Infatuate (10 page)

I read it again. Then, without another thought, I crumpled it in my hand, as though it might disappear if I could hold it tight enough, suffocate it. I stuffed it in my wallet, as voices bounded down the corridor, inching closer. Lance, Dante, the whole group appeared.

“See you tomorrow, John,” Brody said to a burly, mustachioed man in a T-shirt that looked too tight and wearing a tool belt slung low on his hips. I figured he must be the supervisor at this site.

“Take it easy, guys,” the man said. Sawdust and sweat coated his face and meaty arms.

“Hey you, did you get lost?” Lance asked with a laugh. “You should see it back there.”

“Hi, no, sorry, I was . . . trying to call Joan.” I didn’t mean to lie, but I wasn’t prepared to tell the truth. “I’m . . . how are you?”

“Geez, Hav, man up. You really are scared of this place, huh? You look like you saw a ghost.”

I couldn’t find the words. Luckily I didn’t have to.

Max elbowed him. “You’re so mean. C’mon, Haven, I’m with you. Let’s get outta here.” He led the way and we all followed. I cast one last look before the door closed, as though he might appear.

7. I Have to Tell You Something

It had already begun to eat away at me, this note nestled in my wallet. Even I could tell I was acting weird, like when I gazed spacily out the window of the streetcar or zoned out talking to Lance and Dante as we wandered those picturesque blocks to the library.

As soon as we reached the tutoring room upstairs, which was already full of more than a dozen kids of all different ages, I hung back and let Lance go in with the others, then grabbed the back of Dante’s shirt, pulling him out to the hall.

“Hey!” he said in protest.

“I have to tell you something,” I whispered. There was no mistaking my tone. He noticed the serious set of my eyes and reflected it back to me, ready to listen. In sixty seconds, he was up to speed.

“Wow,” was all he could say at first, as he looked at the note.

“Do you sense a sinister undertone or maybe just something more informative? Like, ‘By the way, just so you know, I’m around’?”

“Um . . .” He bit his lip like he didn’t quite want to answer, which I could only take to mean something sinister.

“And, I thought I sort of saw something in the window of the mansion one night, but I may have just hallucinated.”

Dante hung his head, processing, then looked up as he handed back the note. “Look, Haven, you said it yourself. There’s no telling what might’ve happened to Lucian during his time, you know,
below.
The Prince is obviously still gunning for you—for us,” he added, trying in his own way to be comforting. “And really all we can do—”

“I know, I know, we have to operate under the assumption that everyone,
everyone,
is against us. We have no reason to think otherwise.” I sighed. “But the real question is—”

“Lance,” Dante finished my thought.

“My gut tells me that I can’t
not
tell him but . . . I can’t tell him. I don’t know why . . .”

“I know why. He’ll freak the heck out.”

“Yeah. Right?” I said, defeated.

“Yeah, for any number of reasons. I mean,
wow.
”

“But it doesn’t seem right to not tell him. From a security standpoint alone, this is kinda something we need to share, right?”

“Um, yeah, I’d say so,” Dante confirmed. “And then on the other hand, it’s kind of a classic ex-boyfriend problem. You don’t want to lie but . . .”

“But I didn’t go looking for this. And Lucian wasn’t really a boyfriend . . .”

“Whatever, Hav. Maybe you didn’t, like, go out on date nights much, but there was enough there that Lance would sorta flip out, in my humble opinion.” I knew he was right, of course. “Give me the note,” he demanded.

I hadn’t realized I was holding it pressed to my heart. I handed it back to Dante. He flattened it, read it fast, and looked at me, as though searching for some sort of answer to a question I hadn’t asked. Then with a sharp swoosh, he tore off the lettering with my name at the top of the note, which included the
H
on the flip side. I gasped, surprised at myself. For some reason, it felt like he was tearing a hole in my heart.

Dante handed me the scrap with my name on it. Though I missed the weight—physical and otherwise—of the full note, I saw his point; now it was no longer
mine.
Now it could have been intended for any of us, all of us. In fact, without my name at the top, the tone shifted. It felt more ominous.

