“Surrealism.” Maxim launched into a lengthy monologue about the painters of the 1920s.
She half-listened as her brain replayed intermittent images from the Umbra attack and saving the old woman. Even though she had done the right thing and it had felt good, a part of her was bitter. Why couldn’t she have rescued Gran? You were surprised. Everything happened so quickly and you had no time to react. That’s what she had told Gio. And in his case, she believed it to be true. But forgiving herself was that much harder.
Did Gavin feel the same way? Was he suffering just as much as she was? Was he planning on talking to her before London or would he continue to send messages via Jillian? Maybe Sierra needed to be the one to make the first contact. Go talk to him. And say what? “I couldn’t protect the woman who was your family too. Jeff, your spy, is dead because of me.”
She massaged her forehead. The rational part of her didn’t believe Gavin would be upset with her, at least not on the surface. What about beneath it? Would he harbor resentment that he wouldn’t admit to her, perhaps even not to himself, yet it would still be there, rotting away at him?
“Are you okay?”
She glanced up into Maxim’s concerned eyes, realizing they had arrived. “Just a headache.” Plastering a smile on her face, Sierra took Maxim’s hand and walked into the museum.
The interior was spacious with white walls and parquet floors. Each of the paintings had at least a double meaning. A stone head rising from the ground was a mountain atop of which a city stood. An elephant trunk became a trumpet. Ships glided through a sky, the clouds morphing into a bridge.
It was inspiring, and Sierra wondered whether she should try drawing something like this. She liked the juxtapositions and unexpectedness of surrealism, the reimagining of the world and the laws of physics. And she could relate to the darkness looming in each painting, the pain the artist was feeling. Or perhaps it was just her, reading her own pain into the paintings.
“So, who do you prefer, Rene Magritte or Yves Tanguy?” Maxim asked.
“Giorgio de Chirico,” she replied, pointing at the “Mystery and melancholy of a street.” In it, a small girl moved toward a source of bright light. That’s what life was about, wasn’t it? Trooping through darkness toward the light, hoping the next day would be easier than this one.
When Sierra turned to Maxim, she noticed his frown. It quickly vanished to be replaced by a smile. “I believe we’ve seen everything. Should we get a drink at a bar or my place?”
Whitney’s warning not to wait too long popped into Sierra’s head, but she wasn’t ready for this, especially not now. “A bar.” A man across the room caught her attention. Muscular and tall, he was clad in black. His face was a mask of grimness, and his head was completely bald. Halbert Avici, her heart screamed at her. A woman appeared, and the man smiled at her and kissed her cheek. Only then did Sierra notice he had no aura.
She inhaled deeply, realizing she had forgotten to breath. Feeling dizzy, she murmured, “Please excuse me,” and headed to the ladies’ room. Alone in one of the stalls, she stared into nothingness. Her heart pounded, as if she had run a marathon, and sweat beads formed on her forehead. The man wasn’t an Umbra. The rational part of her knew she was overreacting and that she was in no danger, and still fear crawled through her. She had been terrified at the sight of the man, frozen in place. Is that what her life would be like from now on? Filled with terror?
The horrifying images Sierra had tried to suppress wormed into the forefront of her mind. She was too weak; she couldn’t hold them back any longer. Every Umbra attack flashed in front of her. Men slicing at her, dragging her. Hands hurting her, pulling at her, clawing at her. And then stabbing Gran and Jeff. Over and over again.
Unable to stay upright any longer, Sierra sank to the cold tiles, her body quivering, her flesh burning with fever.
“Are you okay in there?” a female voice called.
“I’m fine,” Sierra croaked. Somehow, she managed to push off the floor. Her fingers shook, and she struggled to open the stall lock. Leaning against the cool ceramic of the basin, she spritzed ice-cold water on her heated face, then reapplied her concealer and lip gloss.
By the time she returned to the foyer, Maxim was gone. She couldn’t find him in any of the exhibition rooms. Worry clenched in her stomach. How long had she been in the restroom? He couldn’t have left without her, could he? Right now, she couldn’t bear to be alone. She needed someone to occupy her, keep her from replaying the horrors of her life.
