“That is a highly inappropriate attitude to have toward physical aggression, Mr. Quirinus. As you well know, it’s against school policy. I’m beginning to thi—”
Interupting Mr. Fleiss’s remonstration, the police officer—Detective Gentry as I was introduced—cleared his throat, gathering their attention.
“Of course,” Mr. Fleiss acquiesced. “I’ll let you conduct your business here first. I’m sure you have other work to attend to.”
“Is there an office available? Somewhere we can speak in private?” Gentry’s attention focused behind us, at the congregation gathering in the hall, outside the office door and then to Icarus. “This will only take a few minutes, and then you can seek appropriate medical attention for Miss Llorente.”
Whatever it was, my parents and Benny were ok. It was the first thing I asked before Mr. Fleiss advised me to wait for Icarus to arrive before I answered any questions. Detective Gentry assured it wasn’t needed, but he agreed to wait until I had parental or legal supervision if I were more comfortable. I was eighteen and I had nothing to hide, but Mr. Fleiss insisted.
For the second time within a week, I had the hapless honor of seeing the principal’s office from up front and center. Lucky me. It was a privilege I could’ve done happily without.
Detective Gentry turned to Mr. Fleiss, his hand on the doorknob. “Do you mind? This should only take a few minutes.”
Mr. Fleiss blinked, affronted, before recomposing himself and stepping out.
Detective Gentry was about to close the door when one of the administrators put a hand out and passed him an icepack with a timid smile. “To keep the swelling down.”
“Ma’am,” he replied, passing me the ice bag.
“You’re in no trouble,” Detective Gentry reassured. “We’re actually hoping you might be able to help us. We’ve received report that an acquaintance of yours is missing, a Miss Peyton Schuller. Do you know her Ma’am?”
My face paled. “She was my best friend.”
“Was, Ma’am?”
“Well, yeah, I caught her sleeping with my boyfriend. My ex-boyfriend. I think that effectively altered our friendship to a past tense status.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Two weeks ago today.”
“Can you expound on that, Ma’am?”
“Two weeks ago, we were at a party together at my friend Jack’s house—”
Detective Gentry looked up from his notebook. “On four-thirteen?”
“Yes. Jack and I were classmates. He had a Halloween party. I arrived with Marcus—”
“Marcus Pera?”
I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. I felt like I was digging myself into a hole. “Yes, my ex-boyfriend. We met Peyton there. When we arrived, Marcus and Peyton went to find the refreshments. Not much later, Jack and I were helping another classmate to one of the bedrooms upstairs. She wasn’t feeling well. And that’s when I found them. Marcus and Peyton. Together. I was upset, obviously. I left. Alone.”
“You’ve had no contact with her?”
Other than the zillion unread texts I’d received… Crap.
“Miss Llorente?”
“No. I switched schools to avoid the gossip after what happened at the party. So that I could focus on my classes. I graduate this year.”
Detective Gentry gave me an apologetic look that said ‘sorry, it’s procedure.’ “You know them better than anyone, Miss Llorente. Would they have run off together? Is there any place they might have gone?”
Oh, the irony, I didn’t know them at all. “No. Outside of school, Peyton and I mainly hung out at my house. And Marcus, I don’t even know where he lives. I’ve never met his family. Well, his dad. His mother died. And he didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
It wasn’t necessarily the truth, but it’s what I, along with the general population believed up until two weeks ago. Thus, it was good enough for the police.
“Ok, Miss Llorente. That should be all for now.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me. “If you hear from her, or think of anything that might aid in finding her, please give me a call. Her parents are worried.”
I nodded, taking the card from his hand.
Detective Gentry gestured to Mr. Fleiss who entered his office, looking mildly frazzled. His receding hairline was dotted with perspiration. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he swiped it across his forehead and routed for his desk chair.
“I can see myself out,” said Detective Gentry, with a polite, if not dry smile.
