by Chloe Adler
so much depth
surrounding a chasm of eternity
* * *
they remind me of
everything good
and safe
that I have ever known
* * *
and perhaps, for the first time
I feel like everything
will be righted again
* * *
He doesn’t kiss me after he finishes reciting the poem. It’s just as well, as my head swirls with his kindness and passion.
“I wrote it for you last night,” he says. “So you will know how I feel when I am with you. As though I’ve come back home and it doesn’t matter anymore that I’ve lost my powers. It doesn’t matter if I ever travel to Tara again. As long as you’re by my side, by all of our sides, everything in this crazy world makes sense.”
"Umm, thank you?" I say to his shoes. That's a lovely sentiment to try and live up to. And yet, doesn't that make me a consolation prize? And a crappy one at that? After all, I'm supposed to help them get their powers back and return to Tara, both of which I've failed spectacularly at. Instead, I bring them more trouble and grief and problems to solve. Like my unemployment. He spouts lovely poetry to me, and I...mooch. He's waiting, looking at me expectantly.
“I didn’t realize you looked at me that way.”
“As my muse?”
“Yeah.” I pull a small strand of hair over my shoulder and try and twist it. No such luck with one brace and one cast.
“But?”
I shake my head and force myself to hold eye contact with those intense eyes. “Thank you for the distraction. It was perfect. I . . . I have some news.”
He waits, his face open and receptive, no pulled brows, no crinkled nose.
“I just got a job offer,” I blurt.
His eyes twinkle. “That’s great. Are you going to take it?”
“I think I should.”
“Do you want to tell me more about it?”
I do. I haven’t felt comfortable talking with anyone about these fears, my dreams and lack of concrete plans or my hopeful expectations. He motions to the stairs and I sit on the bottom step. He crouches next to my feet, looks up and tilts his head. So I confide in him and it feels really good. I talk about my fear of singing in public. Who better to talk to about all of this than an artist, a poet who is also judged by his craft? Forrest simply listens, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time. He doesn’t offer advice or tell me I’m being silly or that I lack confidence for no reason. The man lets me unload all my dirty, dark fears. No one’s ever done that before. No one. Ever. When I’m finished he nods and I want to throw my arms around him. I want to kiss him. I want to make love to him, right here in the atrium. I fall a little bit in love with him.
“Thank you for offering me a safe space to talk.”
He reaches out and places his hand on top of my splinted one. “I’m here for whatever you need. If you want to talk, I’m here. If you need help making a decision, I’m here. I won’t judge you or give you unsolicited advice. I’m simply happy to be able to provide an unbiased environment for you to share and be yourself.
I lean forward and awkwardly throw my arms around his neck, bumping my brace and cast together.
He sighs against me, his breath tickling my neck.
I lean back, still resting my splinted arm against his broad shoulder for support. “Hey.”
His lips press into the soft spot below my ear and I shiver. “What is it, princess?”
I keep leaning on him, a solid rock of support. “I’d like to go back for Vasily.”
He kisses my neck, his tongue flicking out to lick me, and the sensation sparks little shocks of pleasure. “We think it’s too dangerous for you. You almost died there. Twice.”
I freeze. “Yes, but I could have just as easily died at the club last night if I’d fallen and hit my head on something.”
He pulls back but doesn’t let me go.
“Look,” I clench and unclench my jaw. “I need to do this. You’ve all done so much for me. You gave me a place to live, a job, food, rides whenever I need them, emotional support, poetry . . .”
“We do all that because we want to, not because we’re keeping score. We don’t want anything in return other than your happiness.”
Is that true? “It’s my responsibility to get Vasily out of Tara. I’m the one who brought him in and lost him. I can’t just let this go. I need to help. I want to help.” Isn’t that what his poem meant? I’m the one who’s supposed to make everything right.
“What if our wish is for you not to endanger yourself again in Tara?” He smiles at me, a kind smile full of compassion I don’t deserve, especially now that the only thing I have to give in exchange for all their kindness has been rebuffed.
“Do you have another plan? You can’t get into Tara without me.” They need me, don’t they?
Forrest winces, then clears his throat. “Arch has located another synergist.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What? How?” I push against Forrest, scooting backward on the marble step.
“We’re tried others in the past without success, but this one claims she’s been there. The way she talks about it . . .” He rubs his hands together. “Well, we believe her.”
I want to put my hands on my hips. I want to storm off. I want to slug him. But I do none of these things, mostly because I can’t. I don’t know what hurts more. The fact that Arch found someone else behind my back. Or the fact that they don’t trust me enough to make the journey again. “Two questions. When were you planning on telling me, and why would you do this?”
Forrest sighs. “I’m sorry, it wasn’t completely planned. We’ve had ads running for years, mostly in community and witchcraft magazines and blogs. People contact us all the time but they’ve all been fakes. This woman however . . . we suspect she’s the real deal.”
Well that makes me feel a smidgen better, but just a smidgen. At least he wasn’t on a synergist dating app or talking people up at bars.
