Kings of Midnight: Book One of The Midnight Saga

by J Q Anderson

  “Heeeey!” He high-fived Nata as he walked in. “Can you guys believe this place? Pretty sweet. My room’s two doors down.”

  I groaned from the bed.

  “What?” he asked, feigning offense.

  “You two doors down means parties two doors down. Nata and I need a lot more sleep than you, so behave?”

  “Sure.” He winked.

  “It’s amazing,” Nata said from the window as she gazed at the city far below. “The three of us here…it’s a dream.”

  Marcos plopped on her bed while she unpacked the rest of her clothes. As soon as she finished, she unzipped my suitcase and began hanging my clothes and folding them neatly into a drawer.

  “I’m top drawer, you’re bottom,” she said.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “If I don’t, you’ll live out of your suitcase and everything will be wrinkled. I can’t stand it.”

  I rolled my eyes at Marcos, and he grinned, lying sprawled out with his hands locked behind his head.

  “New York. This is awesome,” he said, staring at the ceiling. He looked like a kid in Disneyland. It made me smile.

  “You okay if I shower first?” I said to Nata, and she nodded. “I wouldn’t mind going out for a quick bite afterwards. The meeting with Federico’s not till seven. I need a hot shower, you guys. Then I’m all yours.”

  “All mine,” Marcos said, tasting the words. “Promising.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” I tossed a shirt at his face and he caught it midair. “How’s it that you can make the simplest things sound dirty? Shower. Go.” I waved him off, wrinkling my nose.

  He groaned, then leapt up and headed out.

  Twenty minutes later, we were ready for a loop around the neighborhood. Nata dressed in warm, fitted black clothes, and I wore skinny jeans, boots, and a gray, cashmere turtleneck. Marcos knocked on our door, and when I opened it, his eyes quickly scanned me from head to toe. He smiled approvingly.

  “Hey,” he said softly as he tipped his head down to give me a soft peck on the mouth.

  “Marcos…” A flash of heat rose to my cheeks. What the fuck.

  “C’mon, Nata!” he called. “You look amazing. Let’s go.” Holding the door open with his foot, he waved at Nata to hurry. He smelled of fresh soap and his usual Calvin Klein cologne. He was a bad boy in faded jeans and a fitted, black sweater that did good things for what was underneath. “Move it, wenches.” We slipped into heavy coats and wool beanies, and Nata pinched his stomach as she hurried out.

  We rode the elevator down, and when the door slid open, Marcos clasped my hand, interlocking our fingers. Fuckdammit. I really didn’t need this now. A sudden lash snapped inside my chest, bringing a memory of Sebastián doing the same thing on our first lunch together. I instinctively let go, but Marcos grabbed my hand again, frowning when our eyes met.

  He held the lobby door to the street, and we stepped out into a frosty early evening. The city was alive, cars, people, everyone in a hurry. Marcos strode between Nata and me, his warm, confident energy pulling me back to the present.

  The first thing I learned was that New Yorkers aren’t that different from Argentineans. They all had that Get the fuck out of my way look on their faces, permanent scowls sending a clear message that there’s no time for conversation. Everyone minded their own business and looked cool in their unique way. A city made of trendsetters where nobody followed.

  We strolled around the neighborhood, checking everything out. It was way too much to take in. I matched Marcos and Nata’s quick pace. Marcos’s eager eyes scanned the bars as we passed. With our huge grins, I was sure we looked awestruck as we made our way through the snow-brushed sidewalks. Mixed aromas of foods from all over the world welcomed us as we passed restaurants crammed against one another. The air was dense, like in downtown Buenos Aires, except much colder since December meant winter here, and was even colder than I ever imagined. A gelid gust of wind ruffled my hair, and I shivered in my coat.

  “I’m freezing, you guys. Let’s find a coffee shop,” I said.

