by G. Bailey
This subject is already making him uncomfortable. The tension in his shoulders pressing against my own is completely rigid and his thick eyebrows are knitted together. I think he’s bothered by how Bibi acted towards the end. Her rocking was rather unsettling to watch. Maybe I should interrogate him later and give him some time alone? Then again, sometimes talking about it helps. And the clock is ticking. Literally. I don’t know how long Truth is going to give me to get through this list, therefore every second is crucial to me.
I lower my voice and gently touch his arm. “Was it really your grandmother’s birthday?”
He glances at my hand and then up again, nodding hesitantly. “Kind of.”
“What do you mean by kind of?”
He shrugs my hand off. “It’s hard to explain and even harder to understand. Trust me.”
“Try me. I really do want to understand.”
I watch him gaze out the window for a moment, seemingly debating on whether or not to answer me.
“Joshua, I’m just trying to understand what I was thrown into back there.”
Still looking out the window, he whispers, “In my granny’s head, every Sunday is her birthday. It’s been that way since I was a kid.”
“Is it because of her dementia?” I probe softly.
His head snaps in my direction. “How did you know she has that?”
“Anyone with a brain can see she’s got some type of memory loss.” I give him an apologetic smile, because I really do feel for her. “I’m sorry she’s suffering like this. Does the dementia make her think it’s her birthday every Sunday?”
“Nah. She took a nasty fall on her birthday the day after my parents…passed away,” he adds hurriedly, which certainly piques my interest. “It was the shock from that, along with hitting her head, that fucked with her memory. Then came the dementia a couple of years ago. That just made everything worse and more confusing. When she doesn’t think she’s five-years-old again, she lives the same week over and over. She still thinks my dad’s coming to visit her every time I go there.”
“Is that why she thinks you’re just a kid?”
“Yeah. Around the time as my parents died, my dad’s best friend, Tyler, was the age I am now. He was like a second son to Bibi. I figured when she gets upset, it’s easier to just pretend I’m him.”
“And the whole fiancée thing. Was that just to piss me off or…?” I trail off, eyeing him pointedly.
He laughs, and it’s the first I’ve heard him do that since we left the care home. “Tyler was engaged at the time. He was gonna bring her to meet Bibi on her birthday. She never remembers you or Miss Hector or any other chick I bring with me to see her. All she knows is that I’m Tyler, and the girl I bring with me—must bring with me—every Sunday is my fiancé.”
My stomach coils at the words. “So she’s stuck in an endless loop as well as suffering from dementia? That’s so sad.”
Joshua shrugs nonchalantly. “It is what it is. Miss Hector didn’t mind tagging along since I gave her a workout afterwards.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “That was our arrangement. We can still do that, if you want, babe. Offer is still on the table.”
I roll my eyes and revert back to the previous topic. “If your grandmother remembers the real Tyler, why can’t he visit her?”
“She won’t recognise him,” Joshua’s quick to say, as if I should’ve known that already. “He’s forty-odd now. In Bibi’s mind, Tyler was only around my age before she fell. That’s why she doesn’t recognise me as Joshua.”
I know he’s trying to let on this doesn’t bother him, but I can see the pain in his eyes. He loves his grandmother dearly and yet she doesn’t even know who he is.
Who he really is.
“How old was your dad when all this happened?”
His stare hardens. “He was twenty-two when I was born. I was six when he died and my little brother was just a baby. Does that answer your all questions now?”
I flinch at his sudden tone of voice. Obviously, he’s got issues and I’m not the person he wants to talk to about them. Not that I can really blame him. I do only want to find out everything I can so I can kill him. So far, I’ve learned that Bibi, his parents, and little brother are touchy subjects for him. I think his sin has got to do with them.
“One last question,” I start, and Joshua rolls his eyes. “Why did you choose me? If she can’t remember which girls you bring, you could’ve taken anyone.”
