C
HAPTER
20
T
here’s nothing like a dead restaurant to make you think. The next afternoon, The Slice was practically deserted. I passed the time by refilling the ketchup and mustard bottles, restocking the napkins, and organizing the sugar packets by color—white, yellow, pink. Anything to keep my mind busy. But eventually I’d taken care of any possible chores, and there was nothing left to do but think about yesterday’s fight with Colin, the strained silence between us today and Jenny’s offer. She’d scrawled her phone number on a napkin, in case I changed my mind. I’d pulled the crumpled paper out a dozen times today, but couldn’t bring myself to pick up the phone.
“Slow, huh?” Tim, our cook, remarked as I carried a barely filled tub of dirty dishes in back.
“Yeah. The weather’s keeping people in.” I loaded the industrial dishwasher slowly, my eyes on the door to the storeroom connecting The Slice and Morgan’s, my uncle’s bar. Maybe I didn’t need to call Jenny after all. Maybe my answers were on the other side of that door.
It was a completely stupid and impulsive plan, and if I wasn’t so desperate, I would never have considered doing it. But an afternoon alone with your increasingly depressing thoughts can warp even the most reasonable mind.
So I did it.
You could tell the second you passed from The Slice into Morgan’s. The warm, sugary aroma of perfectly browned pie crust was replaced by the yeasty tang of beer and sharp scent of whiskey poured out liberally. No one ever complained that Morgan’s watered down their drinks, mostly because they didn’t serve many drinks that required mixing.
I paused. Below the regular noises of the bar—ESPN, clinking glasses, good-natured arguments over Fords versus Chevys—was the sound of Billy’s voice, rising and falling. I could picture his hands waving to punctuate whatever point he was making or story he was selling. Every so often, a second voice would say a few words, slow and rumbling, and Billy would jump in again. I cracked the door a little, but the hinges squeaked and the voices fell silent.
So much for stealth. I pushed the door wide open and strode in, trying to look nonchalant.
“Now, this is a surprise,” my uncle said. He smiled heartily, but his eyes were slits. “My niece,” he said to the man sitting opposite him.
He’d switched places. Billy always sat in the last booth, facing the front door. Everyone who wanted an audience had to be escorted to him. They sat with their backs to the bar while my uncle surveyed his domain.
But now, Billy was in the visitor’s seat.
“Wait up front,” he instructed. “Have Charlie get you a Coke and I’ll be done shortly.”
“Mo, right?” The other man stood and shook my hand. He peered at the room I’d just emerged from. “Where’s Donnelly?”
Billy shrugged. “He doesn’t always come in. No need to, here.”
“Marco Forelli,” the man said, returning his attention to me, still gripping my hand. “You’re even prettier than your pictures.”
“Thanks,” I said uncertainly, and watched as Billy’s face clouded over and cleared in the space of a breath.
Marco Forelli wasn’t talking about my senior portrait. He meant the pictures someone had taken earlier in the fall and sent me as a warning—
we can get to you
. My skin felt like a hundred beetles were scuttling across it, and I pulled my hand away.
He glanced at my uncle. “She looks like Jack. The eyes, I think. And the mouth, too. Billy says you and your old man got a lot in common.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I wouldn’t know.”
“No, it’s been a while, huh? You must be excited, having him home so soon.”
“Thrilled.”
“Well, we’re all looking forward to seeing him again.” He reached out and ruffled my hair. I barely kept myself from hissing. “I’d better get going. It was nice to meet you, Mo. I’m sure we’ll run into each other soon.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
Billy walked Forelli out. When he returned, his darting, nervous energy was replaced with something infinitely more destructive—anger, focused squarely on me.
“Do you know who that was?”
“Marco Forelli?” The name didn’t mean anything to me, but I was pretty sure it should.
“Yes, Marco Forelli! He’s not to be trifled with.”
“I didn’t trifle,” I protested. But Billy’s fury was tinged with genuine fear, and it was contagious.
“The man deserves your respect, and you treated him like a substitute teacher, with your attitude and your snide comments.”
I shoved back at the fear. “That man took pictures of me. To scare me. You think I should respect him? Don’t you mean suck up?”
Billy’s mouth worked in noiseless outrage for a moment. He pointed to the booth. “Sit. Down.”
I did, not because he told me to but because I still had questions to ask.
He sat, leaning forward, shaking his finger like he was scolding me. “All we asked was that you do your part. Make our neighborhood safer. Preserve a way of life that has benefited you and everyone you know for years. We asked you to do one small thing, and you failed.”
“You asked me to lie to the police. I could have gone to jail.”