She exited the museum, stepping into the sweltering summer air. Maxim stood a few feet away. He was staring at his phone, a somber expression on his face.
“Everything all right?” She touched his shoulder cautiously.
He flinched before giving her a small smile. “Yes. Sorry, I had to step out. Reception inside is nonexistent.” He put his cell phone away. “Lab results weren’t what I expected them to be.” He shrugged, the offhand gesture incongruent with the tension in his body. “Let’s grab a drink. There’s a good bar just around the corner.”
“Sure. What went wrong in the lab?” Sierra asked as they walked down the street, hoping she wouldn’t be IDed on a weekday.
“Oh, it’s nothing really. It’s just going to take more time than I expected to complete my experiment. I got the proportions wrong.”
She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she decided to drop the subject. Unfortunately, the silence made her thoughts turn circle to Halbert Avici. He had lost five men because of her, and she had the gnawing feeling that men like him were only spurned on by setbacks.
“What would you like to drink?” Maxim asked.
Sierra realized she had zoned out again and that they had reached the bar. No bouncer was asking for her ID, and the staff wasn’t paying her much attention. She wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was Maxim witnessing her being kicked out of a bar. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Maxim ordered two gin and tonics. They sipped them, their conversation remaining superficial. Sierra wondered whether she could ever have a normal life, or if fear would build a forever home in her heart, death a part of her new reality.
“I need to get to the lab early tomorrow. Do you mind if we call it a night?”
“No, that’s fine.” Sierra quickly finished the rest of her drink, knowing she would need it to fall asleep. Maybe the alcohol would even keep the nightmares at bay.
Chapter 27
“You’re all done! Here, look!”
Sierra took the handheld mirror from Whitney to admire the last hour’s work. Her brown waves hung in tight curls, adorned by a jeweled hairband. The smoky eyes weren’t overdone, and she didn’t even mind the red lipstick, since it complimented her verdant flapper girl dress.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Whitney beamed. “I bet Maxim won’t be able to keep his hands off you. He is coming, right?”
Sierra fiddled with a sequin on the hem, hoping that if she didn’t answer, Whitney would drop the subject. No such luck.
“What happened?”
“Nothing. I don’t know. It just sort of fizzled. My head wasn’t in it…” She took a sip of her coffee. This conversation was giving her a headache.
“That’s it? You’re going to give up without even trying to fix it.” Whitney crossed her arms. The gesture made her chest look even larger in the tiny white roaring twenties dress she had chosen.
“It’s not that easy.” Sierra stared at her cell phone and the last lukewarm message from Maxim.
“Let me help you.” Whitney stretched out her hand.
Sierra hesitated, but then shrugged and passed her cell to Whitney. It couldn’t get worse, right?
“All done!” Whitney returned the cell.
Shocked, Sierra stared at the flirty text Whitney had sent Maxim, telling him to come to Veneficia if he wanted to see Sierra’s smoking costume. “I can’t believe you just did that!”
“You’re welcome. Now, you can be just as happy as Gio and me.”
Sierra rolled her eyes, praying Whitney wouldn’t start another retelling of a passionate night with Gio and how his sex skills were out of this world. Last time, when Whitney had praised his stamina, Sierra had almost blurted, “He’s a supernatural.” Not that she knew for certain that this was the reason behind Gio’s stamina. She never had sex with an Ardere and certainly didn’t intend to any time soon. The only guy she had ever had sex with was Ben—Ben who had long forgotten her.
Halfway through her cup of coffee, Sierra’s phone chirped. Her fingers trembled as she opened the text.
Maxim: Great! I will see you tonight! Can’t wait! x
She breathed a sigh of relief. Not all was lost. Maybe she really ought to take a page out of Whitney’s book.
Veneficia’s roaring twenties party was a hit. Patrons with feather boas and fake cigarettes yelled orders from all sides, the line of thirsty customers never dwindling. Around midnight, they ran out of several beer brands, and Sierra volunteered to restock. She didn’t mind schlepping the weight if it allowed her a brief break from the howling and hooting.