“‘Hey. Look at this note
I
found,’” Dante said in the exaggerated, robotic delivery of someone reading a script badly. “‘It’s really creepy. See? What do you think it means?’” He flipped back into his normal voice: “I’ll show it to Lance and say I gave it to you first, and since you know Lucian’s handwriting, it makes sense that you could identify the author. We’ll do it tonight when we get back.”

When we finally got to tell Lance later that night, we did exactly as we had rehearsed. I felt guilty. Lance took the paper from Dante and stared at it for a good long time, running his hand through his messy dark locks. Finally he handed it back, a faraway look in his eyes.

“That’s it then. We’re just going to have to look out for one another. All the time. Because they know how to get to us when they want us.” He was quiet the rest of the night. He said he was just tired and turned in early. I didn’t press him.

That night when I saw the flash from next door, I sat up in bed, staring at that corner of the mansion. At midnight the light flicked on. A figure appeared, framed by the window. I could see the ghostly form of a man the way the moonlight hit but only in hazy silhouette. I could tell that he was facing my direction, his head at the exact angle it would need to be to see my room. I shuddered, my skin crawling, but, even so, I found myself descending that ladder and taking a place at my window. I opened it and climbed out onto the balcony, which, like the courtyard, was deserted. I watched until the light flared out and the window went dark.

But the next two nights it was illuminated again, like clockwork. qct

Connor had announced he was treating us all to a Friday night feast at a New Orleans landmark to celebrate our first week of work. Antoine’s was packed, every table filled with boisterous patrons, as the host led us back through a series of dining rooms to our own private spot. Bathed in a deep green with gold trim, and a glimmering chandelier cascading down from the ceiling, the ornate room seemed to double as a museum. Glass display cases lined the walls, showing off ball gowns, tiaras, crowns, and capes worn by past Mardi Gras kings and queens, along with their scepters. I positioned myself at the end of the table where Emma sat, far away from both Connor
and
Jimmy. I wondered for a moment if she had been late to arrive or if she was intentionally avoiding them.

I offered to take photos of everyone seated along the banquet table. “Okay, I’m good with this side. Thanks, guys,” I said, checking the photo in the viewfinder and confirming I’d clearly gotten a solid half of the group in one shot.

I had decided to take my phone’s advice and return to old lessons learned. Back in Chicago, I had discovered that my photos could expose people’s true nature, cut down to their soul, and show what was there. If there was evil, the image in the photo would rot; it was that simple. I had been entrusted with the power to destroy these photos and banish these beings to the underworld. There was nothing simple about that; they would fight to the death—and they certainly had earlier this year—but I could do it.

“Okay, smile on three. One, two, three!” I called out in my perkiest voice, which sounded so unnatural to my own ears, and snapped the shot. I reviewed it fast. Another good one. “Thanks!” I returned to my seat beside Lance.

“So you got some good shots?” he asked, knowingly.

“Yeah, all set,” I answered, tucking my camera in my bag. I set it back on the empty chair beside me. I was saving a seat for Sabine, who had texted that she was just a block away. She had insisted on going home after tutoring to change before dinner. Emma, it seemed, had paid her the ultimate compliment. “Are you sure you’re not southern?” the redhead had asked in a delicate drawl when she had broken off from our group to head home. Sabine, flattered, had blushed.

Dante sat across from me, beside Max, and the two of them seemed completely lost in their own world, talking and laughing like old friends. You never would’ve guessed they’d met only last week. The other guys had clustered at the half of the table near Connor.

“So,” I said to Lance, “anything new next door?”

He had already drained his Diet Coke and was crunching on pieces of ice, thinking. “Same old. The whole thing is a mess,” he said flatly, adjusting his glasses.

“The foyer was bad enough.”

“The rest is much worse. Parts of it were burned. Other parts are just these rotted beams. It’s like an x-ray of a building. You can see in between the different floors, hollow spots everywhere.”

“Could you tell at all if anyone had, um, been upstairs?” I whispered, my fingers dancing over my necklace.

“I don’t really know. There sort of
isn’t
an upstairs right now.” He wasn’t looking straight at me, the way spies meeting up in movies rarely look at each other but talk into that space in front of them with their eyes scanning from side to side. “The place is so structurally unsound that we have to work our way up with the restoration. But I’ll get up there soon, one way or another.”

