“I understand,” she said, nodding at no one. Devon picked at the cover she was sitting on.
This was her brother’s usual rhetoric when she asked to be a part of his life. He would send her money without asking what it was for, he’d come and stay when she wanted to see him. But when she asked to be let into his world, he slammed the door in her face every time. He was trying to protect her, and she did appreciate that he cared so much to do that, but it often left her feeling alone in the world.
She had loose friendships with colleagues, but she changed workplaces so often that none of them ever stuck. Devon would say hello to neighbors but never formed a connection with them. Maybe Rig was right, maybe she was trying to keep everyone at arm’s length because she was afraid to let them in. Because if she did that and then they rejected her, it would be a reflection on how poor her character was.
Her dad had died in prison, in a riot, when she was young. All through school she’d been told gruesome stories of the things he’d done. Some of them were true, some of them were fable. Rig would never confirm or deny which were which. Kids loved to taunt and for years called her “Con-Von” because her father was always in jail. Her classmates’ treatment of her taught her to retreat, to hide in the corners, and not to put herself out there. On Daddy-Daughter Day, no one showed up to support her, she had no one to contribute on Career Day either.
Anyone who tried to approach her or bully her when Rig was around got dealt a swift blow. But when he hit his teenage years and got involved with his first crew, for a long time he seemed to be going down the same path as their father. Devon wasn’t naïve, Rig could end up the same way.
And then there was the day she’d come home to find her mother dead with a needle in her arm. For years after that, she was numb, most of her teenage years were a blank. There were care homes that never stuck and foster parents who just wanted the income. Then Rig set her up in her own place, because even back then, his crew came first.
She worked hard to support herself and was proud of what she’d done. But what it had taught her was that she didn’t need to rely on anyone because she could do everything herself as long as she kept her head down and her nose clean.
That might have worked when life was going along fine, but it meant that when she was in trouble, when she’d gone missing, there was no one to notice. She didn’t ask Rig when he noticed something was wrong, whether it had taken him a day or a week or a month to realize that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be.
They rung off with assurances that they would talk again, though she made it clear that she had no say, as Bess had advised she would be taking the phone away. Rig said he would talk to Raven and they’d figure something out. Then he made a comment about getting back to a scam he had running, and she knew his attention had moved on.
When his baby sister was in trouble, he mobilized and fixed it. Now she was out of that darkness, and he didn’t need to be alert anymore. Promising him that she would do all she could for the Kindred, Devon couldn’t tell him about her concerns. Rig wasn’t much interested in the emotional side of their relationship.
He told her he loved her and proved by his actions that he did. But he wouldn’t be interested in listening to her prattle on about how nervous she was at the idea of recounting her abduction experience or talking about her life in the metal box. Exposing her fears, her thoughts, and her plans while she’d existed in that hell.
There had been a time in that dark hole, when she’d craved death and considered how she might go about taking back control and ending her own suffering. Her whole body had ached, she’d been so weak, Devon just wanted to die. It must have been only a few weeks into her stay, just as the starvation started to kick in. A few scraps a day wasn’t nearly enough to survive on. The amount got less and the frequency of feeding time became more erratic the longer she was there.
Devon had noticed in her last few days here that Bess was right about her being skin on bone. Devon would need to work hard to return to how she was, eating properly, exercising, taking care of herself. Just as she thought that Bess might be the best one to help her with that, Devon’s bedroom door opened and her attention leaped up to the door, which was to the right, opposite the large window.
“All done?” Bess asked.
Something she’d always wondered about made her ask, “How do you know when I’m finished?” she asked, casting a look around the ceiling. “You told me there were no cameras, but how do you—”
“There are no cameras, not in this room,” Bess said. “There are cameras in other parts of the house.” She came over to the end of the bed. “But those are there to protect me.”
Devon didn’t follow how Bess could be at risk in this place that was apparently so safe. “Protect you?”
“When the boys are off doing their thing, Falcon and Raven, they’re often away. Raven can be gone for months at a time. Falcon’s usually just a few days. But,” she said and her smile grew wide. “Those boys do like to fuss over me. And if one’s not around, the other has to watch and check in on me. They tag each other in and out of babysitting old Bess.”
“Does Raven live here? Raven and Swallow, full-time?”
Bess shook her head. “They have a house, identical to this one actually,” she said, holding open her arms. “But it’s on the East Coast.”
“Identical?” That was a weird, but intriguing, idea. “Why would…?”
“It’s a long story,” Bess said. “And one I’m sure you’ll hear from the horse’s mouth.”
A frisson of excitement sizzled within her hips. “Does he want to see me?” Bess could only be referring to Zave. Raven wasn’t going to tell any stories, he shut Wren up at the lunch table and Zave was definitely in control here.
“Not yet,” Bess said and came around to take the phone from Devon’s two clutching hands. “He won’t surface for a while.”
“Surface? He’s sleeping?”
Bess shrugged and rolled her eyes. “Who knows with that boy,” she said, almost tutting as she smiled like a fed up but amused mother. “He locks himself up in his part of the house for days or weeks sometimes. He always comes out again in his own time. Knowing that you’re waiting and that there’s work to do, he’ll be quick about it this time, I’m sure.”