  Nata nodded from inside her scarf. We settled on a café across the street and ordered lattes. It was a cool spot. The tables were recycled writer’s desks from the 1900s, the wallpaper made of printed copies of handwritten diary passages from the same era. Recycled oil lanterns had been adapted as electric hanging fixtures, their amber glow adding to the charming atmosphere of the place. It was odd and foreign. I loved it.

  We had our coffees and chatted about the week to come. An hour later, we were almost back at the hotel when Nata’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket with her gloved hand.

  “Sergei. What’s up?” She shivered. She had called Sergei as soon as we had landed, and they had talked for a while then. What now?

  “What?” She skidded to a halt, covering her other ear with her free hand. The wind blew the hair off her face, and I realized she’d gone pale. Her eyes met mine, and my scalp prickled under my hat. “When did this happen?” she said.

  “What?” I mouthed. She bit her lip hard and shook her head. What the fuck, what! My brain raced through the possibilities. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. The wind blew again, penetrating my bones. Marcos pulled his beanie down and ushered us inside the hotel as Nata said something in Russian and ended her call.

  “Jesus, what, Nata? Tell me.”

  She gripped both my arms and looked straight at me. Marcos stood behind her, looking as concerned as I felt.

  “Something’s happened back at home.”

  “What? Who? Jesus, speak!” I snapped.

  “I…Sebastián,” she said, painfully. “He was shot outside his studio.”

  “What?” I mumbled. My lungs collapsed. The room spun. Nata swallowed hard as she looked for the right words. “Nata…”

  “They injured him badly. I’m so sorry,” she said softly.

  “Oh my God.” I brought my hand to my mouth, unable to breathe. “What…Will he be okay?”

  “I don’t know. Sergei couldn’t tell me. They just took him to the hospital.”

  “No. No!” I gasped for air and Nata pulled me into her arms, but I stood, frozen. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, Cami. Sergei thinks it was some kind of payback for García, but he doesn’t know anything else.”

  I shook my head, tears streaming down my face. “Shit. Shit. This is all my fault. Fucking Mercedes. I should’ve never—”

  “No,” Nata snapped. “This is not your fault. This is how these things go, okay? Sebastián is surrounded by a lot of dangerous people. There’s nothing you can do about that, you hear me?”

  “I knew Mercedes was bad news. I should’ve trusted my gut. Shit.” I wiped my cheeks. “I have to go, I have to…” Nata blocked me.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “I have to go see him! Don’t you get it? If I hadn’t gotten in the middle of all this—”

  You have nothing to do with this.”

  “Cams, babe. Come sit down,” Marcos said, clasping my shoulder.

  “I need to see him. I need to know he’s okay.” Fresh tears followed the path of the old ones.

  Nata took my hands in hers. “Call his bodyguard…what was his name?”

  “Rafa?”

  “Yes, Rafa. Do you have his number?”

  I pulled my phone out and searched for Rafa’s name. He answered on the first ring.

  “Camila—”

  “How is he? Please tell me he’s okay.”

  Rafa explained Sebastián was in surgery and they wouldn’t know anything for a few hours. He was curt and seemed to want to end the conversation, but I begged him for more information. I cried silently as he briefly explained Sebastián had been assaulted as he was leaving his studio for lunch, in broad daylight, and a bullet had pierced his lung. By the time the paramedics came, he had almost drowned in his own blood. Rafa had been called to a pickup nearby and suspected whoever was behind this expected Sebastián to be al
one at that time. That was all he knew.

  “I’ll get on the next plane.”

  “No. Don’t do that.”

  “I want to be there.”

  “Sebastián doesn’t want you here. You’d be in danger, and he doesn’t need anything else on his plate. I’ll find out who’s behind this. I promise.” His voice was suddenly gruff. “I’m sorry to say it this way, but…you’d be…a burden here. I’ll keep you informed. As soon as we know something, I’ll call you.”

  “Rafa—”

  “Camila. Please. Do not try contacting him, or me. I will call you as soon as I know something. Good-bye.” The line went dead. Sliding down against the wall, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed out loud. People mumbled as they walked into the lobby, but I didn’t care. Beside me, Marcos crouched down and kissed my frosted gloves.

