I kept my eyes on cape-guy as the addresses wore on, trying to figure out what it was about him that kept nudging at my subconscious, until finally the last of the speakers wrapped up their soliloquy and Alva once again stepped up to the microphone.
“I want to thank you all again for joining us tonight at our commencement gala…”
As Alva continued to conclude the welcome, I took the opportunity to slide over next to Cormac who stood only a few feet off. “Who is that?” I asked him quietly, just behind his shoulder.
“Who, dear?” he whispered back, trying to follow my line of vision.
“The boy there,” I nodded, “in the cape.”
“Bastian Bloch, Brassal and Alva’s other son.”
“I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before…”
“Well he does look a great deal like his brother Steven, who you’ve met,” Cormac suggested.
“No…” I shook my head, “it’s not that…” But damned if I could figure out what it was…
After what felt like half a century after they began, the welcoming addresses ended with the call for the first dance to begin from Alva followed by a round of demurely enthusiastic applause. As the crowd began to dissemble, some reassuming their seats around the room while others took to the dance floor, I watched as Bastian came forward to meet with his mother, finally getting close enough for me to have a good look at him – and my breath stopped in my throat.
It was Brian Connor.
Not “it looked like,” or “it slightly resembled.” It was. His hair was styled differently, he carried himself in a more regal manner, and obviously he was more dressed up than I’d ever seen him before, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that it was him. For exactly one semester my senior year, Brian had been in all my classes, which had been odd, as I had a completely customized schedule due to my advanced placement. At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, but now it was clear – he’d been planted there.
Suddenly my entire perception of the people surrounding me snapped from haughty and aloof to calculating and sinister. I’d fallen in their trap just like everyone else, believing they were a bunch of self-absorbed elitists, but that ended now. These people knew far more than they let on and weren’t nearly as uninvolved and innocent as they made everyone believe. They’d known where Ryland and I were all those years.
And I was starting to get the feeling that they’d been spying on us.
My eyes darted around quickly, looking for Jocelyn who I found walking back the cluster of chairs the four of us had occupied earlier. I hurried up alongside him and took his arm, only at the last moment remembering to keep my voice down. “I need to talk to you.”
Immediately he looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bastian, I know him.”
“Wait,” he said, placing a hand on my back and leading me away from the center of the room. “What do you mean, you know him?”
“He went to my high school, his name is Brian, or it was Brian anyway, and he was in every class I took for an entire semester.”
I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but the sudden calm that washed over his features would not have been at the top of my list. “Becca,” he said shaking his head, “I am certain you are mistaken.”
We reached our group of chairs a moment later and Jocelyn retook his seat in one of the large armchairs. Not willing to give up so easily, I followed him down, taking a seat on the ottoman at his knee and leaned toward him. “No,” I maintained, “it’s him, I know it is. Don’t you see what this means, they’ve been spying on us!”
“Becca, I understand that whatever trust you may have had in the Bhunaidh is gone after…” he paused, lowering his voice further, “our discussion about Steven, but that doesn’t mean there is a conspiracy or plot hiding in every corner. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but–”
“You honestly think I would make this up?” I interrupted, quickly convincing myself that the strain I felt in my chest was anger, not hurt.
“No, of course not, but I do believe you could be misremembering. You have been out of school for more than two years now. That is a long time and appearances do change – especially in young people. Besides that,” he continued discreetly, “Bastian and Steven both attend a private school in France, and I happen to know for a fact that they have not missed a single semester since they began there at age six. Trust me, whomever it is that you are thinking of, it is not Bastian.”
He seemed sure, but my gut wouldn’t let it go. “I know it doesn’t seem–”
But he stood suddenly, cutting me off this time. “We can discuss this later,” he breathed sharply, before taking my hand and bringing me up beside him. I was momentarily miffed that he would blow me off, until I turned around to see that Alva had returned to our little circle – and this time, she was not alone.
CHAPTER 8
“Alva,” Jocelyn greeted her, as she and Bastian walked up and joined our little group. “The welcome addresses were lovely.” And what perfect timing you have, I added silently.
“Oh, you are too kind,” she smiled, ever the radiant hostess. “I’m so glad you enjoyed them.” She took a small step back. “Jocelyn, you remember my son Bastian.” She beamed as she gently ushered the young man forward. Ignoring me entirely, Bastian reached out and shook Jocelyn’s hand with the practiced grace and poise of a man twice his age.
“Mr Clavish,” Bastian nodded smoothly, “it’s an honor see you again.”
“Bastian, my boy,” came Cormac’s voice as he and Alex joined us. “What a sight you are! Tall as your father now, I’d say.”
“And this,” Alva said turning to me, with an embarrassing “last but not least” inflection in her voice, “is Jocelyn’s daughter, Rebecca. Becca, this is my son Bastian Connor Bloch.”
Connor. Gee… what a coincidence.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, smiling inwardly at my coming victory as reached out to shake his hand. However, instead of the shake I’d expected, he took my hand in his, turning it slightly so that my palm faced downward before he raised it up to his lips.