He thinks for a moment, his eyes focusing hard on my lips. His tongue pokes out again and he licks them, forcing me to subconsciously mimic him.
“You sent my last fiancé to jail. It was only fair I dragged your sorry ass in there in as revenge, darling.”
Well, he does have a point even if I’m not the one who reported them.
I had debated about doing it until I figured making friends with my enemy was a better idea.
“What’s in your hand?” Joshua reaches out to touch my fingers curled into my lap.
Tentatively, I open my palm to show him the shell. “Bibi gave this to me. She said it’ll bring good luck on our wedding day.”
Joshua’s eyes widen into saucers. “She’s never done that before. Those shells are like gold to her.”
“I told her not to but she insisted.”
“Mind if I take it back? She’ll be freaking out on Sunday, wondering why she only has five instead of six shells in her pocket.”
“Of course.” I drop the shell into his hand, and he smiles at me. “Just don’t break it.”
“Scouts honor.”
I lift an eyebrow, not really believe those words. “Were you even in the scouts?”
“Fuck no. I went out with a chick from the Brownies, though. That counts.”
“No. It most certainly doesn’t.”
Joshua shoves his shoulder into mine and I let out a giggle that surprises even myself.
The gates to the academy appear within sight. After the car stops at the entrance hall, the guards step out, leaving us alone in the car.
“Now for your payment, babe,” Joshua starts with a grin, but I already know what’s coming. And while my body might be interested, my mind knows better.
I hold up my hand, leveling right in front of his face. “Back up there, sunshine. I don’t want to sleep with you.”
His smirk melts off his face. “Why not? I’m a fucking catch.”
“Maybe to Miss Hector you were.” I lean forward, bringing our noses close together, so close, in fact, I can feel his breath tickling my cheeks. “Me? Not so much, babe. See ya!”
Before he can grab a hold of me, I throw open the door and jump out. Flicking my hair over my shoulders, I deliberately do my sexiest walk as I head into the entrance hall. When I glance over my shoulder at Joshua, he’s still watching me from the car window, a look of shock and desire on his face. I’m beginning to enjoy this little game.
I knock three times on Anne’s door, juggling a chocolate cake in one hand, and a bottle of lemonade in the other. It’s not just any lemonade. It’s the posh handmade stuff that Anne loves. As she can’t drink alcohol, I thought it would be a better drink for us to share on a Saturday night as we watch a movie.
I just pray she isn’t going to choose P.S. I Love You for the one-hundredth time. That film always makes my cold heart cry and she loves it.
I don’t expect Lucas Georgian to answer Anne’s door. But there he is, messy brown hair looking softer than ever, his eyes playfully looking right back at mine. He has a blue sweater on, overworn jeans and I look down to see black Converse shoes. His clothes don’t scream money to me. If anything, they just feel casual.
And it suits him.
He looks like the boy next door that your mother told you not to play with. Or in my case, fuck around with.
“Quick, come inside,” he tells me, holding the door wide open.
Surprised by his appearance, I walk in and he shuts the door quickly behind.
“What are
you doing in here?” I question Lucas, and he grins, taking the chocolate cake off me.
“Anne said you guys are having a movie night. I wanted to join.” He rests his hand on my upper arm. That thing happens again, the shiver of a feeling that makes me want to ask him to keep touching me and I hate myself for it. Lucas is a no-no. Super nope. I have to stop thinking about him and what he looks like minus his nice clothes.
I’m sure there is muscle, so much mu—
An amused voice cuts right into my imagination. “Regan, you alright?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and pray my cheeks aren’t red as I pull my gaze from Lucas and look around Anne’s bedroom. She’s always loved the colour yellow and this room is a portrayal of that. She has mustard bedsheets covered in daisies and a light yellow four-seater couch that faces a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Anne’s room is much bigger than mine, and she knows I’m a little jealous. One important bit of detail that doesn’t escape my notice is that Anne isn’t here, and if Lucas is alone in her room, I want to know why.