When she returned, Gio stood at the bar, flirting with Whitney.
“Can we get five tequilas and two rum and coke?” a sorority girl yelled, and Whitney grabbed the Jose Cuervo bottle.
Gio gestured Sierra over. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“You have?” Which bit?
“Yeah. While I can’t tell Whitney what I am, I can help keep her safe. I went to Gavin and had a look at the murder case.”
“Oh.” Sierra hadn’t expected that. Gio’s involvement was as surprising as Gavin’s willingness to share the information. “And?”
“The attacker tried to choke Whitney like he had the second victim. At first, I assumed the killer’s pattern was to choose pretty girls unappreciative of their mothers and suffocate them.” Gio’s eyes narrowed in thought.
“But you don’t believe that anymore?”
“No. I don’t think that’s the main issue. Normally, when a killer chases pretty girls, he does things beyond killing them.” Sierra swallowed hard. “But there was no rape attempt.” Gio rubbed his five o’clock stubble. “I don’t know. I just keep going back to Finn and how some of his blood was missing. The killer didn’t take the blood of the girls.”
The blood. Why take supernatural blood if it disintegrated anyway? Sierra mulled this over as she wiped down the tables and collected empty glasses, not coming up with any satisfying theory.
A hand slipped around her waist. She inhaled sharply, her body tensing. About to smash the offender’s skull, she stopped midmotion at the familiar voice.
“Hello, beautiful! You’re the most stunning flapper girl I’ve ever seen.” Maxim twirled her around.
“You don’t look bad yourself,” she replied, taking in his pinstriped suit. He was probably one of the few people who could pull off the color beige and look charming with a walking stick.
“I know you’re busy, but can I steal you for a moment? I don’t think I can wait until your shift is over to kiss you.”
Sierra glanced at Whitney, who nodded and mouthed, “Go for it.” Sierra followed Maxim to one of the booths in the corner.
Her face drew closer to his, the scent of bergamot filling her senses. His lips brushed hers hungrily. Quickly, the kiss deepened, his tongue circling hers like a cobra. Acutely aware of Maxim’s hand moving underneath her dress, caressing her thigh, she tried to relax. Her heart sped up, and her breathing became shallower. She could do this. Perhaps tonight could even be the night. All she needed was some wine and candlelight to pacify her nerves, and they could take their relationship to the next level. She could use some relaxation, a distraction to forget everything else.
Maxim’s other hand tickled her neck. She threw her head back, giggling, memorizing his cognac eyes. A loose hair strand curled across his forehead. She reached out to tuck it back. His coarse hair felt good against her skin. What other parts of him would she explore tonight? Could she really go all the way?
“Sierra. Can I talk to you for a second?” It was a demand disguised in a question. Gavin’s low voice laced with rich dark chocolate sent shivers down her legs. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen? She jumped up and brushed down her dress. Peeking at her cleavage, she ensured her bra wasn’t exposed. It wasn’t—the only consolation in this situation.
“Sorry,” she murmured to Maxim.
“It’s fine.” Maxim gave her a small smile.
Sierra followed Gavin, who led her to an empty corner. He swiveled around so abruptly, she almost toppled into him. Thick silence spread as Gavin’s turquoise eyes drilled into her. Had they become more vivid in the last week? Or was it because this was the first time he was actually talking to her after Gran’s death?
“Why were you avoiding me?” The question slipped out of Sierra’s mouth before she could consider how wise it was to ask it.
“What?”
“This is the first time you’ve talked to me since…”
Gavin shoved his hand through his sandy hair. “I know. I’m sorry. I just needed time to deal with all of this.”
We could’ve dealt with it together. The words pressed against her throat, but she held them in. If Gavin wanted her support and to provide his, he would’ve sought her out.
Gavin motioned with his hand toward the booth’s direction. “I expect you to focus on your job during working hours, not your personal life, especially when it’s this busy.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Gavin let out a deep breath, his chest dropping. He leaned in and his breath brushed her cheek. “Please don’t let him change your mind about London.”
