by Meg Evans
She must mean the pendant on Dorian’s neck. The urge to take a peek at what’s going on down there is hard to resist. Listening isn’t enough anymore; I want to know what the owners of all those voices look like. Are they as stunning as Dorian and Rita? Or are they a bunch of monsters?
My curiosity draws me forward. I crouch, but in vain. They are out of my sight. There’s no other way; to be able to catch a glimpse of them, I have to descend at least a few steps. My pulse pounds in my ears, but I do it anyway. As quiet as a mouse, I perch on the third top step. I put my hand over my mouth to subdue the sound of my breathing. I don’t have the best view, but at least I can see some part of the scene taking place below me.
On the couch, I spot Rita, who hasn’t spoken up even once so far. Her knees are pressed tightly together, her palms down on her knees. She looks like she has swallowed a stick and now is sitting unnaturally straight. I can tell she isn’t enjoying this visit whatsoever. Beside her, I spot a woman. Her dark complexion, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped eyes make me guess that she has some Native American ancestry. Over them stands a blonde-haired man, not too much taller than Dorian, with a strong, square jaw and wide forehead.
I transfer my eyes to the window, where I see Dorian who, unlike Rita, seems very confident. He’s leaning against the windowsill with his legs and arms crossed. His face doesn’t express any emotion at all. My throat tightens at the sight of him.
My attention is drawn to the last person in the room. She’s very different from the other woman, far more sensual and feminine. Her body’s slender, her hips slim. Rich, bright burgundy curls cap her head. Even from afar, I’m able to see her necklace; it’s different from the ones Dorian and Rita wear. It’s a silver snake, coiled around something that looks like an eye.
There’s something about each of these people that makes them feel like a strange work of art. They look like human beings, but there’s one feature that they all share, which makes adrenaline flood my system — their eyes, completely black. From my perspective, I’m unable to tell the pupil from the iris apart. No normal person has such unnaturally dark eyes.
The woman with the characteristic accent is standing barely a foot from Dorian, holding his pendant in her small hand. Their proximity makes my cheeks flush. I clench my hands into fists and press my lips flat.
“I’m not hiding anything; I’m just focused on a different task,” Dorian says to her. “As you remember, I have something to find here.”
“Dorian, Dorian, Dorian.” She smirks, shaking her head and yanking him closer by the pendant. Their faces are maybe three inches apart. “You are lucky that you are mine. Otherwise, I would not accept such an excuse.” She leans in even closer, rubbing her cheek against his. She lowers her voice, but everyone can hear her anyway. “You must try harder, my love. Next time I pay you a visit, I hope you will have better news for me.” She pulls away abruptly and releases him from her grip. “Today, I am genuinely disappointed. She is not the best at this game,” the woman says, motioning to Rita, who twitches with fear, “and she never has been, but you?”
Reaching into her dress pocket, the woman takes out something resembling a black stone. She floats to the table in front of the couch and places it there. “I am leaving this with you until my next visit. They warm up when another one is nearby. Bear that in mind.”
She ambles through the living room back and forth. Everyone’s waiting for what she’s going to say next. She suddenly comes to a halt and slowly inhales the air deep into her lungs.
“Now. Whose scent is that?” My heart sinks. “Karla Whitaker? Vanessa Prynn? Leslie Dean?”
“What’s the difference, Blair?” Dorian asks, remaining calm.
“No difference; just curiosity.” She shrugs. “Is she in this house? Does she know what awaits her yet? Or does she still live in blissful unawareness of what is yet to come?” She laughs like a maniac. Her high-pitched voice echoes through the whole house, seeming to make the walls vibrate.
I’m petrified when the woman turns around and briskly marches toward the stairs where I’m perched. My whole body stiffens, but I manage to take two steps back. My heart races with adrenaline. I’m so stupid; I never considered having a plan B that would answer what I would do if they decided to come upstairs.