“Well, alright then. Where is Anne?” I ask, placing my free hand on my hip.
“In the bathroom. She just threw up. She isn’t feeling great today,” he admits and it makes my heart sink. Any thoughts of Lucas fly out of the window the second I’m reminded of Anne and how sick she truly is. Some moments I just forget, or in my utter foolishness, I pretend that somehow she’s going to be cured. But then reality comes back to hit me in the face.
“Any results from the scans yet?” I quietly ask, wondering, hoping they’ve come back with something positive. I know they should have the results by now and Anne has ignored any of my texts about it since yesterday.
“Not that she’s told me. She looks pale and exhausted, so I don’t want to pressure her into talking about it,” he explains in a similarly quiet voice. His protectiveness over my best friend just makes me like him more.
“Okay. I’m going in to check on her,” I say, taking a step forward, and Lucas’s hand falls away, reminding me that it was there in the first place.
“No need. I’m fine. See,” Anne states and I look over as she comes out of the bathroom.
She looks anything but fine.
Her cheeks are hollow, her complexion paler than ever, and the bags under her eyes have darkened considerably. She catches me studying her and glares.
“Don’t even say anything,” she warns, her tired eyes narrowing. “Let’s just sit and watch a film. Please…?”
Her voice croaks on the word please, and my heart squeezes.
“Alright,” I say as Anne comes over, passes me and sits on the couch.
I sit next to her and take her hand in mine, feeling how clammy she is. My pulse spikes as I think about how bad her results must have been. Her condition is clearly getting serious now. She’s trying to put on a brave face but no amount of make-up can hide the deterioration that’s consuming her from the inside. I feel hopeless and unable to help her.
Anne pats my hand, saying, “You know I love you, but stop looking at me like I’m going to die any second. I’m still very much alive and I’m not going anywhere. Not until the last Quintessentially Yours book comes out.”
“It’s not something to joke about, Anne,” I remind her, even if I do love how much we bond over that paranormal romance series. Our belief has always been why have one book boyfriend when you can have multiple.
“I know it’s not,” she replies, nodding grimly. “I know. Sorry.”
“I just worry about you. What did the scans say?”
She lets go of my hand and shifts uncomfortably. “I fell out with my mother over the scan. Please don’t make me argue with you too. Not right now,” she pleads and I sigh in defeat, unable to say no to her. Anne has survived this long being sick without anyone lecturing her or controlling how she handles her treatments. I guess she prefers it that way. She’s always been a bit of a lone wolf. It’s one of the many reasons I get on with her so much.
“Okay,” I mutter, kicking my slippers off and bringing me feet up onto the sofa.
“That means you too, Lucas.” Anne turns her gaze to where he’s leaning on the wall, silently watching us. He walks over to sit on the edge of the sofa and places his hand on Anne’s shoulder. The way she looks up to him is sweet even if I don’t like it. How on earth can I kill the person my best friend is clearly in love with?
“Only if you promise not to go to the party tomorrow,” Lucas tries to reason with her.
I’ve heard about this party. It’s at some rich kid’s house nearby and his parents are away for the week. Everyone in the school is going to get hammered, and apparently, someone has even found a way to make sure the teachers and bodyguards won’t notice anyone leaving.
“Oh, I’m going,” Anne replies stubbornly, shaking her head at him, “and you can’t stop me.”
I watch Lucas’ face darken and he glowers at her. “I can’t go since my dad is in town and wants to see me tomorrow night. Without me there, I’m worried that—”
“Hey, hold up,” I interject mid-sentence. “I’ll be there and Anne will be fine.”
Anne hugs me, and I feel shitty as I hug her back. The only reason I’m going is to kill Hunter and the best way to do that is to do it outside of the academy. I’ve been thinking about it since I heard about the party earlier this week, only I didn’t think Anne would want to go. A school party will be perfect for a kill, and Anne will be the best alibi. I’m a shitty person to use her though.