She blinked, temporarily confused by his words. This wasn’t what she had expected him to say. After everything they’ve been through, after Gran and Jeff dying, trying to protect her, Gavin still thought she was a selfish, immature brat. Her teeth gnashed against each other, and she turned on her heel. “Excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
Fueled by indignation, Sierra worked harder and faster. The shift flew by, and she only checked her phone when it vibrated with an incoming text.
Maxim: Excited for our third date.
A smile spread across her lips. Maxim, unlike Gavin, was consistent. He didn’t play hot and cold.
Sierra: Where are we going?
Maxim: Most places will be closed past 2 a.m. I know one place though…I have a great wine selection at home. How does that sound?
She inhaled deeply. Sooner or later, she would sleep with someone again, and Maxim was a decent and sweet guy who cared about her. Plus, as Whitney would put it, Sierra could use some romance and positive vibes in her life.
Sierra: Sounds great. See you soon.
She hit send, not giving herself the chance to hesitate and delete the text. Her fingers tingled and her stomach felt like tiny butterflies were zip-lining across it.
Maxim picked her up just as the last patrons were leaving. “Ready to go?”
She nodded. He took her hand, and they walked to his car. The butterflies surged wildly through her insides, batting their wings. She would need a glass of wine by the time they reached his place.
“Hope you like jazz,” Maxim said. The sound of saxophone filled the car. Sierra closed her eyes, willing her body to relax. She was ready for this; she wanted to do this with Maxim.
They drove past pubs and restaurants, leaving the city center behind. Maxim slowed down as they reached a quiet suburb filled with lit-up pumpkins, flying witches, and ghosts. No children or anyone else were out this time of night.
Maxim residing in the suburbs was a surprise. Sierra had expected him to live in one of the hipster parts of town. He parked the car in front of a one-story vinyl-siding house. Its grayish color and shape matched the other homes on the street.
“Do you like Rose? I have the best from the
whole Provence in my cellar,” Maxim announced as he opened the front door. He left Sierra in the living room and descended a staircase, which she assumed led to said cellar. She surveyed the space. It seemed way too big for one person and appeared more appropriate for someone in his thirties who had a family. The interior was not your standard bachelor pad either. For one, there were a dozen of pillows on the sofa, and the flowery patterns on the furniture looked very feminine. Sierra couldn’t help the surge of jealousy as she imagined Maxim’s ex-girlfriend decorating the place. They probably had picked out the pillows together and spent cuddly nights in front of the TV. No, Maxim was not a TV and takeaway type of guy. He probably sat on the couch reading a book and discussing international events with his ex over a cheese and grapes platter.
Sierra shook her head. Who cared if Maxim’s ex had helped him pick out the home décor? The past was the past.
Walking around the room, she noticed that, besides the flowery furniture patterns, the rest of the space was minimalistic. No plants, paintings, or photos anywhere. Only biology books and newspapers to provide visitors with a glimpse into Maxim’s personality.
While Gavin’s masculine and minimalistic loft felt authentic, Maxim’s empty shelves made her wonder if he had removed certain items before inviting her over.
“Got it.” Maxim returned, wearing a sweet smile on his lips. Triumphantly, he held an opulent bottle depicting the French countryside. He removed the cork and poured the wine into two crystal glasses.
“Cheers!” they said at the same time.
Sierra took a big sip, tanginess and strawberries spreading across her tongue.
“What do you think?”
“It’s nice.” She hadn’t exactly tried many wines, but this one had a pleasant fizziness to it, which mimicked the tiny electric currents floating through her. The alcohol warmed and relaxed her.
Maxim put both of their glasses on the lacy table runner. His hand caressed the side of her head and his lips brushed hers. The kiss deepened, and his hands began hungrily exploring her curves. His body pinned her into the soft couch cushions. She let him crawl on top of her. Felt the weight of him. This was it. All she had to do was relax. Breaking the kiss, she reached for her glass, emptying it. Maxim poured her another one. Then he was back atop of her. His fingers travelled underneath her dress, pushing it up, exposing more and more of her thighs.
Fluidus Rising: A YA Paranormal Novel: (The Ardere Series Book1) Page 17