Grey (The Romany Outcasts Series, Book 1)

by Christi J. Whitney

‘I’ve been sick,’ I said, instantly self-conscious.

  ‘I’ve noticed,’ she said, looking concerned as she locked on my eyes. ‘Ever since my birthday party. And it seems like it’s getting worse. Have you been to the doctor?’

  She’d noticed me that much?

  I shook my head. I knew the way I looked had nothing to do with my head injury. It was something else. ‘It’s just stress and lack of sleep.’

  ‘Are you sure? Katie said you haven’t been…’

  Josephine trailed off, and I could tell she was trying not to say too much.

  ‘Haven’t been what?’

  ‘Acting like yourself,’ she replied hesitantly.

  I grimaced. I’d really done a bang-up job putting myself in the best possible light for a girl I hardly knew. Josephine didn’t mention my incident with Alex, but I knew she had to be thinking it. ‘Well, Katie’s right. And I’m sorry. I’m not usually so…high strung.’

  To my surprise, Josephine smiled. ‘So what are you, then? Usually.’

  I paused, trying to remember the last time I’d felt like myself. Or maybe I’d always been this way. It was getting harder to tell. ‘I’ll be fine by the time the play rolls around. At least, I’d better be. I don’t think I want to be on Ms Lucian’s bad side.’

  Her smile widened. ‘I don’t think I want to either.’ She stared at me for a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether she wanted to ask me something else. But she didn’t. ‘Okay, well, let’s pick up the scene with Bottom’s entrance. Does that work?’ She curled up on the couch. ‘You have the first line, I think.’

  I retreated behind the chaise, thinking over the blocking notes from rehearsal. Josephine rested her head on her hands, shutting her eyes in pretend sleep, waiting on me to begin. My heart was beating so loud I was sure she could hear it. I was supposed to sing my lines, but I opted to say them instead, and I picked up halfway through my speech to save Josephine from any unnecessary torture.

  ‘The throstle with his note so true. The wren with little quill.’ I strolled in front of the couch, past the sleeping Titania. Josephine yawned dramatically.

  ‘What angel wakes me from my flowery bed?’ she cooed.

  I continued my lines, trying to appear oblivious as Josephine rose from the cushions. I felt a strong sense of peace as she approached, but I also felt her every move like a shock through my nerves. I fumbled through my next line. ‘The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, the plainsong cuckoo gray, whose note full many a man doth mark, and dares not answer “Nay”.’

  Josephine slid her hand down my arm as she faced me. My fragmented emotions were wiping me out, and I couldn’t process either one. I swallowed hard as she took my hand, trying to concentrate on her lines and not on her lips as she spoke. ‘I pray thee, gentle mortal, sing again. Mine ear is much enamored of thy note; so is mine eye enthralled to thy shape.’ She grasped my other hand, and I was conscious of how clammy they felt against her soft skin. My face flushed when she raised my hand to place it against her cheek. ‘And thy fair virtue’s force perforce doth move me on the first view to say, to swear, I love thee,’ she continued, leaning her head into my palm.

  Josephine’s lashes fluttered against my fingers. I’d never had the opportunity to observe her this closely, and I didn’t want the moment to end. I was feeling so many things for her at once.

  ‘Methinks, mistress, you should have little reason for that. And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.’

  Josephine smiled up at me with Titania’s smile. ‘Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful,’ she replied.

  According to the blocking of the scene, she was supposed to kiss my hands. I wasn’t sure what she was going to do, and I wasn’t sure what I would do if she did. Josephine paused, and I stared back at her, feeling the electricity in my body rising.

  The trailer door swung open. She dropped my hands at the same time that I jumped back, catching my leg against the table. The tiny piece of furniture toppled, launching cookies and orange soda. I lunged forward, snagging the can out of the air before it could wreak havoc on the plush carpet, but the cookies were a lost cause. I knelt to pick them up.

  Quentin stepped into the room with a commanding air and a mocking smirk. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Josie. But we’ve got to cut your little practice short. Andre’s moved the schedule around, and you’re up next.’

  Josephine turned to me, an apologetic look on her face. ‘Well, I guess I have to go.’

