His fingers tapped the steering wheel. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No. Not exactly. It’s a complicated subject, and I really don’t want you getting into it anymore than you have.”
“So he’s following me and you won’t tell me anything about him?” This angered me more than his trying-to-make-you-feel-bad speech. “How is that fair? Shouldn’t I know what I’m up against? What about those weird girls that keep popping up in my life? I should at least know about them! Those fangs weren’t fake, huh?”
He pulled on the side of his face. “You’re not up against anything now. If we’re lucky I got rid of him… them… for good.”
“But if they do still follow me? You really won’t tell me anything? Why can’t I know?”
“Because you’re not supposed to!”
“Well, what the heck! Why the eff not?!”
“Because you’re actually still alive!”
I stopped my rampaging. “What?”
He sighed. “Once Adrian locks his eyes on someone, he doesn’t leave them alone. It wasn’t until late August when I still lived in Arizona that I started to learn what he really did. He tried to reason with me and I wouldn’t listen. He even invaded my friend’s shop that I used to work at. We got into a pretty violent fight and… my friend Harvey died in the process… It was completely my fault.”
My pupils dilated. It took me a second, but I realized he was talking about the Arizona incident, what I’d seen on his legal records, what the office had been in an uproar over since he’d started working.
I suppressed a shudder. “And what does… what does Adrian do to them? To the girls he kidnaps?”
His grip on the wheel tightened. “You don’t wanna know that.”
“Yes, I do! Because whatever it was, he was going to do it to me!”
“Exactly. That’s why I don’t want you to know.”
I lolled my head over the seat. “You keep too many secrets. Too. Many.”
“Because I doubt you can handle any of them,” he retorted with a humorless laugh.
My arms crossed. “Try me,” I dared.
Hesitation. He didn’t respond to that.
“Hello?” I said.
Suddenly he jerked the steering wheel to the right, whirling the car sideways.
I latched onto the door as I was thrown around the cab. “Jeez, Hayden! Holy sheet dip, warn me next time—… Hey, wait a second. Where’re we going?”
His sudden right turn had taken us off the main drag. I knew for a fact this little street didn’t lead to mom’s flat or dad’s house. The road was so narrow the truck took up both lanes. It was unpaved, too. There weren’t too many roads in LA that weren’t at least gravel.
“Ok, you need to be quiet now,” he stated, rubbing his forehead so hard it was beginning to leave red lines. “I—I can’t think straight. Just, shut it. We’ll be there soon.”
I stared at some dark trees that had already lost their leaves, their branches extending like claws into the sky. Creepy. “Can I at least ask where we’re going?”
“My apartment,” he whispered. “Now hush before you give me a bigger migraine.”
My heart raced. He’s taking me to his apartment? Well, that could be good… or really bad. But if meeting Adrian face to face had been so awful, what’s the worse that could happen with someone who was supposedly protecting me?
So I didn’t open my mouth again until we pulled into an old apartment complex. A few of the street lamps were broken, leaving the atmosphere dim. Crushed cigarettes lined the edges of the sidewalks, and old beat-up cars ruled the parking lots. Nobody get me started on the building itself with its peeling paint and rusty gutters; the place was undeniably old… and eerie.
“You live here?” I was stunned.
“Unfortunately.” He unbuckled with a frown. “Get out, but stay close. I doubt anyone will hurt you with me around, but you can never be too careful.”
I walked right beside him, abandoning my usual stay-away attitude. I could’ve lifted an arm to scratch my nose and “accidentally” bumped him, we were so close. But, worried he might bite my fingers off, I didn’t.
Leaning against the building were a pair of unsightly men. At first I thought they were bums because of their non-matching attire and beards. A closer look turned my thoughts; their beards were gray and silky—not scruffy and dusty. They passed a cigarette between each other, and one man’s hand crossed the streetlight. His skin appeared an odd hue of lavender.
