Flawless//Broken (20 page)

“And also quite dead,” I say.

“Very dead,” He laughs, then thumps me on the back. “Aw man, I’m gonna miss you, sweetcheeks. You’re the only one with a sense of humor around here.”

When Ellie gets back from work, I break the news to her. She smiles wanly as she sits me down in front of her dresser. My reflection is nervous, hers is forced-happy. But despite her inner turmoil she works like a pro, applying perfect eyeshadow and pinpoint cat’s eye liner. When she tries to put foundation over my scar to hide it, I stop her. She hesitates, then smiles. With a swab of baby-pink lipstick, she nods and puts her hands on my shoulders.

“There. One extra-beautiful Mia, coming up.”

I put my hand on hers, and I notice her tears in the mirror.

“Do you remember what I told you,” She murmurs. “That night you called me over to the trailer park?”

Of course I do. I remember every second of that night, whether or not I want to. She held me in her car, after we’d gotten rid of the evidence, and I cried and cried into her shoulder.

“Bad things happen to good people,” She’d said, and she’s saying it again now, holding my shoulder tightly. “And bad people happen to good things. But the bad things and bad people don’t last, because nothing in this world lasts forever. Sometimes all you can do is just hold on.”

I stand, and it’s my turn to wrap Ellie in a hug, even as my heart is breaking for her. For myself. For Darius, who really has lasted forever.

“Just keep holding on,” She sobs. “And it’ll all be okay.”

***

This time, the portal is hidden in a rose garden.

It took us a while to get here, mainly because Lake wouldn’t shut up about my dress, or my legs, or any part of me, really. Finally I just yanked him by his jacket to the motorcycle, and his endless compliments were drowned out by the wind. I have the sneaking suspicion it’s just his way of trying to make me less nervous, but it’s doing the opposite. I might look nice, but on the inside I’m tired and I feel ugly and nothing makes sense. I want to get this over with, so I can go back to creating some semblance of a peaceful life.

Instead of red light, the portal is written on the ground in a symbol made of small pebbles, perfectly placed and meticulously hidden in the West Park’s rose garden. People passing would assume it’s some sort of elegant stone arrangement, innocent and normal. I’m reluctant to walk on it, but Lake pulls me on it and says ‘bicallis’. The stones don’t glow, but when I look down I see them shaking slightly. And when I look up again, the roses have faded. The smell of them is replaced by the smell of the ocean. Bright sun nearly blinds me, and I realize we’re standing on a white sand beach in ankle-deep water, with the same pattern in rocks below us.

“Ah, shit,” Lake swears. “I forgot about the water. Sorry. Your pretty shoes ruined at all?”

I take them off and fling them back and forth, spraying water on him. “Oh, they’re totally fine.”

“Hey!” He laughs, shielding himself. “C’mon, that ain’t fair at all. I can’t splash you back or your dress will get wet.” He raises one eyebrow. “Unless that’s what you want.”

“As if,” I roll my eyes, and look around. The water is completely turquoise, clear as the sapphire necklace around my throat. Seagulls dip on the horizon, the sun setting like blood beneath the waves. Stark white cliffs surround us, with lovely green foliage as far as the eye can see. Lake points to a massive white mansion, even bigger and more grand than Darius’s, sitting on the north cliffside.

“That’s us.”

He leads me up a path in the cliff, and I’m suddenly grateful I took my shoes off - even the tiny two-inch heels I’m wearing would be killer on these rocky steps. I look back at the beach and notice other people are stepping out from seemingly thin air - couples, usually, or a group of people. Most of them are dressed impeccably in designer dresses and tuxedos, elegant shawls and jackets barely hiding expensive jewelry. They’re all skin colors and ages, and the only common factor between them is the fact every group is escorted by someone in black and leather, with knives and swords at their hips. Reapers.

“Everybody here has a Reaper,” I say. Lake nods.

“Alchemists and Azoths hire us as bodyguards. And that’s only gotten more and more common. Can’t be too careful with the Mutus gettin’ bold these days. The added bonus is we can use the portals and transport them to where they gotta go. So the Reapers get real busy around a showing time.”

His green eyes spark as he waves at an older woman Reaper. She smiles and waves back. A few Reapers shout ‘Lake!’, and he turns and waves at them, too. Some even walk up to us and thump him on the back, or mess up his hair, and Lake laughs. It’s like a brotherhood, and they all know each other. Or maybe everyone just likes Lake. For an army of people with half-souls, they don’t seem emotionless or stunted in any way. Any way I can see on the outside, that is.