  She reached for the plate. Our fingers touched briefly. ‘It’s fine, Josephine,’ I said quietly. ‘I understand.’

  She took the food into the kitchen. When she returned, Quentin slipped his arm around her waist. ‘They’re waiting on you, Josie,’ he said, guiding her to the door. ‘I’ll walk Sebastian out.’

  She paused in the doorway. ‘Thanks for coming today, Sebastian. I feel better about our scene already.’

  Josephine glided out of the trailer and was gone. Quentin gestured to the door, and I moved quickly, eager to get out into the open. I was feeling suddenly trapped. As I passed the kitchen, something caught my eye, stopping me dead in my tracks. There on the counter, alongside a pot of flowers, was my porcelain figurine. The Gypsy girl was still in her frozen dance, her delicate arms raised and her long hair spread in stationary perfection. A lump formed in my throat.

  We reached the front gate, but instead of opening it, Quentin leaned against the bars, regarding me coolly. ‘I like you, Sebastian,’ he said, ‘so I’m going to give you a piece of advice.’

  ‘Advice,’ I repeated, instantly suspicious.

  His smile tightened. ‘You should stay away from Josephine.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s possible, Quentin,’ I replied, feeling my shoulders stiffen. ‘We are in the play together.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find a way.’

  I took a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. ‘I’m not after your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re implying. I get that you’re together. I just want the play to go well, that’s all. You don’t have to worry about me.’

  Quentin seemed surprised by my answer. That, in turn, surprised me. It wasn’t as if I was any competition, even if I was pursuing Josephine – which I wasn’t – I reminded myself firmly. Quentin pulled himself from the iron bars and produced his keys. Something in his eyes reminded me of one of Hugo’s looks; odd and completely unreadable.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ he said in a lighter tone. ‘Sometimes I can be a little possessive. But I care about Josephine, and right now, she needs to stay focused on her job here. I didn’t mean to imply anything.’

  ‘So first you threaten me, and now you’re apologizing for it?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said, unlocking the gate. ‘I’m just saying I may have been a little out of line. Now, I’m sorry I can’t hang around and chat, but I’ve got to get back to work.’ He opened the gate, and I stepped through. It clanged shut behind me. I looked at Quentin through the iron bars, finding myself on the outside once more. His smile arched. ‘See you around, Sebastian.’

  He turned and walked back the way we’d come, tossing a casual wave over his shoulder at me; one I couldn’t help feel was mildly triumphal.

  12. Betrayal or Trust

  ‘I need to talk to my brother.’

  Vincent glanced up from the arm of his customer. ‘Right now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, exasperated. I was still reeling from my visit to the Fairgrounds. ‘Where is he?’

  Vincent shifted the needle to his other hand and scratched his ginger-colored goatee. ‘He’s not here. He went up to Tennessee this morning.’

  ‘Why?’

  Vincent returned to his work, grabbing a cloth to wipe away a bit of blood before continuing. ‘Had some guy in Chattanooga who wanted a full sleeve done.’

  ‘When will he be back?’

  Vincent’s needle traveled gracefully up his victim’s arm, drawing a perfect arch to the outer ed
ge of a Celtic cross. ‘Pretty soon.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to grab something for dinner,’ I said, backing out of the room.

  Vincent shot up, his foot slipping off the pedal. The customer looked up in alarm, but the red-haired tattoo artist never noticed. ‘Hugo doesn’t want you going anywhere.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘He called about an hour ago and told me to relay the message to you when you got home. He wants you to stay here until he gets back.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But I’m getting some food first.’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, I heard you Vincent. But I’m eighteen. It’s not like Hugo can ground me or anything.’ I waved my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back something.’

  ‘I’m serious, Sebastian. Stay here.’

  ‘Not going to happen, Vincent.’ I headed for the door. I hadn’t noticed Kris in the waiting room until he and James moved in front of me, blocking my exit. I stared in disbelief. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  Kris shrugged. ‘Just following orders, Sebastian.’

  ‘Orders? What is this, the military?’

  ‘Nope,’ James replied. ‘If it was, we’d be demanding a little more respect from the private.’