Hayden led me up two flights of creaky stairs. At a door on the left, he pulled out a key. The door unlocked easily and I followed inside. Again my nose was hit with the aroma of alcohol, but now there was Mexican food to go with it. I smelled salsa.
The room was average for an apartment. On my direct left was a tiny white kitchen that overlooked the living room. The brown carpet was thin, telling me it’d had years of use. I stared at the purple couch by the bright red chair, thinking mom would’ve freaked over such a mismatch. A television was set up next to a window without curtains. A fireplace took up the west wall, its bricks chipped and faded. No ash anywhere. It looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades.
I glanced to my right where three doors dominated. The one furthest from us was cracked open, lights and TV voices flowing out.
“Who lives with you?” I asked.
Hayden stood in the kitchen, hastily tossing bottles into the garbage below the sink. Both sink and countertop were so messy, it was easy to assume an allnight party had recently taken place. That, or they didn’t know how to run a dishwasher.
“I have one permanent room mate. Another that comes and goes as he pleases,” he answered.
“That’s a lot of alcohol.” I observed the bottles he was tossing with distaste. “Wild party? I think you lied when you said you don’t drink.”
He threw me an annoyed look. “No party. And I didn’t lie—I really don’t care for alcohol.”
“Then your roommates must be drunk twenty-four seven.”
He stuck the garbage back under the sink. “Alcohol doesn’t affect them,” he mumbled, passing into the living room. He plucked the remote off a plastic stand by the chair and turned the television on. “I’ve gotta talk to Drake a minute. Remote’s right here,”—he set it on the couch arm— “I know this place isn’t The Hilton, but make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into the room where the light and sound was coming from, shutting the door behind him.
I stood there, staring from the kitchen. I was scared that I’d spot bottles of drugs or packets of cigarettes on the counter to go with those alcohol bottles; I’d never seen teenagers get away with something like this, though I’m sure things like this were common. I lingered out into the living room, observing the nice stains in the couch. I grimaced and took the chair, deciding it looked safest. It was definitely a boys’ pad here, but still I wondered: what would dad say if he was in my position seeing all of this? Would he laugh it off like most things or insist Hayden hire a maid?
I glanced down at the oak table by my chair, sighting the strangest thing. It was a clipped-out news article. Only about 6 inches square, the picture on the front slightly disturbing as I read the headline, Monster in Montauk.
I picked the clipping up. I’d heard the story of the Montauk Monster, the story of the unidentified creature that washed up on the little New York beach over the summer. It had been a huge deal to some and had expanded throughout the internet. The creature wasn’t very large, described as the size of a smallish house dog. It looked to be stripped of its fur, body and head like a dog’s, but with a bird-like beak. To this day, it was just another unsolved mystery. There are too many theories to name.
I sped-read over the clipping. I’d read the same article online once. Picking up the paper, I saw another clipping below. This one had a photo of a tiny, kind of alien-looking skeleton that had been found in Mexico.
Drake’s door opened just then. Hayden reentered
the living room.
“What’s with the monster clippings?” I asked.
“Snooping already, I see.” He headed to the row of books above the fireplace.
“They were sitting here,” I retorted. “Why do you have them?”
“That can wait,” he said, fingers brushing the book spines. His hand stopped on a thin-spine, black binder. He pulled it free, the book looking ready to burst with papers.
I eyed it, suspicious. “What’s that?”
“If Adrian’s following you,” he started as he came back towards me. “And Adrian’s followers are following you… then you’re right: you have a right to know everything.”
“Everything?” The word sounded larger than I’d expected. Were things more complicated than I’d thought?
He sat on the side of the couch that was closest to me. “Everything,” he repeated.
“So… what’s in the binder?” My eyes ran over its surface as it sat in his lap. Nerves made my mind imagine police reports or bags of drugs clipped in just behind the cover.
He gently twirled it with one hand. His face was tense, observing. “If I tell you, you can never tell anyone. Do you understand?”
