on mine.
“Lucian, hi, good morning,” I said awkwardly. He kissed me on the cheek. My scars flared, and I paid attention to them this time.
“Where are we going with these?” He took one of the folded gift bags from my hands, opened it, and item by item, took everything else from my arms and placed it all inside.
“Wow, good idea. They didn’t make you second in command around here for nothing.” I wasn’t prepared to process an encounter with him right now; I had too much to sort out. “Just going to the Parlor.” I pointed, taking a few steps, and he began walking beside me. I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Busy day for you?”
“Just taking these to some writers and then we’ll see. If you need anything then . . .”
“No, I wasn’t testing to make sure you’re earning your keep, I was just making conversation.” He paused, then said, “Come ’ere.” He gave the lightest tug, with his thumb and index finger, at the material at my waist and I followed him into that nook behind the Parlor kitchen.
“I had a nice time last night,” he said in a way that any girl would find completely believable, but I had to wonder. I also had to go with it, for now.
“Me too.”
He watched me, his eyes painting me, lingering. With a finger he traced the insignia on my sleeve, lightly going over the curves of the letters. Those three hatch marks hidden beneath my uniform sizzled like fresh wounds.
“That’s funny,” he said, a hint of dreaminess in his voice. “Ever notice how this could be our own personal logo? The L and the H.”
“You’re right, I hadn’t thought of that.” I was surprised I hadn’t. It seemed the kind of thing I would have normally noticed and possibly, in my quieter moments, doodled in a notebook somewhere. But the cautious part of me knew that we were beyond that frivolity. Remember what Aurelia and the Prince had said. But I didn’t want to believe them. I wanted to believe that Lucian really could like me, that this wasn’t some strange game that I still didn’t understand. He stopped tracing and his eyes fixed on mine again. When he stepped in closer to me, I could smell that cedar muskiness I’d grown so fond of. I looked away for a moment. He squared himself up, as though on the verge of imparting a vital bit of information.
“Now, did you give some thought to what we talked about last night?” he asked smoothly.
“I was mostly working—the photos, you know—and then I passed out, I was so tired.”
“Think, Haven. There’s so much you can do.”
“I guess I’m not sure exactly what you want from me.”
He leaned in and whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending chills sweeping across my skin, my scars alive and stinging. “Your soul,” he said. “Please give me your soul.”
He kissed me again, quick and soft, right there in that hallway. I was so stunned that I didn’t kiss back. It s
ounded like something poets of another time might write to someone they loved. But then the romance lifted: there was another layer there, a hard-edged undertone to his voice, far different than last night. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I had changed a lot since then. I had to question everything now, even those things that only days earlier I would have given my life to hear coming from a mouth like his. He squeezed my hand.
“Tonight I want to see you.” It was a command masquerading as sweet infatuation. Before I could say anything, he kissed my cheek once more, then placed the bag back in my hand, my fingers almost forgetting to grip. My mind raced. As he turned and walked away with his hands in his pockets, I let myself in through the back kitchen door and found Lance already seated at one of the tables, boxes of chocolates stacked up and a plate with two cupcakes.
“Waiting long? Sorry about that.”
“No sweat,” he said, slouched in his seat. I set down the bag with all the supplies and he began taking them out, organizing them into piles.
“What’s this?” I pointed to the cupcakes, chocolate frosting with the logo in red script as a solid shiny slab of sugar.
“From Dante.”
A peace offering? It gave me hope. “How’d he seem?”
“Not tired, that’s for sure. I don’t know how he does it—he hasn’t been sleeping. He’s running the kitchen over there, barking orders at people, no sign of Etan. I think there’s a potential child labor law violation here.”
“But he was . . . okay?”
He just nodded, looking confused by my questions, and I couldn’t blame him. I let it go.
Lance and I made the deliveries together again even though there were only a handful this time. I liked the idea that as long as this business of being a messenger service continued, we would be guaranteed a field trip outside every day. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to understand what people meant when they said they needed to “clear their heads.” It wasn’t until I stepped outside the hotel that I felt every muscle de-tense. Once set free, my mind seized on entirely new concerns that had slipped through the cracks. It occurred to me I hadn’t called Joan in ages. Though we had managed to e-mail a little bit, enough so she knew I was alive and well, I would have to phone her later.
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 24