“His part of the house? He has his own part of the house?”
“Yes, he does. He always has, since he bought this place when he was a kid. But I shouldn’t say too much about that,” Bess said.
“Still secretive,” she sighed. Every time she felt like she took a step forward, someone was there to pull her straight back.
“You’ve made amazing progress,” Bess said, slipping the phone into her pocket to sit on the edge of the bed. “Zave has never spoken directly to any woman they’ve brought back from those places. And you say he was spying on you? If that’s true, I’d take that as a compliment. He hasn’t shown any interest in women in a long time.”
Not saying too much only extended so far, because that was probably the most intriguing thing that Bess could’ve said. “How long?” she heard herself asking.
Flattening both hands on the bed between them, Bess covered Devon’s hands when they were down. Her smile returned. “I just want you to know that you’ve gotten in, and we’re grateful that you have. Just don’t hurt him.”
Devon wasn’t sure that she would know how to hurt any man let alone a man as strong and stoic as Zave was. “Did he tell you what happened last night?” she asked, looking at their overlaying hands.
“No specifics, except that you’ll be dealing directly with him when it comes to Kindred business. Don’t be surprised if Raven and Swallow check out soon. They’re sort of in the middle of their own adventure.”
“Then why did they come here?”
“Because they’re Kindred,” Bess said. “They drop everything for each other when the need arises. Prioritizing is sort of Swallow’s specialty, she’ll let them know which case or mission is most pressing. Rece
ntly, that’s been you.”
It was probably meant to be a compliment, but Devon didn’t like to think of herself as a case or as a mission. Certainly not as she pertained to Zave. “I deal with him directly?” she asked and Bess nodded.
“There’s one more thing.”
Devon didn’t know what else there could be, but Bess got up from the bed and scurried out of the room. Sitting on her own, Devon wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow or if she was supposed to wait. She was usually given instructions when they wanted her to do something or not to do something. But before she could take action or call out, Bess came back in carrying a wooden box.
“What is that?” Devon asked when Bess set the large box over the footboard onto the end of the bed.
“Open it.” Crawling to the end, she unhooked the small brass latch and made eye contact with an exuberant Bess before she lifted the hinged lid and looked down. “He said it was important to you.”
The tiered box opened in three layers. The bottom section held a shining new sketch pad, in each of the other tiers were pencils and pastels. “Oh my god,” Devon whispered.
“It’s not a full set,” Bess said. “He’s working on that.”
The tears that had dried after her call with her brother sprung out again. Running her fingers over the thick, premium paper, she wanted to use every pencil and pastel all at once.
“There isn’t much to draw in here, but you can wander around the house. I wouldn’t advise you to go outside, he doesn’t want you to get lost. But the windows open and—”
“Thank you,” Devon said, closing the box to lay her hands on it because she was just too overwhelmed to handle his generosity. “Tell him I say thank you.”
“You can tell him yourself,” Bess said. “He plans to meet with you as soon as he’s finished whatever he’s doing in his secret lair. Dinner I’d imagine, maybe breakfast, but he’ll come for you soon.”
Bess receded from the room. Alone with her gift, Devon was still high from her conversation with her brother. She almost couldn’t believe this was the same house she’d been afraid of just a day or two ago. Now it seemed like a wondrous palace full of happiness and kindness, and she couldn’t be afraid anymore.
Maybe if Rig hadn’t given his seal of approval she’d have been suspicious that these people were trying to buy her affection or her loyalty. But if Rig said she was safe here, she knew she was safe. She didn’t know how she would begin to express to Zave how grateful she was for everything he’d done and for who he was.
Bess had told Devon not to hurt him and she still didn’t know what that meant, but if things carried on the way they were at the moment, Devon feared she would be the one left devastated when she was forced to leave this place and return to reality.
NINE
A clock would be Devon’s first request if she ever got the chance. Bess had told her that Zave may come to her tonight, and she had waited for him. Having her art supplies allowed the time to pass much more quickly. She got swept into what she was doing, and for the first time in a long time, Devon actually relaxed and enjoyed herself and forgot about all the horrific things that had happened to her.
But every time she paused and took her pencil from the paper, she thought about him, about his voice in the shadow, about the way he retreated from her, and how being close to him had felt profound.
And his kiss. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel his lips on hers. Throughout the day, she absently grazed her fingertips over the spot he’d stimulated, and as enticing as the experience had been, she speculated on why he had withdrawn so quickly and so completely.
He hadn’t just stopped their kiss, he’d separated their bodies. Various reasons flitted through her mind for why this might be, and she wasn’t sure she would have the courage to ask him for the truth, even if the opportunity to query it rose in conversation.
Devon had never had much luck with men. She’d avoided them more than she’d embraced them. She’d never feared them, but she’d never understood them either. She never understood what it was they wanted her to be. Every man was different, every date meant a change of the rules, and she felt so off-balance each time she met a new man. Some wanted happy and bubbly, others wanted serious and demure.