“Nonsense. That would never have happened.”
“Is that what you told my dad?”
“Your father knew exactly what he was doing.” He settled back in the booth, crossing his arms across his chest. “And considering the lack of concern you’ve shown for the man over the years, you’ve little grounds to play the outraged daughter now.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s something, anyway. Marco Forelli’s taken an interest in you. It’s a very dangerous position to be in.”
“He doesn’t scare me,” I said, trying not to remember the picture of Luc and me kissing on my front porch. The look on Colin’s face when he’d seen it.
“He should. Now, what brought you over here today? I doubt it was to say hello.”
“I want to know what you have on Colin.” I gripped the edge of my seat. “It must be something big. Some information about his past, and you’re lording it over him so he’ll do what you want.”
Billy shrugged. “Donnelly’s free to leave my employment any time he likes. He chooses to stay.”
“Why?”
“He’s loyal.” He gave me a sour look. “A scarce commodity these days. The better question is, what business is it of yours?”
I stayed absolutely still as he scrutinized me. His eyes lit with amusement. “You’ve got a crush on Donnelly?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, and he chuckled. “You’re a darling girl, but he’s unsuitable. You’ll only embarrass yourself.”
I’d done that anyway. “I don’t have a crush on him. I’m just ... curious.”
“Ah. You know what they say about curiosity and cats, don’t you?”
The ground beneath me suddenly felt boggy and treacherous. “He’s a nice guy.”
“That he is. But the place he comes from is blacker than pitch. Leave him alone.”
“Why? What could be so terrible?”
Billy’s face went hard. “More than you can imagine. More than anyone should. Find someone else to dream of, Maura Kathleen. Donnelly will never look at you that way.”
“What way?”
He scored an oval in the air, like he was outlining my face. “That way. And don’t look so disappointed, either. The man would be dead before the next sunrise if he touched you, and he knows it. He’ll risk his life to protect you, but it’s not only his life he’s concerned with.” He stood. “You’re supposed to be at home, if I’m not mistaken. You’ve caused enough trouble for your mother lately. The least you could do is show up to dinner on time.”
I slid out of the booth, the sting of his dismissal barely noticeable compared to everything else he’d said. Billy had never threatened anyone in front of me before, but he’d been so nonchalant when he’d mentioned killing Colin, like it was no bigger an item on his to-do list than picking up the dry cleaning. My stomach twisted at the idea of putting Colin in danger, all because I wanted to go to a dance. God, how shallow could I be?
And then the second part of his declaration hit me:
It’s not only his life he’s concerned with.
Whose life, then? Mine? My uncle was manipulative and power hungry, but he’d never hurt me. It was one of the only things I was certain of when it came to Billy—my mom’s safety and mine were absolute. Who was Colin protecting?
I touched the mark on my palm. Only a couple of months old, and it was changing from a mottled red line to a pale pink, lighter and thinner every day. It would never disappear completely, the doctors had said, but it would fade. The scars across Colin’s back were pure white, long healed but sorrowful and secretive.
Scars didn’t go away, I reminded myself. Why had I expected them to?
C
HAPTER
21
I
f I’d thought I could get away with walking home, I would have tried it. Instead, I did the next best thing—I pulled my iPod from my bag, fitted the earbuds in, and cranked up the volume. The music made a sort of sulky cocoon as I threw open the door to the truck and boosted myself in.
The press of Colin’s hand on my arm, even through my wool peacoat, seemed impossibly heavy. Instead of looking at him, I slumped into the corner of the seat and stared out the window. Outside Morgan’s, the neon Harp and Guinness signs were reflected in quivering puddles, the words broken apart into random chunks of color by the rain. We drove home without another word.
I didn’t tell him about the mysterious flowers, or Jenny’s offer, or meeting Marco Forelli. He didn’t tell me what Billy had on him. All the things we weren’t saying stacked up like a wall between us, and I forced myself not to be the one to break through. I’d pushed as far as I could, left myself vulnerable, and Colin still didn’t trust me. There was nothing left to say.
When we pulled up to the house, I took out my earbuds and groaned. Sitting on the front porch in the pale light, huddled against the chill in a black leather jacket, was Luc. Colin sucked in air, a harsh sound. “Let me guess. The world needs saving?”
“I don’t think he’d hang out on my porch for that.”
“Right. Go deal with whatever today’s crisis is. And don’t leave without telling me.”
“So you don’t worry?”
His eyes were unreadable. “So I can cover for you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Cujo didn’t feel like chattin’?” Luc called, waving to the truck as I crossed the lawn. Even in the chilly night, his drawl sounded languorous and warm.
