Oakley had been relegated to the backseat by Safiya, but sat himself in the middle, leaning forward between them. “So, Saf, what’d you do last night?”
“Put your seatbelt on,” both women said simultaneously. The two paused, glanced at one another, and nodded in approval.
With a sigh, Oakley grumbled, “We’re going like nine miles an hour.” But there was a familiar click from the backseat.
Safiya cleared her throat. “Ms. Sylvan, your brother has told me so much about you.”
“Oh?” Ivy froze, a nail poised to pick a bit of something that might have once been green from between her teeth.
“You have nothing to worry about. The Avalon Estates Homeowners’ Association is very much looking forward to having you with us.”
“Really?” She gave her brother a look over her shoulder. He had been pouting but then grinned. That was, well, not uncharacteristically nice, just weirdly thoughtful for Oakley. “You know, you can just call me Ivy.” The woman looked at most thirty, only a few years older than her.
“Ivy.” She chuckled. “Fitting. So, I hear you studied history?”
She nodded long and slow. Of course that was what Oakley had said.
“Would that be ours or…?”
Ivy squinted at her. History didn’t exactly belong to anyone, that was, unless you counted the winners. “World history, yeah. For some of my time at school.”
“That’s lovely.” Safiya kept her eyes on the road despite that there were no other cars about. “And you’re a mixologist?”
“What? Oh.” Now Ivy chuckled. “Is that what he said? I mean, he’s not wrong, but—”
“Yeah, yeah.” Oakley leaned forward again. “Ivy’s great. So, last night, saw you were driving around, just wondering—”
“I thought we told you to put your seatbelt on.” Safiya’s eyes left the road for a single instance as she glanced into the rear view to glower at him.
He grabbed the strap around his waist. “The middle seat’s only got this one.”
“Who said you were supposed to sit in the middle?” Ivy chastised him.
“Nobody. I just want to know what Saf was up to—”
“Here we are!”
Ivy hadn’t been paying much attention to anything other than the mirror and was surprised to see the monstrosity that stood before them. Tall and spired, the clubhouse was more like a clubcastle with massive, arched windows, a stone facade, and a huge set of oak doors. It blended in with everything else in that it stood out.
Ivy emerged from the car slowly, staring up at the place. “What in the world?” But Safiya had already exited the vehicle and was halfway to the door, her heels clacking on the pavers as she went.
“Yeah, they’re a little weird around here,” Oakley admitted in a whisper from over her shoulder. “Just wait til you meet the others.”
Chapter 3
The room was so opulent and grand that Ivy could not take it all in at once. Tapestries hung on the walls and the windows were blocked out by heavy, velvet drapes. The room’s center held a chandelier in an aged bronze from which live candles flickered though no wax dripped down on the dark hardwoods covered in an assortment of overlapping rugs. Ivy hesitated on the pristine carpets with her dirty sneakers, but her brother pulled her inside.
A round table filled up the middle of the space at which five gold-gilded chairs were placed, and an assortment of slightly less extravagant chairs lined the far wall. To Ivy’s surprise, only a single chair was occupied. A woman was sat at the table, tilting her head just so to acknowledge them as they entered.
“Morning, Mrs. Jiang.” Safiya waved to her and crossed the room to place her paperwork on a desk and started moving chairs around.
“Hey.” Oakley smirked at the woman, but her eyes, dark and piercing like a shark’s, had fallen on Ivy, and she didn’t dare move under them. “My sister,” he said throwing an arm around her shoulders and knocking her off kilter once again. “She’s moving in.”
And then she spoke, and Ivy felt both a chill and an electric shock run up her spine. “I presumed so. I can see the resemblance.”
Ivy thought she might vomit, her brows arching viscerally. Oakley and Ivy were polar opposites. He was a slob, perpetually late and thoughtless with a dopey look, and—she sighed heavily, glancing down at her loose jeans and shabby shirt, then over at him, his unshaven face beaming back at the woman—damn it, she was right.
“Victoria Jiang,” she said, voice like a song.