A few years ago, she’d given up trying to mold herself into what they wanted her to be. Self-respect had been a struggle for her growing up and that carried forward into her dating life. It took a lot for her to assert her own personality and to stop prioritizing the wants of her potential mate in favor of heeding her own. When she was herself, they lost interest quickly.
Herself was calm and thoughtful. She didn’t need to engage in small talk and she wasn’t great at flirting and she was worse at innuendo. So, the men invariably found a woman who would entice them instead of one who would rather debate the true meaning of life or discuss current events.
She liked to talk about things that mattered, knew nothing about sports, barely drank alcohol, and hated crowded parties. In short, she was the worst date ever.
Her thoughts returned to a timepiece because it was dark outside. Devon had opened the window to allow the crash of the waves to sound through her bedroom, and she loved the scent of the sea air. Something about it invigorated her and it made her want to go outside to run that same route she’d seen Zave on. Not that she’d ever been particularly athletic, but it seemed wild out there and it made her want to be wild too.
She couldn’t tell if it was five PM or five AM. She knew it hadn’t been dark for long, but her internal chronometer wasn’t accurate any longer, not that it ever had been. Devon didn’t know if she should prepare for bed or if she should wait and hope that perhaps Zave did want to see her tonight. Bess hadn’t come to feed her, but she had spent most of the day in the hallways.
She hadn’t ventured far from this room, because whenever she tried to, Devon got herself lost. Most of the rooms off the hallway were fingerprint locked. She didn’t press her fingerprint to any because Devon knew she wouldn’t be authorized anywhere, but that didn’t prevent her from rattling a few doorknobs, in hope of getting a different view of the ocean.
After sitting on the stairs in the grand entryway sketching for probably a few hours, she’d come to her room, stood at the open window, and using her pastel she’d crafted an image of the view. But it was awkward without an easel or a chair, and the angle limited the scope of what she could draw.
But she wouldn’t complain, and she kept trying, even if it didn’t end up being her best work. It was liberating to be once again consumed by her passion, when she once considered she would never get this chance again.
Putting away her pastels and pencils after the light faded and the ocean disappeared, Devon was fascinated by the sound of the water and could close her eyes to conjure the nighttime views. But she wished she could see the moonlight. From where she was in the house, she couldn’t see the moon. She imagined it a brilliant white, reflecting a navy streak on the dark gray seas that would crash and thrash in white, foamy waves as the winds picked up carrying that salty scent through all of her senses.
Closing the window, despite her desire not to, she didn’t want the room to get cold. The towering ceiling meant the heat would be captured far above, and Devon figured the temperature would drop in here quite fast.
Just as she fastened the latch, the door opened, and she whirled around, holding her breath, hoping to see Zave. But it was Bess who stood there.
“Are you hungry?” Bess asked. “You must be. You haven’t eaten anything all day. I came to find you earlier, but you weren’t here.”
“I was drawing,” she said. It was also a possibility that she’d been lost in one of the many hallways at the time. “I’m sorry, I suppose I lost track of time. I didn’t feel hungry when I had my pencils in my hand.”
“But you do now?” Bess asked, remaining in the doorway. “Come downstairs and eat.”
Devon didn’t know if that meant eating with Bess, in a g
roup, or alone with Zave, but being invited downstairs was a step up from being relegated to her room at meal time. So she followed Bess out, along the mezzanine corridor and down the stairs to the left, onto the landing, and down again to get to the grand foyer on the lower floor.
“I can show you where the kitchen is,” Bess said, over her shoulder. “That way you’ll be able to help yourself. You can eat anything you want in there. There’s a cellar and a cold store beneath it, so we’re stocked up with enough supplies to see us through months. Just means you never have to worry about eating the last of something, there’s always more.”
“I suppose you’d have to be,” Devon said, walking with Bess as she went through one of the pointed arches that held up the mezzanine above, where her bedroom was located.
Trying to leave mental breadcrumbs, Devon wasn’t sure of their destination but wanted to try and remember how they got here in case she had to come back. Her sense of direction sucked, but she had to start trying to map the place if she was going to be staying here for a while.
Bess took her into the dining room. Devon recognized it as the same one she’d been in before, though the light was lower making the environment more sinister. The familiar room with its window on the opposite wall had a single door to the left, and another to the right.
The central table was dwarfed in the vast space, and she wondered why they didn’t have a larger one when the space would accommodate it. If they were a small band of people, maybe they were happy with what they needed rather than the maximum they could have.
“There’s plenty to eat,” Bess said, pulling out a chair to the right of the head of the table.
Devon took the invitation to sit in it, and she appreciated being allowed to face the window. Although like hers upstairs, it was dark. Each different, textured pane showed the same ink of night beyond.
“Thank you,” Devon said as Bess poured her water from a jug.
“Now, what would you like to eat? We have soup. I have a pot roast. There’s pasta…” Bess went around to stand behind the chair opposite hers. “What are you in the mood for?”
Falcon (Kindred #5) Page 9