Mr. Fleiss sat in his chair behind his desk, blowing out an anxious breath. I tried to ignore the fact that he must’ve had something garlicky for lunch. Not for the first time in a day, I rued my improved olfactory senses. “Mr. Quirinus,” he said. “As you’re aware Miss Llorente was involved in an altercation between the time I contacted you, and your arrival.”
“With Michael Dougherty. I warned you that he’s been harassing her.”
“Mr. Quirinus, we don’t have the resources to watch over each individual student. In the classroom, yes. But the halls and the cafeteria are simply beyond our means. We staff aids, not bodyguards. We expect the students, seniors especially, to act on their best behavior. They’re nearly adults. In this final year, we strive to allow them to make their own decisions, to cope with social situations on their own, in preparation of releasing them into the real world. Nevertheless, we have also warned that making the wrong choices will have penalties to fit the misdemeanor.
“The problem we have here is that there are no rules or guidelines on handling Mr. Dougherty’s behavior. We decided the best course of action was to treat it as bullying. The first offense is responded to with a warning. Evidentially, he chose to ignore this. In which case, we will now issue an in school suspension. Mr. Dougherty’s parents have already voiced objection to this, and I will be meeting with them Monday morning to discuss and reach, I hope, an appropriate punishment that we can all agree upon.
“Honestly, Mr. Quirinus, considering the overwhelming response we’re received to Miss Llorente’s reprisal today,” Mr. Fleiss nodded his head in the direction of the girls standing in the main office, “I’m concerned myself with his behavior and lack of social morals. It appears that she is not the only target of his attention. Be assured, this will be discussed with his parent’s as well. Not only is it disruptive, but I also fear it’s a stepping stone to more dissolute exploits.
“As for Miss Llorente, unfortunately, we hold a strict policy against physical violence. The punishment is immediate suspension. However, considering that she endeavored to resolve this previously by non-physical means—controversial as it was—and since this is only her first offense, I am willing to reduce the one week out of school suspension to one week in school suspension, if you are in agreement. This will provide her with ample time to progress on her schoolwork. In her off time she can help Mrs. Longbottom around the office.”
Icarus contemplated this at length and then shook his head. “No.”
“Yes!” I protested. Lamentably, if we didn’t agree, we’d lose another week of hunting down Alec. I’d also lose another week on my schoolwork. As much as I’d rather spend the day at home, it wasn’t a judicious use of Icarus’s time or mine.
“No,” Icarus insisted. “I don’t expect you to sit every single student, personally, but when someone brings a certain individual to your attention, yes, special circumstances should be taken into account. That group of girls outside only prove my point.” Standing, Icarus ended the conversation. “She’ll take the out of school suspension. You can send her work home with the twins when they return next week. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see to Thale’s injury.”
“She can return to school next Monday morning, after Thanksgiving holiday. That’s three days suspension,” Mr. Fleiss caved. “And I will call Monday afternoon to update you on Mr. Dougherty’s punishment after I meet with his parents.”
“Appreciated,”
Icarus assented, pushing me out of the office before him. We passed the crowd of girls—ignoring their whispers—and exited through the main entrance of the school.
Bacchus stepped out of the jeep, peering curiously in our direction until Icarus waved him off, sending him home. Icarus steered me toward the visitor’s lot, pointing toward his Porsche.
“How is your hand feeling now?”
Removing the icepack from my knuckles, I flexed my fingers cautiously, surprised to find them in proper working order and free of pain. “Better.” Still, it would take time to get used to the medical phenomenon of immortality. Eighteen years of scrapes and stitches was hard to put behind you.
“It has its perks, no?”
“I’m just not sure if they outweigh the cons,” I hedged, stretching my fingers with bewilderment. “On my toes, as you kindly put it, isn’t how I want to spend the rest of my life. If you haven’t noticed, I have enough trouble with normal boys, let alone lycan men.”
“I don’t think you’ll be having problems with Michael Dougherty again.”