“Imagine that. What are you doing here?” Before I could pull out my keys, he touched the lock, the metal sending off red sparks. The dead bolt snicked open, and he grinned at me.
“I need a reason to stop by?”
I had never invited Luc into my house before. He’d come Between in my bedroom but never stayed more than a minute. This felt normal, and with Luc, normal felt strange.
“You want something,” I said, dropping my bag on the stairs and hanging up my coat.
He toyed with a loose strand of my hair. “I always want somethin’. Sit with me.”
I sank onto the couch and he flopped down next to me, propping his feet on my lap.
“Is something wrong?” I asked. “Is Constance okay?”
“Bratty as ever,” he said, glancing around. I wondered what he thought of my house. Compared to his elegant, exotic apartment, it seemed cramped and dull. I poked a finger through the afghan and tried not to feel defensive. “Niobe’s got her at the House right now. She’s making friends already.”
“That’s good. They don’t mind that she’s got Flat parents?”
“Apparently not. Can’t imagine what they see in her,” he said.
“Cut her a break. She’s had a lot to deal with.”
“Same as you, but I don’t catch you throwin’ a tantrum every five minutes. Nice flowers, by the way. Cujo?”
“Flowers?” I asked, and he tilted his head toward the kitchen.
Sitting on the table was another vase of sunflowers.
I shoved his feet off my lap. “Those aren’t from Colin.”
“You got somebody else on a string now? Ain’t it hard to keep track?”
Same vase. Same bright, happy blooms. But The Slice was a public place. My kitchen had a silent alarm system, installed by Colin the day after we’d met. “Can you tell if someone’s done magic in here?”
He stretched out a hand, his expression going distant as he concentrated. After a moment, he came back to himself. “An Arc’s magic carries a signature, like a fingerprint, or DNA. This place is clean, ’cept for me.” He touched my shoulder. “What’s goin’ on?”
“I wish I knew.”
By the time I’d reached the sidewalk, Colin was climbing out of the truck. The cold rain soaked into my thin sweater and I shivered.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something you should see. In the kitchen.” Before I could say more, he was sprinting for the house, dragging me behind him by the wrist.
“Down, boy,” said Luc as we burst inside. Colin ignored him and went straight to the kitchen, while I dug in my bag for the sunflower drawing.
He grabbed the vase, tilting it from side to side until he found what he was looking for. “Here,” he said, pulling out a card.
I held out the drawing. “Trade you.” His head snapped up, expression turning to disbelief as he took it.
The small white envelope fluttered like a moth in my hand. Gently, Luc steered me toward the couch. “Sit down.”
The paper tore under my fingers and my heart sank at the unfamiliar alphabet. “I can’t read this.”
Colin reached for it, but Luc was faster.
“It’s Russian. First line says ‘Thank you.’ ” He glanced up, a quizzical crease above the bridge of his nose. “Who you helpin’ out in Moscow?”
“Keep reading,” Colin said.
“Second part’s an idiom. Means, ‘The enemy of my enemy ...’ ”
“... is my friend,” Colin finished. “Great.”
He paced the room while Luc laid one arm across the back of the couch. “Care to fill me in?”
“The Russian Mob sent me flowers,” I said. “Wait. How do you know Russian?”
“Languages come easy for me.”
“Everything does,” I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. “Not everything, Mouse. Question is, why are they sending a thank-you note? Thought you were limitin’ your favors to the criminals you were related to.”
I slumped back on the couch. “I wasn’t trying to help them. All I did was tell the truth.”
Colin spoke from his position by the window, his voice brusque. “The end result was the same. It helped them get a toehold here. Left their guys on the street.”
“But the guys from the lineup are dead now.”
There was a beat of silence, and then he turned to face me. “Where did you hear that?”
Too late, I remembered Jenny was a secret. “Aren’t they?” “Yeah.” He pressed the corner of the note into the pad of his thumb, his eyes never leaving mine.
Luc whistled. “For someone who says she likes quiet, things do seem to pick right up when you walk into the room, don’t they?”
“When did you get the drawing?” Colin asked.
“Monday. I bumped into an old guy at school. He must have put the drawing in my bag then. They sent flowers to The Slice, too, but there was no note.” Before he could ask, I added, “I didn’t want to worry you.”
“It is my
job
to worry about you.”
“I’m tired of being your job,” I shot back, scrambling up.
Luc stood. “Anybody else want somethin’ to drink?”
Colin sat on the arm of the couch, his hand closing over my wrist. “You should have told me.”