A sudden burning sensation sears through my chest. I double up, unable to stand straight. It increases with every step Blair takes toward me. It radiates to my limbs. My blood is on fire! Right before she makes it to the bottom of the stairs, I manage to duck into the corridor. My legs feel wobbly; I hit the wall with my back.
“Ha-ha,” she cackles, “is anybody up there? I see you! You cannot hide!”
I shake, her voice chilling me to the bone. I’m unable to keep backpedaling; the only thing I can do right now is writhe. It’s over. She’s noticed me and will drag me down there to hurt, maybe kill. I hope Dorian’s frosty look will murder me first.
“I am joking; stop looking at me like that, Ethan. I do not like this house. Too many stairs. I hope that you two will move out soon. This neighborhood is so dull.”
She was kidding. Sudden relief washes over me. I seem to have made it.
She didn’t amuse me whatsoever. She’s as bad at telling jokes as she is at using contractions. Her footsteps edge away from my hideout, but I’m unable to take a sigh of relief; I struggle to breathe, my lungs contracting. My birthmark throbs with pain. I quietly fall to my knees and then to all fours. I take a couple of deep breaths, trying to collect myself. Soothing coolness gradually fills my veins. My heart calms down slightly.
“It’s a waste of time, Blair,” the blonde man says. “They have nothing for us.”
“Because they are slacking!” Blair cries out. She acts like she’s insane. First she snickers, and a minute later her monster laugh is replaced by a shriek at full tilt. Not to mention that she keeps prowling the living room like she’s obsessed with searching for something. “We have no time! Rovenna wants to have twelve gems before the next new moon. If she does not have them, she will be very angry.” She emphasizes the last word to get her point across.
“I can’t speed up anything,” Dorian says flatly. “You know that it’s not exactly child’s play.”
“Sweetheart, anyone can say that but you.” Blair’s voice is stable again. “You are a master of deception, and you always take whatever you want. You are my masterpiece; do not forget it.”
Although I’m much better, and the debilitating sensation that randomly came over me is almost gone, my limbs still tremble. My body feels tremendously heavy. It’s hard for me to hold my weight up, so I drop weakly to the carpet. I couldn’t return to the attic even if I wanted to.
Lying flat, I don’t see as much as I did before, but I can still see Rita and the other woman. The rest of them are out of my sight.
“Enough; we’re leaving,” the brunette says. “I’m so done with listening to this bullshit and sitting beside this mute idiot.”
“Rita,” Blair says, her attention diverted from Dorian, “frankly speaking, I have not even noticed your presence here today. Is everything okay? You are even more quiet than usual.” She comes up to Rita from behind and slowly runs her fingers through Rita’s black, shiny hair. She grasps a thick bunch and pulls it firmly so that Rita’s head violently arches back. Blair leans forward. She comes so close to Rita’s face that it seems as if she’s going to kiss her. “Do you want to quit? Leave our ranks? You know what the consequences are, right?”
“Leave her alone.” Dorian’s stern voice.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” Blair lets go of Rita. Her smirk has been wiped off her face. She veers right and scutters toward him, disappearing from my view. My heart rate triples. “Be careful; I might get jealous.” Blair pauses. “You prefer me to take care of you, then? And leave your little cousin, as you call her, alone?” Silence rolls in. “Apparently, those pathetic few hundred pieces that you have left are still too many. I can take away half
of them right now.”
“NO!” Rita finally, and spectacularly, reminds them all of her existence. She even gets up from the couch, so determined is she to protest. “Take mine!”
“Lovely.”
I’m not certain what has just happened, but the moment Blair snaps her fingers, Rita goes limp and collapses to the floor as though someone has deprived her of the use of her muscles. Her face, naturally pale, now has the color of a china doll. She doesn’t move.
“You’re sick,” Dorian says, but he doesn’t move.
“I never claimed otherwise. Very well,” Blair says, clapping her hands several times, “our gorgeous Rita will remain unconscious for a while, so I guess the party is over. Let’s go, my dear companions.”
