“Hold that thought,” he said, firing up the dryer. He pulled the brush out of his back pocket and went to work styling. When he was finished, he leaned down next to me, put his arm around my shoulders, and admired us both in the mirror. He had turned my ravaged hair into a sleek bob falling just below my chin.
“I love it,” he said, giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “You’re lucky your face can pull this off; not everyone can.”
I had never considered cutting my hair this short, but I looked at it now—so drastic and defiant—and it wasn’t bad at all. I looked like a very different me. Maybe this was the warrior version of me, the persona that would be able to face this most daunting day and the battle that awaited me. Dante had managed, like he always did, to make it all better, and I felt good.
“Thank you, Dan, really.” I turned to him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Dante is back!” he announced, proud of himself. I was so grateful.
After the haircut, we parked ourselves in the kitchen, snacking on the cookies Dante had baked the day before (he was back, indeed), and discussed strategy for the evening to come.
The plan would be for Ruthie to drive Dante into the city this afternoon to the warehouse of a theater prop rental company, where he’d meet Lance under the guise of choosing a new cow for the prom. They had a ton of fake cows from a citywide art project several years back in which the life-size things were stationed on street corners and outside landmarks. While he was browsing, Dante would climb into the underbelly—they had access panels and were hollow inside—and he would be delivered later that evening to the hotel and swapped for the other cow. There, he would wait until the time came for him to sneak out of the cow, into the kitchen, and disperse his antidotes into the food that had already been prepared for the prom festivities. It was a fine enough plan, but there was one last necessary step.
We were back in Dante’s room, but this time he was the one in the chair and I was wielding the scissors. I cut off the first dreadlock and paused to let him take it in.
“You know you secretly wanted to copy me and get a new look,” I teased, but very gently.
“It’ll grow back,” he said solemnly, like a soldier going into battle. “Time for a change.” I continued on, clipping until they were gone.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this? You know you’re going to be like bait, right?” I asked, before I finished him off with the electric razor. We had decided this might be a way to throw them off his scent, in case someone were to spot him tampering with the food in the kitchen. They would just think he was one of them and declare him nonthreatening. Anyone looking on would simply believe that it was a signal he was ready to sell his soul and had come back to do it.
“It’s okay, it’s for a good cause,” he said, but his skittish eyes told me he was nervous. We were silent for several minutes until, finally, perhaps looking for something to take his mind off it, he blindsided me. “So what’s up with you and Lance?”
“I don’t know.” I tried not to sound surprised, but it came out defensive. “You were like a zombie. I had to hang out with someone.”
“Just wondering.”
“Don’t give me that look,” I scolded.
“I’m just saying, he’s a total Clark Kent,” he whispered. This was our universal name for stealthy cute guys, who didn’t realize they were cute—which is really the best thing.
“I know, I’ve sort of been thinking that lately.”
I brushed the clippings off Dante’s face and shoulders and looked at him in the mirror. Not bad. I had returned the favor after his coifing handiwork.
The time came too soon to say goodbye and I hugged him, told him to be careful, and tried not to think about what lay ahead for him.
I found Lance in our office, sending e-mails to his mom. I owed Joan a call but I hated the idea of it; I wasn’t sure I’d hold it together. He looked up when he heard me walk in.
“Hey,” he said, then pointed. “Dante did that?”
“Yeah, crazy, right?” I felt a little exposed—it was strange not having my hair to hide behind.
“The man is skilled. It looks nice.” He pushed his glasses up.
“Thanks. What’s going on here?”
“Nothing.” He closed out of his screen. “Killing time until we meet with Courtney.”
“Ugh, that’s right.” In all the excitement I had forgotten she was supposed to come with a few other prom committee stalwarts to okay the look of the ballroom.
“You’re not bailing on me.”
“No. I just don’t know which is worse—having to show them around today or figuring out how to cheat death tomorrow.”
When Courtney and two of her identical cohorts arrived that afternoon, we greeted them formally, with handshakes, as though establishing ourselves as more powerful than we had been at school. She looked me up and down in a strange way, as if she couldn’t quite place me. I just smiled. We showed them up to the ballroom, pointing out all the details. A handful of Outfit members were still in there, tending to the lights and making sure everything was in place. They acted like we weren’t there, even when Courtney said, perhaps too loudly, “Wow, everyone is like so superhot here.”
The three girls walked around the entire perimeter slowly, whispering, like people in a museum. After all this time around the Outfit and braving the likes of Aurelia, people who truly meant us harm, I was so much less impressed with Courtney and her ilk. They really weren’t so powerful at all, were they? There was no reason for them to have any hold over us. I had seen true terror now and she wasn’t it at all. She was nothing. We stood back and let them be alone and after some time they wandered back over to us.
“It’ll all do just fine,” Courtney said.
Lance and I had rehearsed this. “We’re so glad. You know, it’s really important to us to have everything perfect and it occurred to us just today that this is not the kind of cow you had in mind,” I said, as we all gazed at the beige beast.
“Huh?”
“We realized,” Lance explained, “what would really ‘pop’—to use one of the words from your many e-mails to us—would be . . . a spotted cow.”