  I was used to the guys giving me a hard time, little-brother style. But their lame initiation joke was wearing on my nerves. I stepped forward, intending to push past them, but James countered, his massive form towering over me. I stared at his large form, and suddenly, a fiery rage boiled inside me. The onslaught caught me off-guard, nearly knocking me off my feet. My body hunched defensively, and I felt my lip pulling back from my teeth.

  ‘Let me by.’

  My words came out more like a growl. James straightened with an overly casual flair, but his eyes were uneasy. ‘Please, Sebastian. Just cooperate for tonight, okay? When Hugo gets back, he’ll explain everything.’

  Kris leaned against the door. ‘Trust us.’

  I’d seen enough movies to know that when someone said to trust them, that was exactly what you weren’t supposed to do. But these guys were like family. I studied their faces. Or were they? I was just a kid with no parents and no home; a charity case Hugo had, for whatever reason, decided to take in. And I definitely wasn’t Roma.

  The guys continued to stare me down, their smiles more grim than joking. If James and Kris were serious about stopping me, I doubted I’d be able to make it to the door. They made imposing obstacles. I gritted my teeth and choked down the anger. It wasn’t easy. The emotions were powerful, every bit as powerful as the ones I felt around Josephine. But these were way different.

  Around her, I was a mixture of serenity and anxiety. What I felt as I stared at James and Kris, what I’d felt when I’d almost attacked Alex in rehearsal; these emotions had a life of their own. They were wild animals, trapped inside me, clawing at my lungs and threatening to scale their way up my throat. I kept trying to shut them out, to pretend they weren’t there.

  To pretend I wasn’t terrified of what they were doing to me.

  ‘Come on, Sebastian,’ Kris said steadily. ‘Just hang out here, and I’ll grab us some food, okay?’

  The guys weren’t going to budge, and unless I intended to fight my way out, I wasn’t going anywhere tonight. I took a deep breath. The ugly fury retreated once more, disappearing with the same unnerving speed as it had manifested. I breathed out, this time in relief. ‘Fine. I’ll play it your way. But I’m expecting some major compensation for this.’

  It was Kris who spoke. ‘Pizza?’

  ‘No pepperoni.’

  ‘Sure,’ he replied.

  I flung myself into the couch, still feeling the bite of my emotional battle. This growing struggle was really messing with my head. Kris grabbed some money from the register and left. I leapt up, pacing restlessly, flexing my fingers. They were sore and stiff, like my back. I tried to think of a reasonable explanation for Hugo’s weird behavior, but kept coming up blank. When had life stopped making sense around here? I was hungry, I was irritated, and I needed something to distract me before I lost my mind.

  I headed for the apartment, deciding to watch television while I waited. But as I reached for the light, I paused. Something about the room didn’t feel right. I brushed my hand across my eyes. The blinds were closed, lights were off, but I could still see.

  I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes. Then I looked again. Everything in the room was crystal clear, from the collection of candy wrappers on the table to the titles of the books on the shelf. Objects stood out in stark detail, but in grayscale, like an old photograph, totally visible in the dark.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I whispered into the stillness.

  My stomach clenched. I bolted through the apartment and into the bathroom. The mirror glared at me. My breath wrestled inside my lungs as I slowly touched my face with my fingertips. Against the strange pewter color of my hair, my skin looked ashen. My irises were gray. Even my lips and the dark circles beneath my eyes seemed discolored. Whatever was going on with me, it was getting worse. And I couldn’t keep pretending I was okay with it. My gaze drifted to my wrist. The dandelion tattoo glimmered with a silvery sheen in the gray light of my revved-up vision, as though the ink had a life of its own.

  My tattoo.

  The events of the last week banged through my memory like gunfire. I’d been treating all my bizarre symptoms as though they were unrelated incidents: the worsening sickness, the careening emotions, even the fear that I was teetering into insanity. But what if they were all connected somehow?