“I love you! You’re brilliant!” Anne shouts excitedly, then she sees the lemonade and chocolate cake, and her excitement intensifies into a squeal. “You brought my favourites! Do you two want a piece of cake? I’ll go and get a knife and some plates.”
“Thanks. I’d love a slice,” I mutter as she rushes out of the room. “Extra—”
“Frosting, I know, I know,” Anne calls over her shoulder, smiling.
“I’ll take a slice too,” Lucas says, dropping onto the sofa beside me. He reaches into his pocket and hands me a silver envelope. “Tilda asked me to get you an invite to the ball. Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Who are you going with?” he asks, though the question feels like more. It certainly is more as he stares down at me, a possessive glint in his eye that makes me question more than I should dare to ask.
“You’re going with Anne,” I reply flatly, avoiding his question entirely.
An awkward silence fills the room as Anne comes back with plates and a knife, and starts cutting the cake for us, humming along softly.
“Yeah. I am going with her,” I hear Lucas whisper under his breath. “Hey Anne, my dad can wait. I’m coming with you to the party.”
Anne smiles so widely at him before rushing over and hugging him tightly.
It shouldn’t make me jealous but it does.
And I hate myself for it.
“Here,” Lucas says, handing me a glass of champagne. “It’ll be better than the cheap crap Wilson will have at his place.”
Wilson must be the name of the rich kid’s house we’re headed to. I look around the limousine. Besides me, Anne and Lucas, Charlie’s Angels are sharing the ride with us. It was them who pulled strings to make sure the teachers and bodyguards wouldn’t catch us sneaking out. They’re busy pouring champagne into glass flutes, the three of them dressed up as demons and devils which is a little ironic given my nickname for them.
Despite that the party is only five minutes down the road, the limo driver is obviously taking a lengthy detour since we left the academy grounds over twenty minutes ago. Not that I’m really complaining. It’s surprisingly nice to be partying with people I don’t need to kill. Well, excluding Lucas that is, but he’s last on my list for the time being.
I let Anne choose our costumes this year. Of course, Anne being a lover of all things gothic, chose sister witches. While my black leather corset dress and six-inch heels aren’t the most comfortable in the world, it’s a good
excuse to wear something sexy enough to get my victims’ tongues wagging. I’ve done the cute new girl who’s terribly awkward and shy. Now it’s time to do the bad-ass sexy ‘I will fuck you up” girl. The evil witch out of The Wizard of Oz seemed to fit this persona perfectly.
I cross my legs, smoothing a hand down my black stockings. “Who do you think will be here tonight?” I ask Lucas, taking a sip of my drink.
In the neon lights strobing around us, Lucas’ skull-painted face is rather unsettling to look at. I knew he had a creative streak when he drew my portrait, but I never expected him to be this talented. The bone definitions on his face and neck are so accurate that I feel like I could put my hand right through his throat. He’s chosen a tuxedo and shiny leather shoes to go with his skullwork, and damn does he look dangerously sexy.
“Probably the usual,” Lucas answers, drinking his beer. He hovers the bottle at his lips, and adds as an afterthought, “Us, obviously. Ethan, Josh, the Cross brothers, and anyone else Wilson felt worthy to give an invite.”
All my targets in one place with no bodyguards? This could be interesting.
I sit back in my seat and take another drink of champagne, absently twirling the ring on my left index finger. It’s a special ring—one my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday. To the untrained eye, it’s just a plain silver band with a trillion-cut sapphire that gleams beautifully in the light. But underneath the jewel is a secret compartment, a place where I like to hide poison.
My parents each have a similar piece of jewelry. My mother has a heart-shaped locket and my father a set of gold cufflinks that neither of them are ever without. It’s in case any of us get captured by our enemies. Just a droplet of this Middle-eastern poison is enough to kill you in seconds and it is completely untraceable.