A shiver rippled my back, a shiver of fear… and, strangely enough, desire. I wanted to know. “Yes.”
“If you’re going to understand what Adrian does, you’re going to have to learn what he is. But to learn what he is, you’re going to have to understand a lot of… other stuff, too.” He paused. “The secrets that are in here are very dangerous. People are not meant to know anymore. These secrets could be the difference between life, death, and many other consequences for not just me and you, but others that surround us.” He stopped twirling the binder and extended it to me. “It’s not the kind of thing I want slipping to your gossipy Chanel friend, for example.”
My nails dug into my palms. He was being serious, but it was hard to believe such words. I’d never known any higher danger than war or nuclear weapons. Was that what he was involved in? Some government secrecy gig? Like something from that National Treasure movie? No. Worse. Was he going the opposite direction from government… was he a highly sought after criminal?
“Ok,” I heard myself whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t one of those things you can go back on. I’ll know if you tell someone.”
“I get it.”
He stared long and hard, then messed with something in his back pocket. He pulled out—
I jerked away. “What is that for?!”
“Hey, I’m not taking any chances.” He grimaced, the pocketknife glinting in his hand. “You’ll be sealing that vow in blood, Rosie.”
My jaw dropped. Ok, safe to say I was having second thoughts about all this, and that included getting in his Silverado back at the V and V.
“You don’t have to. But it’s the only way you’ll get the binder open.” He shrugged, setting it in my lap.
The leather was cool against my skin. It was bound with two locks I hadn’t noticed before, the built in kind—like a diary. “Oh.” I creased my brows. No key? Cutting my finger in half would unbolt the thing? Psh. Right… But, if by some chance it was true, I’d do it. Just to get a glimpse of what went on in Hayden’s head.
He folded his arms across the couch arm, pointing the knife towards the floor. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Ha!” I huffed. “You just basically waved a designer bag in front of a shopaholic. You really think I’m going to walk away?”
He shrugged. “Some shopaholics do.”
“Gimme that.” I snatched the knife. Eek, I’d forgotten how much I hated sharp objects. This one looked particularly sharp. But I was going to do this… I think.
Deep breath. I inhaled, slowly pressing the blade to my index finger. The metal was cold, an icicle. Hayden watched like a hawk. Oh, just do it! Pain streaked through my hand as the blade drew a tiny red line.
“Run that finger down the spine,” Hayden instructed, holding the binder up from underneath. “And say, ‘I swear to keep your secrets.’”
I did as I was told, smearing scarlet down the spine. “I swear to keep your secrets.” It sounded so fifth grade.
As I spoke, the blood on the spine dissolved. It soaked into the leather like water to soil before completely disappearing, and I startled as the locks popped all by themselves.
The binder was open.
“There you go. I’ll be right back.” Hayden stood up and disappeared into the door next to Drake’s room.
My fingers were jittering. Ok, so much for thinking some blood wouldn’t do me anything. I took hold of the binder’s edge with my non-bleeding finger and slowly (very slowly) tugged the cover back.
My mind blanked.
What I saw were not criminal records or secrets of the worlds’ deadliest super villain, or even hidden artifacts stolen from the government… and I wondered if I’d been tricked.
“Is this a joke?” I cocked my head as Hayden returned, ready to take the binder to his face if he said yes.
He shook his head, handing me a band-aid. “Unfortunately, no.”
“But…” I trailed off.
A photo of a magenta-eyed girl was centered on the paper. Long hair danced around her, glowing pink in the setting sun. Willow vines brushed against the gossamer wings attached to her spine, and at the top of the page I read: Velia, summer of 1991. Amethyst Park, WA with Crystal.
“This looks so real,” I mused.
“It is,” Hayden whispered, replacing himself on the couch. “She’s a friend of mine.”
“But she’s—” I couldn’t say it. How could I say it? It wasn’t possible. “She’s a faerie.”