Once we’re up the steps, I put my shoes back on. The mansion now looms before us, a gorgeous olive tree orchard in front of it. Now that we’re close, I can see it’s more rustic than I first thought - wooden window shutters and stained-glass windows with beautiful scenes of people dancing. The creamy stone of the building is slightly lumpy instead of smooth, and the roof is tiled in ancient, dark red brick. People hang around the orchard, clutching drinks and laughing and enjoying the sea-salt twilight air. A bigger crowd is inside the mansion. We walk inside, and I’m shocked by how modern the furniture is in comparison to the old building - leather couches clash with old mahogany tables and grand paintings of a rich family long dead. Or alive? Who knows, with these alchemists. A few tables along the walls are laden with cocktail shrimp, fancy cold cuts of meat, olives, light lemony pastas, spring rolls, pita bread, and various dippings. Maids in full-length maid outfits take drink orders. A string quartet sits in one room, where a marble ballroom floor waits to be filled with dancers.

“There’s not a lot of security,” I whisper to Lake. He leans in and murmurs.

“Don’t need ‘em, not with all these Reapers here. Can’t rightly tell which alchemists are secretly Mutus or not, but if a Munkie tries to slip in, one of us will sense them for sure. And the rest of us will take care of ‘em faster than you can finish your drink.” He winks. “Speaking of drinks, let’s get you something. You look way too nervous.”

“I don’t drink,” I say. He sighs.

“And I’m working, so I can’t drink either. Well, it’s just you and me then, two boring, completely sober young adults surrounded by drunk old crones.”

“Who are you calling a crone?” Zhen’s voice resounds. She sidles up to us out of nowhere, looking ravishing in a red silk qipao, her dark hair let loose and flowing like a river of ink over her shoulders. She smiles at me, looking me up and down.

“Oh, Mia. You look so beautiful.”

“You can…you can see me?” I instantly cover my mouth. “Oh, shit. Sorry. That was rude.”

Zhen shakes her head, milky eyes bright. “It’s alright, really. But yes, I can see you. Your Azoth lights you up like a firecracker.”

“Oh, neat. You…you look good, too.” I smile. “You said we’d meet again soon, and you were right.”

“I usually am,” She giggles. “Come, I must introduce you to some of my friends.”

Lake follows as Zhen leads me, arm-in-arm, around the main room. She introduces me to Xianshi, a very old alchemist from China with the longest white mustache and most intensely twinkling dark eyes I’ve ever seen. His English is perfect, though from time to time he’ll turn to Zhen and say something in Mandarin, and she’ll respond with a little laugh.

Xianshi reaches out and takes my hand, smiling warmly.

“You’re welcome to visit Beijing whenever you feel like it, Ms. Redfield,” He says. “I would be happy to show you around the city. It is quite large, and there is much good food to be had.”

“If there’s food there, I’m there.” I smile. “It’s a very generous offer, thank you.”

Xianshi laughs. His dark eyes catch on my necklace, and his eyebrows raise.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did you procure that lovely necklace?”

“It was…a gift,” I try. Xianshi smiles.

“I see. That’s a very deadly gift.”

“You can tell?”

He nods. “Any alchemist worth his salt can tell that was made to keep you safe. It’s much harder to tell you why they made it. But I can definitely tell you who made it.”

His eyes wrinkle kindly, and I fidget. He speaks after a short silence.

“Darius is very good at what his does, isn’t he? And he cares very much for your well-being.”

I snort. “If he cares, it’s because of my Azoth.”

Xianshi frowns, but before he can answer, a waitress leans over his shoulder and whispers something to him. He looks to me, and bows.

“It’s been lovely meeting you, Ms. Redfield, but I must ply my attentions elsewhere. Have a wonderful night, tonight. This party is as much for you as it is for us.”

He slips into the crowd with surprising agility. Zhen pulls at my arm again.

“Isn’t he wonderful?”

“He’s not so bad,” I smirk. “I thought all these alchemists were going to be snooty and cold.”

“Not every alchemist is Darius,” Zhen giggles again. “Xianshi is one of the seven Sage Council members. One of them usually attends a showing, to report back to the others.”