Michael Dougherty was the least of my problems. I had a world of worries plaguing me, ones much larger than a narcissistic human boy who didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
Icarus walked me to the passenger’s side of the car, but instead of opening the door, he backed me against it, caging me in with his arms on either side. “Have I done something wrong, Thaleia?” he inquired. His nose skimmed mine, his lips hovering a breath away. I could taste the candy he pilfered from Mr. Fleiss’s desk. My mouth watered, craving to taste it outright.
We stood, unbending, for several moments, Icarus waiting patiently for either an answer or me to capitulate. I should’ve ducked free of his arms. Instead, I stood wavering, my resolve slowly weakening beneath his ice blue stare. It was hard to remember why I’d refused him.
“I can’t do this right now. Whatever it is you want from me.”
“Is it Marcus?”
“Yes. And Michael. And Peyton. And Alec. And the changes I’m going through. My life has gone to hell. I can’t handle anything else. I’m already in the midst of a meltdown.”
“Then let me be your break in the clouds.”
“It would be a mistake. I told you that last night. We don’t get along, Icarus. Where would I be when things ended badly?”
“So you’re not stuck on Marcus?”
“No!”
“The twins?”
“What? No!” I exclaimed, exasperated. The twins? Where did he draw up that warped assumption? “Did you not hear a word I said?”
“I did,” he rectified, his eyes aglow with hope, “but as long as you’re not in love with someone else, everything else we can handle. I promise. Just give me a chance.” His head dipped down, leaning his forehead against mine. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
“You’re almost as intolerable as Michael Dougherty.”
“That wasn’t a no,” he pointed out. His breath rolled over my lips, caramel and sweet. I had to concentrate just to breathe. My lips parted on a breath, inundated with all scents Icarus.
“Would it make a difference if it was?”
“No.” His lips pressed to mine.
ΑΒΩ
“You just pulled back and decked him?” Crispin enthused, as if he hadn’t heard the story a dozen times. The twins had bragged about it all afternoon, but hearing it firsthand was more exciting, he’d explained. He pressed me for every last detail too. Though, I wouldn’t divulge what exactly I had overheard Mike say. The twins knew, of course. They hadn’t had to ask to know the context of Mike’s remarks, having heard it themselves in the halls at school.
“Pretty much.”
“But how did you hit him?”
“Hard,” I said. “I think it hurt me as much as it hurt Mike.” I flexed my hand unconsciously.
“A right upper cut,” Caius advised, demonstrating in slow motion, the technique of the punch. He, unlike me, looked adroit when he moved.
“I’m sure I didn’t look like that when I hit him.”
“Did you feel his teeth clack?” Caius inquired. I grinned in answer. I did. Like a set of Ker-Bangers. He tousled my hair approvingly. “Then it worked. Who cares how it looked.”
“Man!” Crispin beamed. “I would’ve loved to have seen it! Do you think anyone got it on camera?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think he knew what was coming. He was grinning like a loon when I approached him.”
Crispin crammed another carob chip cookie into his mouth. “Fwawfum.”
“Dude,” said Bacchus, chucking Crispin on the back of his head. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. You just spit crumbs all over me.” Brushing himself off, he stepped aside.
In the pocket of my hoodie, my phone vibrated maniacally. I swiped my finger across the screen, and read the text from Bennie. He hadn’t seen or heard from Peyton either.
On the short drive home, I went through all my messages, but other than Peyton’s pleas to talk to her again, she left no clues to her whereabouts, and her texts stopped altogether Tuesday night, the same time she went missing. I hoped that she was ok and that Marcus was taking care of her. I was bitter, not vindictive.
“Anything?” Bacchus asked.
“No.” I shook my head and texted Bennie back. “Call U 2moro.”
“Maybe she’s just sick,” Caius suggested in a weak show of consolation.
“She’s missing,” I retorted. “I would think her parents checked their house from top to bottom before calling the police.” It came out snippier than I had intended. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Sliding from my stool at the island, I stretched my legs. “I have to get changed. Icarus should be back soon.”
Upon our return home, he had dropped me off in the driveway, leaving me under the twin’s supervision, and left to meet Max and Lucius wherever they were. I was fairly certain they were checking out The Schuller’s home for signs of our rogues. That had been over four hours ago. Night had fallen, and I’d yet to hear anything that would calm my nerves.