The trio looked at the cow again, with serious faces. Courtney whispered urgently to her minions as if they we were discussing the threat of nuclear war. And finally, they turned back toward us.
“Yeah, spotted cows are hot,” Courtney said. “Thank god it’s not too late.”
“I know. Phew,” I said. “So, anyway, that will be delivered tonight and all in place for tomorrow.”
“Good,” she said. She dug into her purse and produced a check from Evanston High School. And with that they were gone.
As Lance and I passed the front desk headed back to the gallery, an Outfit member called out, “Ms. Terra?” I stopped, surprised by the formality. Lance gave me a look too.
“Yes, hi.”
“Ms. Brown would like to see you.” I forgot to breathe for a moment. Lance and I traded worried glances.
“Of course,” I said to the girl.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” Lance said, trying, I could tell, to sound as normal as possible. “Hey, can I borrow your key? I have to grab my book from your room.” I knew what he was doing: he was going to keep an eye on me from our hiding place within the walls. I handed him the keycard.
Aurelia didn’t say a word about my hair. She simply let her eyes linger on it and didn’t bother suppressing a smirk. She was an entirely different person from the one who had sat across from me at the Parlor, telling me about her life choices. I sat in that familiar chair, my stomach tying itself in knots, wondering if this was going to be it. The real beginning of the end for me. I felt naked somehow, facing her for the first time without my necklace. The only mild comfort was looking to that wall behind her and knowing Lance would be there watching, at the ready if I needed him. That gave me strength.
“Just a little business to tend to,” she s
tarted, frosty, as she shuffled papers on her desk. “As we discussed the other day, I am certain that there are tremendous things in your future. I just need something from you—” She reached from her desk drawer to pull something out, but she stopped when I piped up again, for the sake of stalling.
Summoning all my courage, I said, “Yes, but what exactly do you see? In my future?” I wanted to add, Because if I went along with this it would have to end with me in the fiery pit of hell and that’s not a future I’m interested in, but I showed some careful restraint.
“Well, I’m glad you asked that. What would you like to see in your future? Because whatever it is, it can be yours.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” she affirmed.
“Well, the thing is, I always have dreamed of becoming a doctor,” I said. She nodded like this would be easy, no problem. “And their oath is ‘First do no harm.’ I, um, don’t think that’s the oath here.”
She glared at me, but kept her tone bright. “Perhaps you have questions. Maybe that’s the issue.” In her pursed lips and strained neck, I could see her mounting frustration. I sat up more rigid, and didn’t say a word.
She continued, “To be honest, Haven, I’ve grown tired of this. I won’t beg you. There might have been a time when the idea of becoming the ideal you, that perfect version of you, would thrill you. Silly me, I thought you would warm to the idea of being comfortable in your skin, being happy and successful, enjoying the attention and adoration that could come with something like this rather than spending your life worried about what everyone thinks of you. The taste you’ve gotten of this life should be more than enough to convince you.”
“Well—” I started, but she put up her hand.
“However, if all of that hasn’t cinched it for you, then this should: what happened last night, that was just the mildest glimpse of what lies ahead for you if you don’t join us. This will not end well for you.”
“But I’ve seen what happens to these people, the Outfit,” I spoke up now, firm as I could. “Why would I want to become a perfect shell, this zombie-like creature who seems dead inside? Who seems to have everything anyone would want, but has no desires or feelings or passions or anything?”
“But don’t you see? You wouldn’t be that. Those people only wanted something shallow and that’s what happens.” They meant nothing to her, I could tell. “Their souls are ripe for the taking because there is little they truly care about.” She leaned in, her voice getting hypnotic, wooing. “You’re marked for greater things, Haven. You’re a greater prize, and you would reap a greater reward. You would achieve all you wanted and fast. You would be more beautiful than you would ever imagine, more confident, the kind of person women want to be and men want to be with. And you would have success, instant success, without breaking your back to achieve it, without having to compete and worry if you’ll end up on top—”
“See, I’m sort of used to working for things and I like the way it feels.”
“That’s a problem that is easily overcome, I assure you.”
“And what are the terms specifically?”
“Well, you get everything you wish, in record time. For you, perhaps, that means flying through undergrad at the top of your class, going to a fine medical school, getting placed at the most prestigious hospital, and then of course emotional and physical matters involved with looking and feeling like your ideal. We would draw up a contract with the particulars—”
“And then at some point I start taking lives and souls,” I said, cutting her off.
“We call it recruiting. And in return for what we’ve given you, you provide us with new recruits.”
“So I could, for instance, cure cancer but then I would take more lives than I would save. That’s how this general equation is always going to come out, right?”
“I don’t know why you’re focusing on the negative.”
“I don’t understand what’s in it for me.”
“You would command such power. You’ve never felt true power before. You would find this intoxicating. Because of your pedigree you would be so much more than the rest of the Outfit.”
“Thank you, but—”
She put up her hand, stopping me. “When you say no, I don’t know that you fully understand. You will either join me or we will be at cross-purposes with each other—which is something I cannot tolerate.” A look blazed in her eyes, a flash that made me shudder. She rose up from her chair gracefully, and yet kicking it back several feet with her sharp heel. I jumped and scrambled to my feet. She walked to the front of the desk to face me. Her voice dropped a register and was so deliberate and smooth I felt ill.