Ivy stuttered as she introduced herself, her own nasally inflection that much worse in the wake of the woman’s lilt. Mrs. Jiang was mature, but older wasn’t the right word. There was a shock of silver running from her temple to her chin, the rest of her straight bob a shimmering black. Her skin was smooth save for at just the corners of her eyes where age was winning out, round, small features held stiffly as she considered them both.
“We can’t be it.” Safiya had clacked up to the table and dropped a manila folder onto it while she pulled out her phone to check the time. “Rufus said he was running late, but I thought everyone else would be here by now.”
“Well, you know the others,” Mrs. Jiang melodized. “Always up to something.”
Safiya huffed and dropped down into one of the new chairs she’d brought over. “Well, I assume Oakley sent you the paperwork ahead of time.”
“Sure did,” Oakley lied, pushing Ivy down into the seat beside Safiya. “She said she read it all last night.”
“Great! Well, here’s that then.” She pushed a packet toward her and flipped to a map inside. “These are the grounds. You came in here and must have met Greg at the gate—that’s the only way in or out. We’re here, in the clubhouse. Avalon Estates encompasses this entire area, everything within the wall including the pool, the lake, the forest, the green houses, the gardens, the tennis courts, the pitch, and the park.” Ivy’s eyes grew wide: the place was huge. “It’s vital you understand and take to heart the rules we have in place here, but I’m sure, being who you are, you understand why.”
Ivy looked at her sidelong but said nothing as the woman continued.
“We’re sixty…official dwellings in all, the original thirty houses all along here, and the blocks of condos over here, by the lake. And then there’s the enclave over there, though it’s a bit hard to keep track of those buildings. Your brother was lucky enough to snatch up one of the historic houses, but they come with their share of issues. We have plenty of skilled professionals living in the estates, though, so anything you need, let me know, and we’ll see what we can do.”
“Wow, that’s convenient.”
“Necessary,” Mrs. Jiang cut in. “Strangers complicate things.”
Ivy glanced at Oakley, but before she could meet his eye and try to telepathically share her concern, the door to the room swung open.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” the figure that entered announced in a purring alto, removing her wide-brimmed hat with a flourish, black curls falling all around her face. She dropped the hat and her over-sized bag on a side table as if it were placed there just for that purpose and began to remove her gloves one finger at a time, odd for the end of summer though the black satin material would have been odd for any season. “I almost thought I wasn’t going to make it, but certainly wouldn’t have denied all of you my presence seeing as—oh.” She looked up then. “Well, it looks like apologies aren’t really necessary after all.” With a little huff, she dropped her gloves atop the hat, pursed her lips, took a long look around the room, then settled her gaze onto Ivy. “Well, hello there.”
Ivy managed a meek salutation. The woman was gorgeous, two dark lips parting and curling up into a smile as she took measured steps toward her. Her certainty and poise screamed sophisticated, traveled, worldly, but her skin, her hair, even her eyes, the color of honey, were all a solid twenty five at the oldest. When she slipped her hand into Ivy’s, a shock of ice ran up her arm and right into her chest.
“Thi
s is Calla Bicchieri, another board member,” Safiya said offhandedly as she flicked through the packet of papers, double checking it against another set.
“Careful, she’ll suck the life right out of you,” another voice chimed from the doorway. There stood a slender but short man, hair so blond it was nearly white laid back slick against his head. Calla didn’t bother to look back at him, but she did chuckle darkly before releasing Ivy’s hand, the warmth running back into it.
“Alastair Proctor.” The man replaced Calla as she rounded the table and took a seat next to Mrs. Jiang. He shook Ivy’s hand as well with much more force than the woman had. “Of the New England Proctors.”
Ivy wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know who they were, but she smiled and nodded like she did, introducing herself with her full name.
“Oh, I know. We all know.” He winked at her then patted Oakley on the arm before wandering over to one of the windows and pulling back a curtain. “Tharman should be along any minute now. I heard that abomination of his clamoring down the road when I arrived.”
