Night Fury: First Act (7 page)

I told him I would.

But I lied.

“Tomas? What are you reading?” His rocking lessens, my cue to start talking. “You know, the stars are the most beautiful natural sight in the universe.”

His body stops rocking all-together. I hide my smile.

He’s listening.

“Have you ever just sat up in your bed with your window open, hoping you’ll catch sight of a shooting star so you can make a wish?” My voice has turned wistful. “I used to do that. I used to lose sleep catching those stars so I could make the same wish over and over.” I breathe in deeply, talking on through an exhale. “My wish never came true. I never found out who my parents were, or why they didn’t want me.”

Tomas doesn’t focus on me, but his twisted hand pushes his book towards me.

My brows rise in surprise.

This is new.

My body warms and my throat clogs at the unexpected victory. I ask on a whisper, “Would you like for me to read to you, Tomas?”

No answer, just a small nudge of the book towards me.

“I’ll read to you, Tomas.” I clear my throat. “I’ll read to you anytime you like.” I smile to myself as I pick up the book and turn to a different page. “All you had to do was ask.”

***

“S
o, what’s the deal with the kid?”

After reading another two astrology books to Tomas, he crawled out of his pillow fort and walked out of the library, leaving me to wonder if he actually let me in at all, or if I was so hopeful for it, I imagined it.

I don’t bother hiding my scowl. “He’s not a kid; he’s my age, Marco. And there is no deal. None at all.”

Marco picks up a slice of pizza from the middle of the café’s table and scoffs. “Don’t pretend you can’t see there’s something—”

“If you say something
wrong
with him, I will stab you with my fork.”

He chuckles. “I was going to say something that makes him
different
.”

Reaching forward, I pick up a slice and blow on it. “He is that, but it’s more than that.”

Chewing his food slowly, he asks, “He simple?”

Nibbling my pizza, I look down at our table. “Simple? Oh, God, no.” I meet his gaze, lean forward and confide, “He’s exceptional, Marco. Super smart. He reads an entire book in twenty minutes. And today, when I messed up quoting a fact to him, he started rocking and tapped his finger on the page, and when I read it again—correctly this time,” eyes wide, I grin and whisper an awed, “he stopped.”

Marco lifts his head in thought and smiles. “I’ll be damned.”

My grin falters a moment. “You can’t tell Bob about him.”

“Why?”

Taking a second slice of pizza, I avoid his enquiring eyes and mumble, “He might’ve told me to stay away from Tomas...or something.”

He barks out a laugh. “Or something, indeed.” I flush as he continues, “Don’t worry, kitten. I’ll keep your secret. See how that works?
Your
secret is now
our
secret.” He winks. “Now I’ve got ammo on you if I need it.”

My shoulders stiffen. “Well, that’s not very fair. You should tell me something I could use against you. That way, we’re even.”

Marco’s grin widens. “Doesn’t work that way, sugar. Secrets need to be given willingly, or dug up.”

I smirk at his challenge. “I’ll get your secret, Marco. Mark my words.”

The playful grin slides off his face. He eyes me in earnest and utters under his breath, “God help you if you do, Cat.”

––––––––

A
s soon as the motorbike enters the gates, I spot him. And my chest tightens. His body stiff, as though ready to pounce, he glares at us as we approach. This is not Bob. This is Father Robert. Bob is easy-going and funny. Father Robert is droll and serious. And by the looks of things, I’m in deep shit.

When the bike stops a few feet away from him, he steps forward in a show of threat. “Where the heck have you been?”

Marco immediately responds, “Went into town.”

He glowers at Marco. “Not you, moron; although, I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Pulling off the helmet, I adjust my veil. My heart races and I respond a meek, “I went to the library.”

“And you didn’t think to tell anyone?”

As soon as I say it, I know I’ve made a mistake. “Marco knew.”

Father Robert narrows his brows and repeats slowly, “Marco knew?”

My eyes look anywhere but at him. “I assumed we wouldn’t be long, and I know Marco has a cell phone. I’m sorry if I worried you, Father.”

Father Robert sighs deeply, and then Bob appears, “Marco does have a cell phone, and I called that cell phone,” his lip curls at Marco, “but he didn’t answer it.”