“I’m going to do you a favor,” she said finally. “I’m going to not accept an answer right now. I’m going to give you twenty-four hours to come to your senses. Tell me yes then or you won’t live to tell anything ever again.”
I said nothing. I just left, as fast as I could.
32. We’ll Always Have Metamorfosi
That evening when Lance went to the prop house, I stayed behind anxiously awaiting his return. When he finally showed up outside the gallery door, reporting that all had gone well, together we went to the ballroom at the scheduled time to monitor the great switching of the cows. The hubbub didn’t escape the notice of Beckett and a few of the Outfit, who happened to be lingering in the room, finishing up their work.
“What’s this about?” he barked at us as two burly men wheeled one cow in and the other away.
“A last-minute change,” Lance said.
“The prom committee decided they wanted a spotted cow,” I added. “One became available, so we wanted to give them exactly what they requested.”
“Just do it fast.”
Lance and I nodded to him as he and the others left the room. I looked at the spotted cow being set into place and tried to imagine how Dante had curled himself up to fit in there. It hurt me just to look at it, but it was necessary.
Alone in the ballroom at last, Lance and I shut off all the lights, opened the panel, and helped a crumpled Dante as he crept out.
“I’m like a friggin’ contortionist after that!” he sighed in a whisper.
We wished him good luck and closed the doors behind him.
At 3:30 in the morning, as the hotel slept, we crossed our fingers and enacted the final step in our plan. I waited behind in my room as Lance went to the ballroom to retrieve the room service cart from the back prep kitchen. With any luck Dante would be tucked under the tablecloth on the cart’s bottom shelf. Lance would wheel him down the elevator, past the front desk, to the deserted kitchen of Capone. There Dante would have twenty minutes to complete his work before finding his way back into the cart, where I would be ready to wheel him downstairs.
I checked my watch and put the gourmet sandwiches I’d found in the Capone fridge onto the cart—if anyone asked, Lance and I were simply enjoying a late-night snack. Dante came running from the direction of Alcatraz, carrying a canvas tote bag full of supplies, and dove under the tablecloth. I pushed with all my strength and wheeled him to his old room.
Once safely inside, Dante climbed out.
“Mission accomplished,” he said. I gave him a hug and Lance patted him on the shoulder.
“Did you see anyone?” I asked. “Etan? Or anyone in the kitchen?”
“Negative,” Dante said, proud of himself. “I timed it totally right. That’s when Etan takes whatever meetings he goes to and does his daily harvests.”
“Scavenging for ingredients in hell and whatnot,” Lance added.
“Exactly. So, it was all clear. The other folks won’t roll back in until maybe five. I replaced all the jars of their poison mixture—which is like salt and pepper to them; it goes on everything—with the antidote. Then I sprinkled it into everything that was already made—all sorts of dough, drink mixers, you name it.”
“Nice work, man,” Lance said.
“Thanks.” His eyes canvassed
the old room. “But it’s pretty friggin’ weird to be back here. And let me tell you, that cow was not comfy. My back is, like, killing me.” He started unbuttoning his chef’s coat.
“Well, you were cooped up for an awfully long time,” I soothed.
He stretched and squirmed while Lance set out a little feast of the food I’d pilfered from the bar’s pantry in the tunnels earlier in the night.
“You’re probably starving,” Lance said, gnawing at a piece of pita bread and handing another to Dante.
“Thanks. Hey, Hav, I have kind of a medical question.”
“The doctor is in.”
“Do scars, like, get worse ever?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Like, remember all those ones I’ve had forever from falling when I was a kid?”
“Sure.”
He turned around and flipped up his T-shirt, exposing his bare back. “It’s totally nuts, but they, like, disappeared, almost all of them, except for that one on my arm and these two.” Sure enough, his back, which had once been riddled with shallow scars from crashing down on rocks and branches when he tumbled out of that tree so long ago, was nearly smooth. This was a kid who used to wear T-shirts when we went to the beach at Lake Michigan. Now he just had a pair of deep marks on his shoulder blades, identical to Lance’s and mine. He was one of us. I looked at Lance now. He stopped chewing.
“Wow, I guess there’s some more stuff you might need to know.”
It was impossible to preserve any sense of normal after the day we had had, but it almost felt that way as we sat on the floor, snacking on our stolen goods and filling Dante in on any of those pertinent bits of information we might have left out the first time around. And then we plotted, each of us bringing something to the table. The goal was to prevent the sale of as many souls as possible, off the Outfit, and, of course, remain alive ourselves. Dante had already gotten his antidote into the kitchen and he had more at the ready to administer at the event itself, if necessary. Lance, the budding architect, had his maps, painstakingly detailed, of our passageways and tunnels and the quickest routes for each of us to take from one location to the next throughout the course of the night. He had contingency plans and a host of exit strategies for each possible room and situation, along with a detailed outline of what needed to be accomplished tomorrow night and in what order. I had blind faith and a couple of sharp knives.
Illuminate: A Gilded Wings Novel, Book One Page 41