“Finally.” The other woman lets out a sigh of relief.
“I expect that next time you will have more to show me,” Blair says. “I will see you soon, baby. I miss you already.” The sound of an obnoxious smack comes to my ears.
Did she just kiss him? A stab of jealousy pierces my chest. That bitch has some nerve. After everything she’s done, she has the audacity to kiss Dorian goodbye. Why would she even do that?
She says one last thing.
“Remember, you will always be mine. I will never share.”
When the door slams closed behind them, it takes a good while before what I have just witnessed sinks in. I’m relieved that those lunatics have left the house, but simultaneously my head spins in confusion. I close my eyes, trying to collect my thoughts. The majority of what was said doesn’t make any sense to me.
What ‘pieces’ did she mean? Why would that blonde man want to rip someone apart? What is Dorian supposed to find?
Those and dozens of other questions roll around my mind. It was naïve of me to believe that eavesdropping would give me any answers. My mind races, searching for the answers so intently that I don’t even realize when a pair of legs appears a few inches from my face. It’s Dorian, who just made it to the top of the stairs. An unpleasant tingling swings across my neck. I’ve just been caught red-handed.
“I guess I’m in troub—”
Before I finish pronouncing the last word, he pulls me up by the sweatshirt I’m wearing and stands me at his eye level in one swift movement. He’s panting in fury. All of his muscles are tensed, and the blue color of his irises is all gone; they’re entirely black, like the eyes of the strangers. He’s ready to attack his prey — me.
I hold my breath. For the first time, I’m scared of Dorian. My whole being is whispering to me that I’m in danger, especially the small spot on my chest, which starts pulsating.
“Is that who you really are? What you really are?” I ask, my mouth dry.
Dorian jerks me forcefully by the arm. The discomfort ripples through my shoulder socket, but I don’t make even a single sound. I let him drag me down and walk me through the living room. We go past Rita, who’s now deadly stiff, lying on the couch. A stony expression is engraved on her face. She seems not to breathe.
“Is she… dead?” I whisper.
“Stand here,” Dorian orders me, letting go of my hand. He seizes the black stone that is sitting on the coffee table, and then grabs it with one swift motion. “It’s hot,” he announces, squeezing it in his palm. “Now, go to the kitchen.” I follow his instructions and edge to the kitchen, even though I have no idea what he’s doing. “It’s warm now. Move upstairs, but stand exactly where you were located while watching us.”
Without a word of objection, I stride upstairs. I stop on the step where I spent the most time.
“Lukewarm,” he says to himself, just loudly enough for me to hear. “She must’ve felt the same when she was holding it. That’s how she knew that another gem was close. I bet she thought we were deliberately lying to her,” he says to himself.
I slowly descend the steps, still a bit shaken by his sudden outburst, and stand a few feet away from him. “Dorian, can you explain to me what’s going on?”
Dorian inhales deeply. His eyes regain the blue shade. He’s himself again. “By your stupidity you’ve jeopardized our safety and put us in incredible danger. Blair could feel you. She was aware that we were hiding someone in this house.”
“Didn’t you just say she thought it was another gem that you were hiding, not a person?”
“It doesn’t matter now. A lie is a lie.”
“But they left you alone, regardless. The danger has passed, hasn’t it?”
“No. I’m afraid that the real danger has only just begun.”
He lifts Rita up in his arms, tramps past me, and carries her upstairs without looking at me even once.
I screwed up big-time.
CHAPTER twenty-two
It’s nearly midnight. I bounce my knees, waiting for Dorian, who still hasn’t come back down. Although millions of thoughts rush through my head, I don’t dare go upstairs and demand explanations. It’s the last thing I’m eager to do. I can’t even take a step toward the stairs. The second floor is a forbidden zone for me right now.