  In my room, I lay face down on my bed, gripping my phone so hard I worried it would disintegrate in my hand. Fuck. I had been dreaming to be here all my life, and now I would give my right arm to be back in Buenos Aires.

  An hour later, the company gathered around Madame and Federico in a sitting area in the hotel lobby. Federico went over his expectations for the tour: no drinking before performances, no partying out late, blah, blah. All I could think about was Sebastián in the hospital.

  Federico continued with the rundown: principals would be invited to a few parties, and attendance was expected to promote the tour. Meeting influential people was the most important thing after giving an outstanding performance. I should’ve been thrilled, but I just wanted to go home.

  I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. The phone was by my pillow, and I tapped the screen every once in a while to make sure I hadn’t missed a text. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep till Rafa called. At 3:00 a.m., a text from Rafa came in:

  He’s out of surgery and in intensive care. The next 24 hours are critical. Will let you know as we go. Please stay where you are and don’t try contacting him.

  I let out a pent-up sob and couldn’t stop till my eyes were dry and swollen. Sometime later, I sank into a disturbed sleep.

  In what seemed a second later, Nata shook me awake. My forever present human alarm clock.

  “It’s late. Let’s go. We have a warm-up class then tech rehearsal.”

  I rubbed the exhaustion off my eyes. That night she would dance as Princess Aurora with First Cast, and I would perform with Second Cast tomorrow. Thank God that wasn’t till tomorrow. I felt as if a meteorite had smashed onto my head. Today would be tough to get through.

  I dressed in a half dozen layers, then walked with Nata to the David H. Koch Theater. A layer of fresh snow glinted under the weak morning sun. People rushed down the hectic streets of the city. Most were dressed for work in suits and long overcoats. Nobody made eye contact as they strode purposely with their collars up and their chins down.

  The morning blazed by with classes and people and coffee on every break to keep me awake. We had class with Federico and a chance to get acquainted with the stage. The theater wasn’t as big as the Colón, but someone said it still held over twenty-seven hundred people. Everything was foreign: the smell, the cool drafts whenever a stage door opened, the lighting. I had never thought about any of it before. It was different, new, exciting. I kept my phone close and checked it incessantly. Why in the hell wasn’t Rafa sending any updates? But then, no news was good news for now. Sebastián would need time to recover. He just needed time. God, let him be okay.

  When the tech rehearsal ended, Madame gave us a couple of hours to rest and eat before coming back for that evening’s opening performance. I couldn’t stand still even though I wouldn’t perform until tomorrow. Tonight, Marcos and I would sit in the audience with the rest of the dancers in Second Cast. I called my parents in Italy to check in. I knew Mamá was anxious to know everything about the tour and she shared my excitement for being in New York. They sounded so happy to be reunited with my siblings who had also traveled to see them. I didn’t tell them about Sebastián. I didn’t want to hear how my relationship with him had been doomed from the start. My parents would try to reassure me I was better off.

  Back in the hotel, I tried taking a short nap, but my nerves were electric. I watched Nata, sound asleep, and envied her. Would I ever be able to reach that state of mind? I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, praying for Sebastián with my phone in my hand. But as the hours passed, Rafa didn’t message me and my anxiety level rose.

  That night I dressed in my finest gown for the first performance of Sleeping Beauty. It was a long, burgundy velvet dress that had cost me a month’s salary, but that Nata had insisted I should buy along with a pair of high heels. I felt like a movie star as Marcos and I walked hand in hand through Lincoln Center. I was relieved to have his hand to hold on to. The night was enchanting, the lights illuminating the steps and the fountain glimmering under a soft layer of snow. I looked around, taking in all the beauty with a heavy heart. If only Sebastián were okay, this night would be perfect.