“Yes. She is.”
Dazed, I turned the page.
There were two photographs on this one, both slightly faded and frayed around the edges. The first hosted an older girl—maybe around twenty—with pointed ears. Orange flecks glittered in her eyes, wings the shape and color of a monarch butterfly. She had a hand under her chin, lips turned up at the corners.
Her description read: Frell, fall of 1971. In Michigan with Lea.
I ran my hand over her wings, wondering what they must feel like in real life. Soft and dusty? Or more featherlike? “She’s beautiful.”
“Lea’s fiancée. Of course, she has been for almost fifty years now.”
“Fifty years? Isn’t she, like, old?”
“Do you know anything about faeries?” Hayden laughed. “When a faerie is born, they gradually age less with every year. Faeries stop aging between seventeen and twenty five, when they’re done maturing.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“… Wow.”
The next picture I came across was Lea himself, only he wasn’t Lea—if that made sense. His skin had gone from pale guy skin to porcelain doll face. As he stepped out of an alleyway, his fluorescent wings threw rainbows in the sun. Without the hair jell, those white curls ran wild, forming a cloud around his head.
“That’s Lea, isn’t it?” I was so unsure, I had to double-check.
Hayden snorted. “Being a show off. Yeah, that’d be him.”
“That’s… beyond amazing. He didn’t look anything like this when he came into the shop with you.”
“Of course not. The fey—especially city fey—keep what is called a glamour, which I’m sure you’ve heard of,” Hayden explained. “Evolution has given them a special survival tactic: the ability to create mirages, which is why they can blend in with the human environment. Not all of them can blend, though. Those that can’t learn to become invisible.”
“You can’t become invisible,” I scoffed.
“Well, not exactly,” he corrected. “Ok let’s put it this way: you know how ears are tuned to only hear certain frequencies? There are some sounds that you can’t hear, like spiders feet tapping the ground or certain animal calls… it’s sort of like that with eyes. The faerie form can chan
ge dimensions—some of which, we can’t see.”
I processed this. It was difficult and made my brain fuzzy. “That’s really, really weird.”
“Weird. But true.” He smirked.
I went through probably twenty pages of faerie photos, each one more intriguing than the last. There were fey with horns, horse tails, color-changing eyes, and a second set of ears. They had claws, razor teeth, hollow pupils, blue lips, deer feet, eyelashes of ice, grass for hair, and the list got weirder as it went on. Some were more animal than others, resembling wolves or cats. Some looked like rabbits, others exotic birds. The one thing they did all have in common, however, was a certain sense of grace, an air of the unflawed.
“Are all faeries this beautiful?” I wondered.
Hayden tensed. “Not all of them.” He reached over and turned a few pages. “The faeries you just saw are all friends with me, Drake, or Lea. They’re good fey.”
He stopped on a sketch of a terribly ugly faerie with milky orange eyes. She was missing some teeth, her nose curled like a parrot. She was wearing a wolf ’s skin for clothing.
I cringed at the sight. “Yikes. She’s scary.”
“She’s the daughter of a dark faerie.” He flipped another page. I frowned at the shark-like faerie swimming in the water, her hollow eyes wild with rage. “There are courts in the faerie realm, all kind of cut up like our human government. There are higher courts, then there are branches.
“The two highest branches are the Whirellas and the Bavellas. They are the peaceful and disdainful courts that oversee the whole of the faerie kingdom.”
“Whirellas and Bavellas?” I made a face. In all the stories I’d read and heard from my childhood—and there’d been a lot thanks to my mother’s annual trips to the bookstore—those names had never come up. “Wild names. Why not just call it the courts of good and evil? It’d be so much simpler.”
“Nothing is simple in faerie world.” He seemed to find my comment amusing. “And for your information, Whirellas in Northern Ficana means white omen, like a good court. Bavellas means black omen, so like, a dark court.”
A Taste of Silver Page 16