Safiya sighed. “That will make almost all of us.”
“Where is the old cur anyway?” Calla’s eyes were in her lap as she smoothed her skirt over her knee.
“Running behind.” Safiya popped back up and crossed the room to where she had left the rest of her paperwork.
Mrs. Jiang cleared her throat. “That’s not like him.”
Safiya returned with a handful of pens and began handing them out. “No, not really.”
Alastair took a seat next to Oakley, leaving a space between himself and Calla and checked his watch. “I think we can get on with it. Only the signatures of board members who bother to show up are required.”
“Well, I’m not in a rush.” Calla threaded her fingers together and eyed Ivy. “And I’m sure our dear leader will make it up to us when he shows. Though I can’t imagine what’s taking Tharmy so long.”
“We ain’t all got legs as long as you, do we?”
Ivy wouldn’t have seen him had she not been at the front of the table, he was so short. With a braided, red beard and a shining bald head, a man no taller than her hip walked into the room, huffing and puffing. He was stocky and pink-faced, though much of his features were hidden beneath bushy brows and a thick mustache.
Alastair laughed highly, and the short man ignored him, smiling up at Ivy as he approached. “Miss. Sylvan?”
Ivy leaned forward and extended her hand. When he took it, she felt rough callouses on his stubby fingers and palm. “Tharman Beryleaxe,” he annunciated with a thick, southern drawl. “Ever so pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The short man squinted at the table and the remaining seats, then with a sigh hopped up onto the chair between Alastair and Calla more gracefully than Ivy expected.
“Well, that’s the board.” Safiya pulled her phone out and began to tap on it. “I’ll see what’s taking Rufus so long.”
Mrs. Jiang reached across the empty seat and placed a hand on Safiya’s. “You know, he nominated her, and it’s on record. Why don’t we just vote, and you can go after his signature later.”
“Well, if that’s the plan, I’m more than happy to sign first.” Calla flashed Ivy a smile that made her nervous and mushy all at once.
Safiya hesitated then put her phone away, pulling a single page from the folder and sliding it across the table.
“Course you are.” Tharman’s head was just clearing the table, and he used a stubby hand to snatch the paper away as soon as Calla was finished.
Alastair took the page from him after that, perused it a moment, then put his pen to another line. “Ivy. That’s quite the appropriate name. Your parents have a sense of humor.” He scratched out his signature then held up the page. “Do you approve, Mrs. Jiang?”
Mrs. Jiang smirked at him, and he gave the paper a little push, the page effortlessly gliding across the wide table and landing just in front of her. “Far be it for me to keep us from reaching our quota.” The others stiffened as she took the page and slowly scripted out her name.
Safiya took it when they were finished and scribbled quickly on it herself then beamed over at Ivy. “Well, all that’s missing is your agreement then, I guess. Miss. Sylvan?” She pushed the page toward Ivy and handed her a blue pen.
At the bottom of the page there were two blank lines left, one for “occupant” and the other for Rufus Vlcek, President. Ivy hesitated only a moment, flicking her eyes up over the board members gathered around the table. They had all seemed vaguely disinterested moments earlier, but now they were each leaning in ever so slightly, their eyes trained on Ivy as she prepared to commit her signature to the page. Well, she certainly couldn’t let them down.
As Ivy wrote out her name in as neat a script as she could muster, time slowed. Each loop of the letters took a fraction of a second longer than the last, and as the ink spelled out her name, she had a sense of overwhelming responsibility placed onto her. Then as she lifted the pen to finish, time came screaming back, and she actually lurched forward in her chair.
“That does it!” Safiya pulled the page away.
No one seemed to notice Ivy’s strange tick. “That’s it? That was…easy.”
“Well, of course it was.” Alastair stood. “We don’t do something like this without already being in agreement.”
“Sounds a lot like saying we don’t do much at all!” Tharman guffawed as he jumped off his chair.
“We just need the president’s signature to seal it.” Safiya waved the page before her to dry the ink. “And if he’s too busy to come to us, I suppose we’ll just go to him.”