  I switched on the light, squinting for several moments until my eyes adjusted from the grayscale vision into normal sight. Then I studied my reflection again, this time more carefully, taking in every detail. My eyes didn’t just look brighter above the hollows of my sockets. They were brighter. More intense. I swallowed hard, raking my hands through my hair as I realized something else. Nothing remained of my original shade, not even a streak of black. My hair had changed over the last couple of days. Just like my complexion.

  This wasn’t an initiation. The guys hadn’t been playing pranks on me. This was real. As I traced the inked design on my wrist, it suddenly dawned on me why Hugo didn’t want me leaving the apartment. Why he’d been acting so weird and secretive. I wasn’t crazy after all. Something was wrong with me.

  And Hugo Corsi knew exactly what it was.

  It was nearly eleven when Hugo returned. James had just flipped the ‘closed’ sign over in the shop window, and the others were cleaning up. I managed to keep my seat on the couch, giving my brother enough time to get in the door, but I was growing more anxious by the second. I was ready for answers.

  Hugo chucked his bag onto the counter. ‘Is there any coffee around here?’ Kris poured him a cup, and my brother eased into the purple couch opposite me. He looked exhausted.

  ‘Nice trip?’ I asked.

  ‘Pretty good,’ he replied.

  ‘Okay, Hugo.’ I squared my shoulders. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Sebastian…’

  ‘No, Hugo,’ I growled. ‘No more shutting me out. You promised we’d talk, so let’s talk.’ My brother set his coffee aside as casually as if we were about to discuss the stock report. The action fueled my rising anger, but my next question took it out of me again. ‘All this covert Gypsy business you’ve been dealing with lately…it has to do with me, doesn’t it?’

  Hugo barely moved. ‘Yes.’

  I leapt from the sofa, my heart pounding in my chest, my calm demeanor slipping away. ‘I’m not stressed, and I don’t have the flu. Something else is wrong with me, and you know what it is.’ I yanked up my sleeve and thrust my wrist into the light. ‘God, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you poisoned the ink.’

  Hugo flinched, or as close as I’d ever seen him come to such a reaction. His eyes met mine. They were cold and sharp, but their piercing focus wasn’t directed at me. It was as if he was staring deep within h
imself. ‘You’re not poisoned. But you’re right about one thing.’ Hugo’s voice matched his stare. ‘There is no initiation. There never was.’

  I froze in the middle of the room.

  ‘Then what’s happening to me?’

  The room went silent. I shifted my gaze to the guys, but they avoided my stare. All attention was focused on my brother. My senses kicked up a notch. I heard a crinkling sound and noticed Hugo fiddling with something in his coat pocket. Crumpled paper. His fingers clamped and unclamped around it. The muscles in his hand were as tight as the ones in his tattooed neck. Finally, after a pause too long to mean anything good, Vincent approached Hugo and put a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘You’ve got to tell him, Hugo. There’s no reason to keep waiting. It’s happening. We’ve all seen the changes in his behavior. And just, look at him. How much more evidence do you need?’

  They all stared at me then, and their expressions sent a tremor down my spine.

  ‘Test him,’ said Kris.

  Vincent nodded. ‘Then we can know for sure.’

  Hugo looked sharply from one man to the next, and I felt the tension of the standoff. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Hugo drew the paper from his pocket. An envelope. A letter? He rose and set it on the counter. Something changed in my brother’s face, and I knew that whatever it was they were suggesting he do, Hugo was going to give in. I waited in silent anticipation, ready for anything.

  Hugo stepped directly in front of me.

  ‘Hit me,’ he said.

  I thought I was ready for anything.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  He grabbed my shirt and yanked me to him. My surprise vanished. Heated coals ignited in my stomach. ‘You heard me, Sebastian,’ he snapped, so close I could feel his breath. ‘Hit me.’

  My brother was telling me to punch him? I had to admit, I’d dreamed of doing such a thing more than a few times, but this was stupid. ‘I’m not going to hit you, Hugo.’

  He laughed harshly. The sound grated my nerves with a force I hadn’t expected. I was aware of the others pressing around me, hemming me in. My breath caught in my throat. They were doing it on purpose. They were trying to rile me up. And it was working. As though someone had flipped a switch inside me, my body began to shake. The dark emotions were returning, this time with a lot more power.