“And you’re hurt now. We were worried before but . . .” He motions up and down my body with his hand. “Look at yourself. You’re in no condition to go back there.”
Fuck, he’s right. And that hurts worst of all.
“I need to clear my head,” I throw him a smile and hope he doesn’t know me well enough yet to tell it’s fake.
“Let me accompany you.” He reaches for my elbow but I avoid his grasp.
“Thank you for offering but I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“I understand.” He pulls his arm back and for the first time that I’ve noticed, creases appear between his pale white brows. His gaze wavers between me and the front door. “The grounds are perfectly safe and well lit at night. If you want company later, please text me . . . any time at all.”
“Will do, thanks.” I nod and walk to the front door without looking back. Thankfully, he doesn’t run after me to open it but I sense his eyes are on me in case I can’t. I manage, barely, with my splinted wrist and slip out into the moonless night. Walking down the drive, I stay on the path. In the Edge, it’s never a good idea for a human to walk alone in wooded areas after dark. Things here really do go bump in the black of night. Things like vampires, shifters and, on full moons, werewolves. I make my way down the path to the front gate and slip outside our compound. Then I call a Lyft.
Ten minutes later, my lady driver drops me off at the V Club without a snide word and I pass her a tip in cash . . . which nearly wipes me out. I bite back a curse. it’s not her fault that I’m almost completely broke. Again.
The club is rocking when I enter, much like two nights ago when I worked my first and last shift. I walk across the main floor, looking around, but I can’t tell what breed anyone is on sight, making my plan even more challenging.
“Amaya,” Alec greets me when I slide onto the only open stool toward the end of the bar. “I’m so happy to see you.”
I hold up my arms and h
e grunts.
“Well, it could have been a lot worse. Still, that sucks. What can I get you to make it better? On the house.”
“Thanks, Alec. You really don’t have to do that but since you offered . . .”
“It’s the least I can do, and Benedict gave me this.” He fishes around under the bar and pulls out an envelope, handing it to me.
“What is it?”
“Your earnings for the other night, including tips.”
My eyes grow big. “I expected a bill.”
“For what?”
“Damages.”
Alec chuckles. “We have insurance for slip and falls. Benedict also covered your hospital bill.”
So it was him and not the guys. That’s better. “Wow, I don’t suppose—” he’d let me have my job back I want to ask, but I don’t finish because Alec holds up a finger.
“Sorry, back in a flash.” He slides a drink with a straw toward me and leaves, waved away by a boisterous customer.
I bend my nose to the glass and take a whiff. Brandy, liquid courage. I position my mouth over the straw and suck it down in two gulps.
“I’ve never seen you here before,” a husky voice to my left says and I swivel to look at him. He’s not very tall and not very intimidating. Check. His face is round with a boyish charm as though he never really lost his baby fat. I smile, eyes trained on his mouth. He smiles back and extends a hand. Bingo. “I’m Clive. And you are . . . ?”
“Amaya.” I hold up both hands.
His mouth forms an O. “What happened?”
“Slipped and fell.”
“Are you normally clumsy?”
Kind of a jerk thing to say but I’m not looking for a date. “Not usually, no.”
“What are you drinking?” He eyes the empty glass in front of me with the straw.
I don’t respond.
“Would you like another?”
“No thanks, one’s my limit.”
“I . . .” He leans into my space and inhales, like he’s sniffing a fine wine. “. . . would love to drink from you if you’re free.”
Well that was easy, but that’s why I’m here. “I may be.”
“Are you on the donor app?” He pulls out his phone and waves it in front of my face. “If you tell me your number, I’ll order you up from there.”
Here comes the hard part . . . “I’m not, actually.”
“Cash then?” He looks like he wants to devour my entire face right here, right now.
I shiver. “I’d rather be paid in something else.”
“Sex?” His eyebrows waggle. “Happy to oblige.”
I shake my head and hold up my messed-up hands.
“Ohhhhh, well isn’t that a nice twist. Let’s go.” He crooks a finger and slips away from the bar toward the long hallway that runs parallel to the dance floor. I follow. We go through a beaded curtain and I stifle a gasp.
“Wait,” I whisper and he stops and turns.
“Chickening out?”
“These are the sex rooms.”
“So? I don’t drink in public and I wouldn’t advise you do so either, especially since you’re looking to break the law.
He does have a point, one he doesn’t give me time to ponder as he turns around and enters a room on the right without looking back. I follow him in. There’s a bed fitted with a vinyl mattress, nightstands, two metal chairs and some wooden X contraption nailed to the wall. As soon as I’m all the way in, he glides behind me, taking another whiff at my neck, which is more creepy than disconcerting. A split second later, he’s in front of me and I jump back. I don’t have a lot of experience with vampire speed, as in none.
“Why don’t you take a seat on the bed?” he says.
“I prefer the chair.”
“I can’t sit next to you if you’re on the chair.”
“You can kneel at my feet and drink from my wrist.”
“So you do have some experience.” He grins and waves me over to a metal chair.