“I thought it had something to do with the Arcs,” I said. Not that I’d mentioned it to Luc, either. “Who killed the guys from the lineup?”
“Who told you about that?”
“Not you, that’s for sure.”
“Now is not the time to prove a point. Ekomov is dangerous. If he’s feeding you information, it can only end badly.”
“It’s not Ekomov. I promise.” I pulled my hand free as Luc returned. “Colin, you have to trust me.”
“This is touchin’, but I ain’t here to watch you two hug it out.” Luc shifted, and I could feel his nervousness crackling along our bond like a lit fuse. “We have work to do. Can’t be putting it off because Cujo’s falling down on the job.”
Colin bristled, and I glared at Luc. “Stop it.”
“I have to tell Billy,” Colin said, sounding less than enthusiastic. “You stay home.”
Luc coughed. “Pascal wants to see you.”
“Who the hell is Pascal?” Colin asked.
“Arc. Big fish. It ain’t like we got all the time in the world, Mouse.”
“I can’t leave now. My mom is going to be home soon.”
“After she’s asleep, then.”
I sagged at the thought of going Between again. He touched my shoulder and smiled encouragingly.
“Meeting’s here in the city,” he said. “No going Between if you’re not up to it.”
Colin shook his head. “You’re not running off with this guy in the middle of the night.”
“You’re worried ’bout her breaking curfew?”
“You can’t keep her safe.”
Luc extended a hand, palm up, and a flame danced harmlessly along his skin. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Colin’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t say anything.
Luc extinguished the flame. “Ticktock,” he said. “I can put Pascal off for a few hours, but I need to tell him what the plan is.”
“You have to take care of the Russian thing tonight?” I asked Colin.
“Billy needs to know.” There was no apology in his voice—he was all bodyguard now, remote and focused, as I’d predicted. “The sooner the better.”
“Fine.” There was no point in arguing. Turning to Luc, I said, “Come back at eleven. I’ll meet you by the garage.”
“Lookin’ forward to it.” He touched my cheek and strode out the front door. Red lights crackled across the front lawn, and then he was gone.
“I really hate that guy,” said Colin.
“The feeling’s probably mutual.”
While Colin called my uncle, I took my bag upstairs and started on homework, trying to lose myself in differential equations and imaginary numbers. I wondered what Constance was doing, if she was at the training house with Niobe or sitting in her room, afraid of her powers, hating me, missing Verity. My eyes fell on the strange jumble of links the Quartoren had given me. Fused together, they looked like some sort of atomic model, the links tracing the patterns of electrons orbiting a nucleus. I poked my finger through the center, half-expecting to find resistance, like a force field, but there was nothing except a hum that raised goose bumps along my arms.
Exhausted, I dropped the links on my nightstand and lay down on top of the covers with my AP Chem book. The tiny print squiggled and swam across the page, and my eyes drifted shut. I heard my mom come home, chatting with Colin, urging him to stay for dinner. Nothing in the tone of her voice or the muffled conversation sounded urgent—Colin must have gotten rid of the flowers.
Her footsteps squeaked on the stair treads, and then she appeared in the doorway, her face drawn with concern. “Hi, sweetheart. Colin said you’ve been studying all evening.”
Trying to, anyway. “Pretty much.”
“I made a brisket for dinner. Biscuits, too. Do you want to come visit while I finish up?”
“I’m not hungry.”
She moved closer, laid a cool hand on my forehead. “You feel a little warm. I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“Tired,” I said, fighting back an enormous yawn. “Can I skip dinner? I’ll be better if I nap.”
“It might help for you to eat,” she chided. “We never got to have our talk.”
“Mom, please. I just need to rest.”
Worry etched little lines at the corners of her mouth and nose. “If you say so. Colin said he’d see you tomorrow, the usual.” She bent and kissed my forehead lightly. “Get some sleep.”
I understood his message. “The usual” meant Billy wasn’t putting more guards on me yet. I knew how to decode Colin’s words. I knew his moods and gestures, I knew the meaning behind his looks—even the ones he didn’t realize he was giving me—and I’d thought, naively, that was enough. He’d said it was enough for us to know each other, that his past didn’t matter. But whomever he was protecting was very much a part of his present. A present he was deliberately excluding me from, despite having an all-access pass to my entire life. Until I figured out what he was hiding, we didn’t stand a chance.
After reaching for my phone, I dug out the crumpled napkin with Jenny Kowalski’s number and keyed in a text, trying to ignore the feeling I might be betraying Colin’s trust. It was precisely because he didn’t trust me that I had to do this.