  Marcos was breathtaking in a black tux he had rented for the week. I left my long coat at the valet, and Marcos escorted me to the main hall where we had a glass of champagne with the dancers in Second Cast. Everything was red velvet and glamour. People were dressed in the most exquisite gowns and gala attire. Heads turned when we walked past the waiting crowd. No matter where we were, Marcos always turned heads. My heart fluttered inside my chest like a humming bird’s wings. I had dreamt of being exactly here, dressed like this, all my life. I looked around at everything with wide, tear-rimmed eyes. I thought of calling Mamá, but it would be four in the morning in Italy, so I sent her a photo of Marcos and me posing together, and a short text:

  I’m here. Dressed in my red gown and the impossibly high heels Nata made me buy. Mamá, I’m here!

  Then I tried Rafa’s phone, but it went to voicemail. Damn.

  The performance was spellbinding. Nata and Diego were flawless, raising the bar even higher for us. Nata looked carefree, weightless, her feet caressing the stage as an innocent Aurora celebrated her youth. Diego was strong and confident, his decisive movements contrasting with the delicate and sweet demeanor of Nata’s performance.

  I sat next to Marcos, clutching my phone so I could feel the vibration of an incoming message from Rafa. Damn Rafa. Didn’t he know I was desperate for a call? A text? I knew it was selfish of me to expect him to send me regular updates, but I needed to know Sebastián was out of danger.

  The cast met at a restaurant afterwards for a big dinner. Everyone was radiant. Nata wore a permanent smile as she clinked glasses with the other dancers. I felt as if I was looking at the scene through a glass window, my mind half-there and half-back at the hospital in Buenos Aires, with Sebastián. Surely, he would be under the best care the Palacios’s pockets could afford.

  Federico congratulated the cast and gave a small pep talk to Second Cast for the following night, things to focus on and things to be aware of. I zoned in and out of the conversation. From her end of the table, Madame watched me, vigilant.

  I excused myself early, knowing everyone would understand. The next night would be my first performance as a prima, and I was obviously nervous. Only Nata knew that was only half of it.

  On my way to the door, Madame intercepted me as I was bundling up in my multiple layers before facing the arctic evening air.

  “Camila, wait.”

  I took a sharp breath and braced for the punch her words would deliver. And she hadn’t said Navarro. But when she approached, her eyes softened.

  “Is everything all right? You seem…distracted.”

  “No, Madame. Just nervous. I’m fine.”

  She gave me a small nod. “You are ready for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Madame. Of course.”

  “I don’t mean to add to your pressure, but it’s important that you know how much is at stake for you. Federico took a very big leap of faith in you by giving you the prima role. All his colleagues will be wa
tching. I am saying this because you need to be a hundred and ten percent focused on this. If there is anything else in your mind…just clear it. You are a professional dancer, and no matter what our personal lives may have in stock for us, we must let it all go before we go onstage. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Madame.” I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from falling apart in front of her. My phone startled me when it vibrated in my pocket. I quickly pulled it out, and I darted a nervous look at Madame. “Thank you, Madame…Sorry, but I need to take this.”

  She nodded skeptically before turning away.

  I pressed the phone to my ear. “Rafa. God, how is he?”

  “The surgery was successful. He’s conscious at times but needs a lot of rest. Time will tell. He’ll stay in the intensive care unit for the next forty-eight hours, at least.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “No, Camila. He can’t talk much yet.”

  “Maybe tomorrow?”

  “He’s asked me to tell you not to call.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Until we’ve got this under control, it’s the best way to keep you safe.”

  “Rafa, I need to know he’ll be okay. This was my fault. I should’ve never listened to Mercedes. This is all…a mess because of me.” I wiped my eyes with my hand.

  “Camila, this was my fault. But…you need to let him go. For good.”

  “What?” I was suddenly winded.

  “I need you to listen, Camila. Do not call him, or even this number.”

  “I’m worried sick about him. Why can’t I call?”

  A long silence.

  “Rafa…”

  “We have a rat somewhere. The best thing is for you to be completely disconnected from Sebastián. He wants you to break all contact with him. He was adamant.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  A pain I never knew existed cracked my heart in two. I closed my eyes and swallowed through the swelling in my throat.