Cynthia has sent me about ten messages asking where I am. It’s way past my curfew. I decide not to lie, but not to tell the truth either, so I only respond that I’ll be home soon. Nonetheless, when the longer hand of my watch reaches twelve, I can’t wait any longer and choose to return home. The desire to sneak upstairs is overwhelming, but I need to suppress it. Instead, I leave a note written on a piece of napkin:
Dorian, I’m begging you, don’t let me live in ignorance any longer. It only makes things more complicated. I need to know the truth, even the worst. I’m ready. Zara
The light in my aunt’s room is turned off, but the kitchen lamp is still on. I didn’t expect Cynthia to go to bed while I was out. I won’t be able to avoid having a conversation with her no matter which door I use to enter the house, so, unwilling to play games, I use the front door and lumber into the kitchen.
“Good evening,” she greets me, still browsing the newspaper she’s holding in her hands. “What kept you so long this time, huh? Chatting with Rach? Movie theater with Charlie? And why are you wearing a man’s clothes?” She looks at me from across the table.
The tumbling emotions caused by recent events have completely obscured my ability to think. I forgot that I was still wearing Dorian’s clothes. There’s no point in deceiving her anymore. The only way to make things right is to tell her what I should’ve done long ago.
I plod to the table as if I wanted to extend the moment of the confrontation. She’s clicking her fingernails against the table, waiting for me to explain myself. I pull in a deep breath and spill the beans.
“These are Dorian Hatch’s clothes. I’ve been… dating him. I was at his place all this time.”
“Dorian Hatch?” Her eyes widen. “Do you mean our new neighbor next door?”
“Him, yes.”
“Since when? And why on earth are you dressed in his clothes?” She doesn’t raise her voice, but she doesn’t need to do so for me to know that she’s not happy. She takes off her glasses to be able to see me better.
“Since about two weeks ago. And these clothes—mine were wet because… I had to wash them… I spilled juice all over me. Actually, I dropped a whole jar, and everything on me was sticky and dirty.” I look down at my hands; they’re shaking. I’m not certain if it’s because of the tension wearing off after the incident with the strange guests or, quite the opposite, the pressure rising under my aunt’s grilling.
“Is he the person who’s been giving you drugs?”
I squint. “What? No! I never took any drugs. That part is on you.”
“Or rather on your system’s reaction to them. Your memory is short.” She puts away the newspaper and places her glasses on it. “Tomorrow I’m going to talk with Hatch and will demand he leave you alone. I doubt you’ll break up with him yourself.”
I shake my head in frustration. I finally gathered enough courage to tell her the truth, and this is how she’s treating me. She’s so confid
ent that what she’s going to do is right she doesn’t even take my feelings into account. She just throws her commands at me.
“Can you not stick your two cents where they don’t belong?” I ask, irritated.
“No. Your mother would expect me to do this.”
“How can you know what she’d like you to do?” I frown. “Maybe she wouldn’t even care!”
“Well, unlike you, I did speak with her about you, and I know for a fact that she’d like to defend you at any cost—so please stop being ridiculous, young lady!” Cynthia’s voice roughens and her jaw tightens.
“Defend me from what?”
“From everybody! You were the apple of her eye. She wouldn’t let some drug addict load you with drugs.”
“What are you talking about?” My blood starts to boil. The only ridiculous person in this room is her. “I regret telling you the truth. I should have kept it to myself. I’m going upstairs, and you mustn’t even dare to get involved in this.” I swiftly stand up, unable to continue this conversation.
“I have every intention of getting involved,” she says before I clear the door.
“It won’t help.”
“You’ll be surprised.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” I mutter. Ordinarily, this comment would earn me a huge reprimand. Now, however, Cynthia doesn’t even tell me off. Perhaps she’s just so tired of this situation that she’ll let me get away with such disrespect.
I lock my bedroom door and throw myself on the bed. I need to collect my thoughts, which are disturbed by Maddie’s constant chattering from the other side of the wall. She must be having a Skype conversation with one of her besties, since she bursts out laughing obnoxiously every couple of minutes.