A look of surprise crosses Marco’s face as he pats his pockets. He cringes when he realises his phone isn’t there. “Shit, man, I must’ve left it in my room. I always take it with me. Sorry, Bob. Won’t happen again.”

Bob takes a menacing step forward until he and Marco are almost nose-to-nose. “Damn right, it won’t happen again. You stay away from Cat. You get me,
boy
?” I watch as Marco’s jaw steels and his eyes turn cold. Bob says quietly, “I know what you’re doing. Back the fuck off. You don’t get paid to stick your nose in other people’s business.”

Never in my life have I heard Bob speak to somebody this way. I’m in a state of shock.

When Bob retreats to the church, I stand there—a foot away from Marco—where I watch his jaw stiffen further and further.

Not thinking, I place my hand on his arm.

He jerks away so violently my stance quickly turns defensive.

Marco speaks through gritted teeth. “He’s right. You should stay away from me.” Silence, then, “I’d hate for you to get hurt, Cat.”

I start, “Marco—”

His eyes hard, he cuts me off with, “I mean it, Cat. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay far away from me.”

I watch him get back on his bike, start it up and speed back towards the road that leads to town. My mind tries to comprehend everything that just happened. Only one thought remains.

My once simple life is anything but that.

***

T
onight is a special occasion.

My feet move around the other women in the kitchen in a dance we have choreographed and perfected over the years. We work well together.

It’s Clark’s birthday today, so tonight, we feast like kings.

Frankie and I prep the dinner portion of the meal, while Ari works on making individual chocolate soufflés for everyone. It’s a finicky thing, baking a soufflé, even more so when making one for everyone, but Ari does this with such grace and precision; it’s a wonder she can hear anything going on around her.

When Ari bakes, the world melts away. She becomes locked in a secure bubble.

This is her happy place.

Frankie peels carrots and potatoes to roast. I season the many racks of lamb to join them. Frankie works the dough for her specialty—handmade pasta. I make the Napolitano sauce from scratch. Ari washes lettuce for the salad, while I quietly chop tomatoes.

Bob approaches.

Bob gets shooed away by three busy women.

Working in the kitchen can be fun when the three of us are together, whereas morning kitchen duty is boring with a capital
B
.

“So, Cat, what did you get Clark for his birthday?” Frankie probes.

My body turns cold with dread. Slowly turning, I ask with disbelief, “We’re doing presents this year? We never do presents!”

Ari rolls her eyes. “I did not get him anything,
chéri
. Do not panic.” Turning to Frankie, she scolds, “Do not freak her out.”

Frankie—still peeling vegetables—grins. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure I know what Clark wants for his birthday, but it can only come from you.”

I’m confused. “Why only me?”

Frankie leans in close and looks around in secrecy before she answers, “Because the boy is in love with you, Cat. He wouldn’t want a kiss from anyone else.”

A kiss?

A kiss with Clark?

Laughter bursts out of me so viciously Frankie’s hand flies to her chest as she jumps back in fright. “Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell is so funny?”

Still chuckling, I explain, “Clark and I are friends! We’ve always been friends. We’ll always be friends. Nothing more. He doesn’t think of me like that. I would know if he does. He would tell me.”

Her eyes narrow. “He would’ve told you, would he?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Taking a piece of tomato off my chopping board, she tosses it into her mouth and talks around it. “Then how come he told me this just last week?”

I pause mid-chop. My head lifts. A look of astonishment masks my face.

Peeling away, Frankie utters sarcastically, “Oh, but I’m sure he would have told you if he were head-over-heels in love with you for the last three years. I’m
sure
.” She drags out the last word, and then adds a
pffft
noise. “’Cause Clark isn’t the least bit insecure when it comes to you. No. Not at all. He’s so confident you love him back that he’s been hiding how he feels all this time.” Her expression turns exasperated. “Wake up and smell the roses, Cat! He’s scared to tell you how he feels!”

My steady heartbeat suddenly quickens.

Could she be right?

I think back to two years ago.

As I shuffle papers, Clark appears by my side. “How’s it going?”