My hackles are up. He doesn’t seem dangerous, but something is off. The sooner I get out of here, the better. I want what I came here for so I do as he says.
He moves the other chair next to mine and straddles it, holding out his hand for my arm. I pass over the one with the splint, which he carefully removes. He eyes the flesh of my forearm like it’s a juicy steak and I hate feeling like a meal. “Get it over with,” I say.
His fangs pierce my skin and I bite back a cry. It hurts more than when Vasily drinks from me and my king doesn’t even have fangs. Clive drinks for just a couple of minutes. I doubt he’s even had his fill when he pulls back, wipes his lips and nods a thank-you.
“Your turn.” He holds out his own arm.
“I’m not sure how to . . . I’ve never . . .”
“Oh, I see. Well I’m honored. Let me help you.” He brings his wrist up to his mouth and nicks the skin with a fang, holding it back out to me. I take his arm awkwardly.
“How much should I drink?”
“As much as you like. When you’re healed it’ll stop working. You have broken wrists?”
“One broken, the other sprained.”
“A teaspoon should more than do the trick.”
I nod and bring his wrist up to my mouth but before it touches my lips, the room is flooded with blinding light.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Benedict’s terse voice rings out, the sound extra loud in the enclosed space. “Clive, stop. She works for me.”
Clive pulls his arm away. “Well then she should know better.”
“You’re not closing down my club tonight, Agent. Go find people who are breaking the law elsewhere.”
“I thought we had a deal.”
“I’m rescinding.”
Clive stands up, adjusting the collar of his starched white button-down shirt and rolling down the cuffs. “Unwise, Volkamoff.”
“Have you forgotten that I’m currently head of the council?”
Clive blows air out of his nostrils. “You won’t always be.” He doesn’t even look back as he slinks out of the room.
Benedict lets out a breath, shaking his head. “Amaya, follow me.” He walks out of the room. I grab my splint, wince and follow. He leads me through the thump, thump, thumping of the techno beat, past the tables of patrons and the stage of dancers, up the floating metal staircase, down the long hallway and into a different office. This one is fully furnished with a large black, horseshoe-shaped desk, a swiveling office chair nestled behind it. The walls are covered with slate-gray panels that must be for soundproofing because as the door clicks shut, the resulting silence is louder than the music was just moments ago.
He gestures to a casual seating area before the desk. I sink into a black leather couch, and he sits across from me in a matching chair, steepling his fingers on his lap. “Amaya, you almost got yourself arrested.”
My mouth opens and closes like a carp out of water.
Benedict waits for me to collect myself.
“How did you know I was there?”
“Cameras, in all the rooms.” He reaches for a remote control on the coffee table between us and turns his head to the wall. After he presses a button, one of the panels slides open to reveal a monitor focused on a familiar wooden X contraption.
My entire body jerks back. Not cool.
With another button press, the panel slides closed again and he leans forward. “It’s for protection. We’ve had . . .” He pauses. “Incidents in the past. Not everyone follows the rules.” He cocks an eyebrow at me.
“I’m sorry. I—”
He holds up a hand. “I know why you did it. All you had to do was walk inside my club with a broken limb. Anyone could have guessed. The problem is that by doing so, you attracted the attention of an agent.”
“What kind of agent?”
“They’re a new branch of the police department. Like the FBI but for Signum-involved crimes. They’re called the S Force. They don’t really have enough work yet so the
y’re trying to drum some up. They’ve been trying to shut down my club.”
“Why?”
“It gives them a purpose for existence. We’ve had a few problems here in the past. Problems the police force couldn’t handle.”
I nod. “I remember. The ghouls and Trackers.”
“Yes. There was a lot more involved, but the police chief didn’t want to alarm the entire population of the Edge.”
“I’m really sorry I put your club in jeopardy.” I look down at my broken hand.
“I understand why you made the choice you did but I wish you’d have just come to me first. After all, your injury occurred while you were here, working for me.”
My mouth is suddenly very dry and I swallow past the itch. “I’ve never . . . I didn’t know how . . .” What can I say? I’m sorry I don’t know how to find black-market vampire blood?
“I want to help you, Amaya. I would have given you more of my blood at the hospital but that was the legal limit for someone who is not a family member.”
“Thank you for giving me any at all.” I look down at my hands. “And for covering the hospital bills. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“I didn’t do it for repayment. I did it because you were my employee at the time and thus my responsibility. I take care of my people.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
His face softens. “Just a thank-you will suffice.”
“Thank you!” I cry.
“I want to help, to finish the job. Like I said, it’s important for me to take care of my own. You were hurt on my property.”
“Finish the job how?”
He holds up an index finger. “By offering you . . .” He flashes a fang and taps it once.
“Your b—”
Before I can even finish the word, he’s next to me with the same finger pressed against my lips to silence me. He cocks his head and I immediately understand he doesn’t want me to say it aloud. I nod and he removes his finger from my lips.
“Some additional monetary compensation for your recovery.” He winks at me once. “After all, you’ll heal faster without the stress of worrying about bills.”