Ivy watched as the others filed out of the room, surprised she barely had to introduce herself let alone answer any questions. It was all quite fortuitous considering the feeling Ivy had gotten from the whole thing: the board members might have thought Ivy was someone other than who she actually was. And she knew exactly who she had to thank for that.
Her brother gave her a nudge. “See? Just a formality.”
He’d been right which was rare for him, but he was wrong earlier when he’d said the board members were a little weird. They were, in fact, very weird.
Chapter 4
Safiya knocked with three short raps, and the sound echoed in a way Ivy wasn’t expecting, hollow and empty beyond the door. She took a step back both to look up at the facade and to put a bit more space between herself and the house. Well, manor, really, was more likely the right word, and she supposed it made sense the president of Avalon Estates lived here in yet another place she didn’t feel like she belonged.
Again Safiya knocked, and again they stood in silence. Stark against the whitewashed brick of the manor’s face, its arched windows were all dark, and there was no movement beyond them, but a shiny, black sedan was parked at the top of the arching drive, and Safiya insisted he must be home.
“Come on, Rufus,” Safiya mumbled, pulling out her phone. “I have things to do.” She held up a finger and gave them a quick smile before turning away. Ivy squinted at Oakley while she bobbed from one foot to the other. He looked back at her with a sleepy grin, completely relaxed there on the stoop to this rather grand house in this lavish neighborhood. How did he do that—always looking like he belonged or, if not, like he didn’t care?
“Voice mail?” She dropped her arm and turned back to the door, knocking harder this time. They waited on the stoop, the only sound Safiya’s foot tapping on the stone. Then she huffed and fished a set of keys out of her pocket.
“Should we really just—oh, okay.” Ivy watched as Safiya unlocked the door and walked herself in.
The long, dark foyer was laid out before them. “Rufus?”
He didn’t answer, and that was somehow worse than if he would have. Ivy’s stomach flipped as her brother passed her, ever nonchalant with hands in his pockets and a bored but contented look on his face, following Safiya deeper into the house. The entry hall was littered with portraits, the faces too shadowed
to make out, beside it a staircase leading up into darkness. She scurried behind her brother when she realized she had been left alone by the open front door.
Safiya called out again, entering the kitchen at the back of the house. A curtain hung over the window at the sink, blocking out most of the morning sun, but allowing a yellow pall to light the room. Oak cabinets lined the walls, and the granite counter tops were decorated with modern appliances and utensils.
Safiya’s low heels clacked on the tile as she crossed the kitchen away from them. Oakley leaned against the island and picked up a bag of coffee grounds, taking a deep breath, but Ivy hovered at the entrance to the room. Just beside her was a small table and a set of chairs, atop it one porcelain mug, but it was empty save for a slightly silty, yellow liquid coating the bottom. She leaned down and smelled something sweet she couldn’t place.
“Shit,” Safiya said, glancing out the window over the sink. “Chickens are loose.” She turned back to them, her brow knit. “Strange, his car is out front, but he doesn’t seem to be here.” She tried his phone again, pacing the far end of the kitchen, then her arm fell to her side.
Safiya was looking off at the back of the kitchen where there was another hall. She cocked her head and went there, and intrigued, Ivy followed. On the floor in the darkness was a long strip of red fabric that Safiya stepped over, a tie.
They passed the open door of an empty study, all wood-paneled with over-sized, leather furniture, and the sun streamed in the crack in the drapes from behind. The decor was dark and masculine, a gold pen in its holder, a pyramid-shaped paperweight, but there was also a bright blue box sitting on the corner of the desk, starkly different to everything else.
They continued on, passing a sports jacket crumpled on the ground until they found themselves lined up at a closed door at the hall’s end. Oakley had made his way down the hall as well, asking what was up, but Safiya hadn’t responded. Instead, she knocked gently and called out Rufus’s name again, but there was no response. She put a hand on the knob then looked back at the other two before announcing, “Rufus, I’m coming in.”
The Association Page 2