“The honor is entirely mine,” he said against my knuckles before kissing them lightly.
Damn, this guy was smooth. Good thing I knew he was also full of crap…
“Jocelyn,” Alva said, after tearing her eyes away from Bastian and myself, “I spoke with Brassal, and he would love to meet with you after the next dance set if that is agreeable.”
“Yes, thank you so much Alva. I hope it won’t be too much of an inconvenience.”
“No, not at all…”
The conversation continued, and I probably should have been paying attention, but all I could focus on was the man still standing only an arm’s reach away. His green eyes, his square jaw, even his slightly off center widow’s peak, were all exactly that of the boy I’d known from school. And that wasn’t even mentioning the blatant proof that was his middle name. It was all there, plain as day, and no way was I going to let it go until everyone saw the truth. And the best way to ensure that was to trap him.
I kept my eyes glued to his face as the conversation carried on around us, just waiting for his eyes to come up and meet mine. Waiting for that deliciously inevitable moment when our gazes would lock and I could witness the spark of panic in his eyes as he realized that I wasn’t in the least bit fooled, and that whatever their game was, it was over.
Of course all that would require him to actually look at me, which thus far hadn’t shown any sign of happening. Moment after moment passed and he never so much as glanced passingly in my direction. Normally I would have considered his lack of eye contact to be reassuring proof that he knew he was in trouble, but oddly – not to mention annoyingly – that wasn’t the read I was getting. In fact, it didn’t even look like he was avoiding me so much as completely disinterested in my presence. The way someone would treat a person they’d never seen before and would never see again. But of course it was all a show
.
Wasn’t it…?
A twinge of doubt started to creep into my mind, but I kicked it back. It was.
“Good,” I heard Alva say as she began to step away. “We will see you all in a bit then.”
No. No way it was going down like this. If he thought he could get away with this by avoiding me… he was wrong.
Doing my best to look charmingly unassuming, I stepped forward slightly, calling out, “Excuse me.” They both stopped and turned back, and yet again I got nothing from Bastian. Again a shadow of doubt slipped in to shake my resolve, but again I beat it back. It’s him damn it, you know it is! Don’t let them got to you! Maintain!
“Yes dear?” Alva asked, smiling patiently while I hesitated, collecting myself.
“Becca…” Jocelyn whispered pointedly from just behind me.
“I’m sorry,” I continued, ignoring Jocelyn’s subtle but obvious warning, “I don’t want to keep you, and I hope it’s not too bold, but I wanted to ask if Mr Bloch,” I turned my gaze to Bastian, “would do me the honor of a dance this evening.”
For a split second the knot in my stomach felt like it had turned to ice as everyone in our little circle held their breath. Had I gone too far? Was I as off base as Jocelyn thought? What if I was, did I just ruin our chances of finding Ciaran? The doubts buzzed in my head, but before they could break my resolve… I saw it.
His eye twitched. The easy smile never left his face, but for an instant the tension got the better of him. It was the smallest flicker of his eyelid and vanished almost before I realized it’d happened, and though I was probably the only one who’d seen it – I had seen it. He was in trouble and he knew it.
I glanced over to Alva to see her reaction, as of course I assumed she would also be feeling the heat, but oddly, she could not have seemed more at ease. More than at ease… she was beaming. Did she seriously think I wasn’t going to figure it out? I mean, she had been the one to bring him over, was she that confident in his acting abilities, or did she just think I was that dumb?
Or… did she not know?
Before I could surmise further, Bastian took a step forward, bowing gracefully. “The honor,” he said, finally gathering the nerve to meet my eyes, “would be entirely mine.”
I heard Jocelyn quietly clear his throat, but again I ignored him.
“The second set is beginning,” Bastian continued, coolly offering me his hand. “May I have the pleasure?”
I paused only slightly and took a moment to listen carefully to the song wafting through the air, praying it was a meter I recognized and would be able to dance to. Silently I began to count. There were three beats per bar which meant three/four time. It was a waltz. A quick glance at the couples who were already dancing confirmed my assessment and the slight tension in my shoulders broke. I had this.
Jocelyn, however, was clearly not as confident in my dancing abilities as I was. “I’m sure Becca would be delighted,” he said suddenly, obviously feeling this situation demanded he step in, “but I’m not sure she realizes–”
“I would love to,” I interrupted, taking Bastian’s hand with a smile.
As he led me away from the group and onto the dance floor, I knew Jocelyn wasn’t happy with me, but I wasn’t worried. If he was afraid that I was about to embarrass myself by stumbling all over the dance floor, then he was going to be pleasantly surprised. If his fear was that I would probe Bastian about spying on me back in Pennsylvania, well… he was right. But just because I planned to dig, didn’t mean I couldn’t handle the situation tactfully.
Though, given my history, I couldn’t pretend that his fears were entirely unfounded…
Trying to ignore the fact that every single eye in the room was fixed on us as we crossed the it and took to the floor, I kept my head high, my smile easy, and my mind on the mission. I wasn’t going to let their whispers and pointed stares get to me this time, not now that I fully understood the sort of shady frauds I was dealing with. These people were as underhanded as they came and had been playing us for fools. And by the end of this dance I planned to be able to prove it.