I smile up at him. “I’m good, thanks.”

He laughs awkwardly and scratches his chin. “That’s great, Cat, really. But I meant how’s the job going?”

My cheeks flush. “Oh.” I laugh uneasily. “Umm. It’s okay, I guess.”

Clark’s smile fades. “It’s been over a month, Cat. You need to move it. We need that Intel, and we need it now.”

But ending the job means ending my time with James.

How am I supposed to do that to the person I love?

I don’t think I can do it.

I make a grave mistake. Before I can think about what I’m saying, I blurt out, “James doesn’t know anything, Clark. I swear. He’s a good guy. I know him. He’s not a bad guy. We got it wrong this time.”

He stares at me long and hard before moving closer to me and whispering, “Cat, think about what you’re saying...what you’re doing. Think about which side you’re taking and why.” His expression turns hurt. “You can’t choose him over me...us. You just can’t.”

I don’t respond. Clark doesn’t understand what James and I have.

None of them do.

They’re all against him, and they don’t even know him. In order to avoid this argument, I tell him, “I just need another week.”

Clark is not a stupid man. He knows exactly what I’m doing. His features harden. “He can’t give you what we can, Cat. He is exactly what we said he is. We’re your family. He’s
nothing
. And you’re everything to...us. Please don’t force my hand on this. You have one week.” He takes a step away from me, expression cold. “If you’re not done in a week, I’ll have to tell Bob about this.”

It would certainly explain why he was so protective of me when it came to James. But even if Clark did love me, the question remains.

Do I love him back?

––––––––

I
f you had asked me about Clark three years ago, my eyes would’ve turned dreamy, I would’ve smiled a secret smile and my mind would’ve drifted off to far-away places. All of those far-off fantasies would have starred Clark as the hero of the story. He always came to my rescue.

He was my champion.

But times have changed.
We
have changed. We aren’t who we were three years ago, and honestly, I would be worried if we were. Three years is a long time for nothing to change.

Change is a natural progression in life.

Clark was my very first crush, and having Frankie tell me I could’ve had Clark all that time makes my stomach ache.

Bitterness sweeps through me and attacks my mind with vicious flare.

If you had Clark back then, you never would’ve fallen for that asshole.

Does that make it Clark’s fault, what happened with James?

A solid bubble of emotion clogs my throat and stops me from swallowing. I blink vacantly as my thoughts take a turn in the opposite direction.

What do you feel?

Do you still get those butterflies when he’s close by, or have you resigned yourself to the fact all you’ll ever be is friends?

I’m...I’m just not sure. The more I think about this, the more unclear the answer becomes.

Dear Lord, please help me find clarity in this trying time.

Brushing my hair, I pause mid-stroke to look at myself in the bathroom mirror.

Bob told us that tonight’s dinner was to be casual and relaxed, meaning we don’t have to wear our daily disguises. So tonight, I’m wearing a black, tasteful dress; although, I never wear dresses when I don’t have to, and I’m not sure why I chose tonight to wear one.

Am I subconsciously trying to look nice for Clark?

Sighing, I shake my head and place my frigid hands on my cheeks to cool them and take some of the intense pinkness away from them.

My dress is nice. At least I can say that much. It’s black linen, comes to just above the knee and is fitted everywhere it should be. The neck remains high, buttoned up, with a white collar. The sleeves are long and also have white cuffs. A thin black belt came with the dress, but I don’t wear it. I prefer to keep it simple.

This dress was a gift from Frankie and Ari on my eighteenth birthday. We don’t usually give gifts for birthdays, but they insisted. They said every girl should have a little black dress, so when we went two towns over and I chose this one, they both said it wasn’t the type of little black dress they’d had in mind.

But it’s me. And I love it.

I sit on the edge of the tub and pull on my thigh-high white tights, slide on my black Mary-Janes and just as I go to exit—uncharacteristically and impulsively—I stop to reach for one of Ari’s headbands. I choose a thin, black band with a small bow on the left side.

After I’m sure about myself, I make my way down the stairs and through to the kitchen. Dinner will be held at Mirage, so when I reach the kitchen and find Ari and Frankie still in their habits, I stop in my tracks.