Tuxedo-clad waiters appeared bearing overflowing baskets of bread. Dante excused himself to go to the men’s room. Lance and I traded quick glances and I rose from my seat and slipped away without a word. I found Dante fooling with his cell phone outside the restrooms, at the end of a dim hallway. He looked up at the sound of my footsteps approaching, shoving the phone back in his pocket and pulling out a tiny tin.

“I can’t help but feel like we’re wasting this,” I whispered as I got closer.

“I’ll figure something out, I swear. But for now, I just think it’s the best thing to do.” I knew he was right, but I lived in fear of when those precious antidotes would run out. We had been taking them daily since the first night.

“For now, here,” he said. I reached in to pick out a leaf, thin as a moth’s wing, and let it dissolve on my tongue.

Lance appeared at the end of the hallway, as expected, striding toward us. Dante offered the tin to Lance too. But just as he reached in to take a tiny leaf, a door opened, the light suddenly shining on us, and Sabine appeared behind him.

“Hey, guys!” she greeted us. “So here’s the real party!” Lance quickly popped the leaf into his mouth. “Did I miss anything? Oooh, are those mints? Can I snag one?”

Dante snapped the tin shut. “That was my last one, sorry,” he said with an easy smile. I, on the other hand, felt completely rattled. “See you in there,” he pointed in the direction of the dining room. “I’m starved!” And with that he slipped away to rejoin the group.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” I said, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t miss a thing.”

“I’ll catch up with you,” Lance said, continuing on to the men’s room.

“I just had to put myself together. I feel so
blah
from the long day in the city of the dead, you know?” Sabine smoothed her silky hair, and, of course, didn’t look the least bit blah.

“Yeah, it’s surprisingly good exercise, all that painting. It works more muscle groups than I expected,” I said as we started heading back to the dining room.

“Totally.” Sabine didn’t look like she was paying the least bit of attention. Her eyes flitted around, her hand fidgeting with the clasp of her bracelet. Just outside the doorway, she slowed her pace and grabbed my arm, pulling me back a few steps. “Haven, I need to talk to you about something.” She stopped when we were clearly out of sight from the guests inside the dining room. Waiters scurried past us with trays full of savory delicacies.

“Sure?” I said, not meaning to sound so unsure. She let go of my arm. Her nervous eyes could barely look at mine. “Is everything okay?”

“I saw what Dante had,” she whispered.

My heart nearly stopped. “Whaddya mean?” I tried to play dumb.

“Those leaves. I saw them. I know what they do. I have some but I’m almost all out.”

The questions overflowed in my mind, setting off warning bells. But the heaviness of her tone told me that she was telling the truth. Beneath the strain in her voice lay a softer intention, the need to be understood and to share a secret. I had to choose whether to let her in. So I asked, “What do they do?”

“They protect you. They keep the toxins away, out of your system.”

“How do you know that?”

“I had a friend who learned the hard way what can happen if you don’t take them.”

As I thought of more questions to ask, I saw Lance coming down the hall. He shot me a confused look as he approached. I answered it with a blank stare. He passed us wordlessly and ducked back into the dining room. Sabine spoke again before I had formulated a response.

“I wasn’t sure whether to say anything,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes pleading. “I didn’t plan on ever telling anyone, really, but . . . it’s hard.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “And when I saw that leaf in Lance’s hand, I just . . . I had to try.”

“I understand,” I said. And I did. More waiters streamed into the room.

“I know it’s not the best time for a bombshell.” She rolled her eyes and almost laughed, reminding me of that lighthearted, easygoing girl I had assumed she was before this.

“No, I mean, hey, when is it ever a good time, right?” I smiled.

“No kidding.” She shook her head. The waiters hustled past us with empty trays.

“I feel like we should get back in there,” I said, even though it was the last thing I cared to do. I wanted to grill her, ask every burning question, and then tell it all to Lance and Dante and try to make sense of it. Did all this mean Sabine was one of us? An angel in training? She had to be, didn’t she?