“Ms. Redfield?” A strong voice echoes. I look up to see a man with slicked-back dark hair and olive skin approach us. His suit is perfectly tailored, and his accent is definitely Italian. He’s good-looking, so much so many of the women follow him with their eyes. His eyes follow only me, though, and linger on my scar. I see the disgust flare in his eyes only briefly before he tames it. He holds out his hand to me.

“Ms. Redfield, I am Antonio Vericci. I’ve heard so much about you, but nothing compares to your beauty in the flesh.”

“T-Thank you,” I manage. “But my looks aren’t really why I’m here.”

“Of course not,” He smiles. When his eyes find Zhen, his smile goes dark. “Zhen. I didn’t see you there.”

“You wouldn’t,” Zhen smiles, though it’s cold. “I imagine you only have eyes for women that offer you some use.”

Antonio forces his laugh, and Zhen only smiles wider. Her eyes spot someone over his shoulder, and she looks to Antonio, then me.

“Oh! There’s Genevieve. We should greet her. It was nice seeing you again, Antonio.” Zhen whisks me off through the crowd, and I whisper to her.

“What was that all about?”

“Antonio’s known for constantly buying new Azoth, only to sleep with them and discard them, buying a new one and starting all over again. He just likes the conquest. He’s barely a passable alchemist, hanging onto his grandmother’s legacy and talent to get favors. He’ll definitely try to bid on you, tonight. Be careful.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I sigh. “With all these pretty dresses and fancy food I almost forgot I’m here to be bought like cattle.”

Zhen smiles, nudging me in the ribs. “I have a feeling it won’t turn out as bad as you think it will.”

We walk over to Genevieve, and for the third time I’m struck by her beauty. She’s undoubtedly the most gorgeous woman in the room, tying with Zhen, though Zhen doesn’t stand out like Genevieve does. Genevieve’s chestnut hair is done up in an elegant bun with a few strands let loose, her dress a plunging violet masterpiece that shows off her elegant arms and neck. Her only jewelry is a strand of black pearls with matching earrings. She spots us, but doesn’t smile.

“Zhen,” She says. “It’s been too long.”

“Almost four years,” Zhen agrees. “I hope you’ve been well.”

There’s kindness in Zhen’s voice, and history behind their glances at each other. Genevieve ignores her and looks to me, raising one eyebrow.

“Oh? It’s you.”

“Hey,” I nod. “Last time I saw you, I was drugged and getting attacked by a homunculus.”

“These are slightly better circumstances to meet in,” Genevieve smirks and gestures around the mansion. “I trust Darius treated you well?”

“He was…” I trail off, and Zhen looks curiously at me. “He was fine.”

“He usually is,” Genevieve laughs. “Though at showings, you can never tell. They treat him like he’s a leper, an animal about to lash out.” She nods her head at the door. “Speak of the six-hundred-year-old devil.”

We turn and watch as Darius walks in, resplendent in an immaculately tailored white suit and blue tie that makes his broad shoulders seem even broader, and his waist lithely narrower. His platinum hair shines in the chandelier light, pulled back into his customary long ponytail. My body instantly heats, my blood coming alive. His eyes scan the crowd, intense and burnt-gold as ever. I feel something in the pit of my stomach flip, and I hate that his presence can do this to me without him even looking at me. Genevieve is right, though - no one acknowledges Darius. They see him, then quickly look away, or stare at him until he notices, and then look away again. People whisper as he passes, but no one dares to speak to him. Darius, seemingly used to all of this, immediately goes to the wall and leans against a pillar, closing his eyes tiredly.

“Six-hundred years of obligation to come to these showings must get so old,” Genevieve laughs.

“You don’t have to be so cruel,” Zhen’s voice is low. “He’s suffered more than you ever will.”

“As he should,” Genevieve smirks. “Did you forget who exactly he is? I know you take pity on the monsters, Zhen, but not all of us feel sorry for the things trying to kill us.”

“They deserve to be treated like people -”

“For the last time,” Genevieve snaps. “You’re not an Azoth, Zhen. You don’t know what it’s like.” Her eyes turn to me. “But you - you definitely know. Try to explain it to her, will you? I’ve been trying for ten years, and she won’t listen to me.”

Genevieve walks off, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. I turn to Zhen, her face crestfallen. She tightens her fist. I put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Zhen laughs, bitterly. “No. But I will be. Just give me a few more years.” Her laugh turns to a sigh, and she pulls at my arm again. “Come on. Let’s go say hello.”