When we reached an open space in the center of the dance floor, we stopped and turned to face one another. My heart began to kick my ribs a bit as we assumed the dance position and I saw all the other couples twirling around us like extras from a Rodgers and Hammerstein show. Reminding myself that it was just a waltz and that I was more than capable, I held my breath and waited for his lead, trying my best to look as calm and collected as he did. He glanced down at me to confirm I was ready, and a moment later we were gliding around the room like pros.
Or he was anyway.
I was doing my best to keep up, while also making sure not to let anyone realize I was having trouble. I had been prepared to waltz, and we were waltzing all right, but it wasn’t the traditional box step that I was used to. Apparently Bastian preferred open footwork, which involved larger steps and a lot more spinning, consequently making it much grander than its box cousin – and more difficult. Maybe this was how he always waltzed, or maybe he assumed that I wouldn’t be able to handle the more difficult style and would have to bow out, but either way I was determined to hold my own. The dance may have looked and felt different, but it was still a waltz, and that meant that the footwork was generally the same. My other saving grace was the fact that, while still a lying cad, Bastian was a very strong lead and wittingly or no he was making me look far better than I was. Uncle Joe would have been proud.
As we twirled around the perimeter of the dance floor I waited for him to say something. After all, he had to know that I’d recognized him, so it was only a matter of time before he came at me with something: an excuse, a test question, or maybe even a threat. But the longer I waited the more clear it became that he didn’t plan on saying anything… at all. It looked like he didn’t have anything to say. But that was fine… because I had plenty.
“Nothing to say this evening?” I asked, keeping my sarcasm – just barely – in check.
“Forgive me,” he replied after a moment, though there was a new aloof, almost bored air to his tone, “I am not myself tonight. You look lovely this evening, and are quite a… proficient dancer… for an American.”
“The dance?” I asked, gritting my teeth as I let his blatant insult go. “Is that really what you want to discuss?”
“We are dancing,” he said with a haughty inflection that made me want to stomp on his foot, “so it seemed an appropriate subject. Would you prefer the weather, or perhaps a commentary on the entertainment this evening?”
God, what an ass!
I hadn’t known him all that well in school, so I wasn’t sure if he was acting this way to try and repel me and my questions, or if “self-righteous dick” was just his natural state, but I was not about to be deterred. “I was thinking something more like Mr Sacklehide’s honors English class, or maybe Mrs Tatala’s Algebra 3,” I said innocently, listing a few of the classes we’d shared.
Certain I had him in a corner, I looked up at his face as I waited for him to respond, looking for the spark of panic in his eyes. Unfortunately, he must have been prepared for my veiled accusations, because all I got from his expression was confusion and a mild hint of annoyance. “Am I supposed to know what you are referring to?” he asked after he realized I was not going to expand.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you do.”
“Then it would appear you are mistaken,” he replied casually, actually having the gall to roll his eyes.
So this is how it was going to go? Denials and lies? Playing dumb? Treating me like a pest wasting his precious time? Not a chance. If this asshole actually thought he was going to get away with this, he had no idea who he was dealing with – but he was about to find out.
Game on.
I stared out over his shoulder as I tried to decide my next move, afraid that if I looked at his expression again I might smack him. However, as we rounded the next corner of the dance floor and I saw a pair of blue
eyes watching me like fiery ice chips, I realized I wasn’t the only one currently teetering on the edge of violence. I couldn’t remember a time when anyone had looked at me with as much fury and hatred as those eyes shot at me now. However, it wasn’t until I moved from the eyes to the entire face that my shock turned to irritation, as I realized that the glare burning through my head belonged to none other than – surprise, surprise – Shannon.
What the hell was with this chick?
Though no sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I noticed that she wasn’t just looking at me but at Bastian too. Her eyes bobbed back and forth between the two of us, and suddenly it became totally obvious what her issue was… and it took everything in me not to grin.
She was jealous.
Were they a couple? Had I cut in on her man? Wrong as it was, I had to admit that my eviler side liked the idea of stepping on her toes way more than it should have. I glanced up at Bastian to see if he had noticed her too, which he clearly had, though he was doing his best to pretend he hadn’t.
“She doesn’t seem happy,” I remarked, perfectly content to stir the pot if it would throw him off his game.
“She wouldn’t be,” was all he said.
Damn. So much for that.
We danced what was left of the waltz in silence, stopping elegantly on the last beat before joining the others on the floor in a round of light applause for the orchestra. As the next number began, Bastian took my hand and raised it to his lips once again, bowing slightly.
“It has been a pleasure,” he said, kissing my knuckles.
“It has,” I agreed, with a radiant smile and a small curtsy. We were about to part ways, but just before he was able to release my hand, I squeezed my fingers shut tightly round his own, subtly holding him in place. When he looked up, I kept my smile firmly in place. “Make no mistake,” I continued just loudly enough for him to hear, “I am not blind and I am not stupid. I know something is going on here, and I will find out what it is.”
The Seers Page 8