“If you don’t feel up to it tonight,” Bacchus said. “Icarus will understand.”
“I know, but I can’t sit around anymore. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin.” I had already cooked four dozen nontoxic carob chip cookies. They were a weak substitute for chocolate, but the boys didn’t appear to mind. They already polished off a dozen between the three of them. Of course, undiscriminating, they rarely turned anything edible down.
Dinner was in the oven, a pork tenderloin and potatoes, requested by Max. I had cleaned the bowls and dishes I dirtied, organized the storage space in the kitchen, finished two loads of laundry, and dusted and vacuumed the den. The skin on my hands felt like sandpaper and looked like prunes. Yet, my efforts did little to alleviate the nervous energy building inside me.
Upstairs, I showered and set my hair in rollers, checking my phone sporadically as if Peyton’s annoying texts might magically appear in my inbox. Yes, annoying. I didn’t actually want to talk to her, but I wanted to know she was ok. I had every right to be angry with her.
Marcus, for some reason, I wasn’t as angry with him. I almost expected it of him. But Peyton, she was my best friend. I felt more betrayed by her actions than anyone’s. For her to go behind my back and sleep with my boyfriend was beyond the pale. I felt a special hate for her.
I never thought Peyton beneath me, but I did now.
Carefully, I traced my eyes with a thin brown line, going for the natural look. I shadowed my lids lightly with a pale bronze shadow then streaked my lashes with a coat of mascara and combed through them so they didn’t look spidery. After adding a light sweeping of blush to my cheeks, I added a slick of gloss to accentuate my full lower lip and slipped the rollers from my hair. Loose, beachy curls framed my face, resting on my shoulders like a pale stole.
Marcus Pera, eat your heart out. I almost wished he could see me tonight so that he could see for himself what he forsook
, and cursed to this baneful existence of lycanthropy. Bastard.
Rooting though my closet, I chose a little nude number, a sleeveless sheath dress with a boat neck that reached mid thigh. The lacy outer shell was covered in sequins and beads that glittered romantically in the dim light of my room. I paired it with deep blue heels, unadorned in a matte satin finish that made my legs look a mile long. Peyton had told me so when she insisted that I purchase them.
My smile faded on a whim, my inner musings squelching like a doused flame. Plopping down on the edge of my bed, I dropped my head into my hands. I didn’t owe Icarus anything. So why was I going to dinner with him? Why was I going on a date at all when my life was going to hell in a hand basket? The stress was surely affecting my good judgment.
My ex-best-friend was missing and I was glamming it up for a hot date. Yes, I thought Icarus was hot. Holier than hot. Magma hot. That was why I was going to dinner with him. Because I was tired of denying my feelings for him. It was hard to dislike someone when you knew what they were putting on the line for you. Not only had he accepted me into his home when he knew I was a danger to his family, but he had pursued me. He made it right with my parents. He made a place explicitly for me to stay, carved a nook in his home to make me feel welcome, and made me one of his own. He was protecting me when he could’ve turned the other cheek. He had no obligation to defend me. Yet, here I sat, safe and alive, because of him.
Still, I had this nagging sense of foreboding telling me to keep my distance. Don’t involve yourself with him. It’ll only hurt worse in the end. Perhaps it was self-preservation from years of introversion, thanks to Michael Dougherty. Perhaps it was the threat of Alec and his employer looming perpetually in the forefront of my mind. Whatever the reason, it had me in knots, doubting Icarus’s ability to protect me, and doubting the depth of his feelings for me.
The sound of Icarus’s Porsche purred along the driveway and coasted to a stop outside the garage. I rose from the bed and peeked out the window, catching his back as he entered the house. That small glimpse set my heart aflutter. He cut his hair for me, and shaved. I could smell the faint scent of his cologne as it drifted through the window. My hormones pounded like a pneumatic hammer, pulverizing my feelings of uncertainty. God, I had it bad.
Feral Page 19