21. Darkness Immortal （Talia）

21

DARKNESS IMMORTAL (TALIA)

I hate that when my phone rings, my heart still leaps with hope that it's Micah.

It's only been… what? A day or two?

Too soon for me to be over him, but I'm still telling myself I should be.

I've always been my own harshest critic. Always feeling like everyone else forgave me too much , and while my family and friends and doctors told me it was okay I wasn't like the other kids, okay that I couldn't do the things they did…

Really, I was the only one telling myself it wasn't.

I was the one pushing for more .

I pushed myself to have a life, and that life isn't over just because I'm missing my heart.

I just need a little time to heal.

Preferably without late-night calls ripping at the same wounds all over again.

As I lift my head from my worktable, I realize it's been hours since Grandpa went to bed. I've been lost in fine-tuning details, working them into proper drafting plans with measurements and materials, then picking out just the right piece of lumber to start shaving away. I carve out the basic shape, curls of pale pine wood littered across my drafting table, my familiar tools resting in the velvet bed of their wooden case.

But it's almost midnight and my phone is ringing.

Why the hell would Xavier Arrendell be calling?

I haven't had the energy to confront him about the bounced check yet.

Maybe it's a mistake.

Maybe a million other things I wouldn't know because I'm not from a world where that kind of money changes hands easily.

I should ignore it.

Let him leave a message, and I'll call back during normal business hours.

I really should go to bed.

But if I do, I'll just wind up staring at the ceiling, wondering what Xavier wanted and trying not to think about Micah.

So, with an annoyed sigh, I pick up my phone.

"Mr. Arrendell," I say, brushing sawdust and shavings off my shirt. At this time of night, I don't have anything left in me to be soft and polite. "It's pretty late. What can I do for you?"

"First, accept my humblest apologies," he says smoothly, completely immune to my coldness. "I understand you had some trouble at the bank today. I'm deeply sorry for that, Miss Grey. I'm so accustomed to doing everything digitally that I must have picked up an old checkbook. My bank said a check of that size so dated triggered a hold for fraud."

"So that's what happened…" Relief floods my veins. "Apology accepted. We can sort it out in the morning, I guess."

"I'm afraid we can't," he says quickly. "I'll be out of town, handling an urgent business merger in Riyadh for the next two weeks. I've drawn up a cashier's check—no risk of that bouncing. My flight leaves at the crack of dawn, I'm afraid, so I need to be out the door shortly. Would you mind dropping by since you're still up? I'll have Joseph leave the front light on for you."

There's a touch of teasing, familiar humor in the last comment, but it falls into an empty pit in my soul.

Holy hell, I can't just say no.

But I don't exactly want to do this.

"…couldn't you just leave the check with Mr. Peters?" I glance idly at the darkness outside, barely lit by a crescent moon through the clouds. "I can come by and grab it first thing tomorrow morning."

Xavier's response sounds pained.

"Forgive me. Please don't think me snobbish, Miss Grey. However, a cashier's check is as good as cash, and I never leave that much cash with the help. You understand, yes?"

Yikes.

If you don't want me to think you're a giant snob, maybe don't be such a sneering prick , I think glumly.

"All right. Give me half an hour. I'll be there."

"Lovely, Miss Grey. We'll see you then."

He doesn't sound like he's trying to be slimy, but it still sounds unclean.

I wrinkle my nose, then slide off my stool, stretching and rubbing my aching neck.

I head upstairs to change into something presentable—an instinct now, to cover myself as much as possible around Xavier—and leave a quick note for Grandpa on the kitchen table.

I glance into his room before I leave.

He's folded up, sleeping with that little whistling snore he's always had, a tiny squeaking whisper that used to make me giggle.

But his hands are bandaged.

The prescription bottle of anti-inflammatories on the nightstand looks nearly empty, when he shouldn't run out for another week or two. That tells me it's bad, and if he keeps going this way, he might accidentally overdose.

Oh, Grandpa…

Sneaking in, I kiss his wrinkled forehead, then ease the keys off his nightstand, folding them tight in my palm so they don't jingle.

It's moonless when I step outside, the clouds low in the sky.

Even the streetlamps feel dimmer, turning the night into grey mud—or maybe it's just my mood.

I hate seeing Xavier Arrendell this late.

Even worse, I hate the messy feelings about taking his dirty money, considering the source.

But it's for my grandfather.

When it comes to family, I'm no better than anybody else. I guess my morals bend.

Only for Grandpa?

Wasn't your moral compass spinning like a ballerina the second you joined Micah's little schemes?

Oh my God, I can't.

Not right now.

I still can't process the whole DEA thing, and that takes a back seat to the bone-crushing way he ended things. I don't need to show up at the big house upset and vulnerable.

Just the thought of what Xavier might do with that makes my gut lurch.

If that creep tries to hug me, I swear only one of us is leaving that house alive.

The truck does a lot of lurching of its own as I drive up the hill. It might just die on me again, but I wasn't walking out there alone this late at night.

Still, the old girl makes it. Barely.

When I pull up, I see Joseph Peters has, in fact, left the light on for me. Just a lonely lantern next to the tall double doors, a gold beacon guiding me toward his slim, wary figure as I park the car and climb the steps.

He looks tired tonight. Troubled.

Maybe his conscience is starting to drag him down.

"Mr. Peters." I smile.

"You're welcome to call me Joseph." I wonder if he's defrosting a bit. But he reaches for the door to open it, then stops, and suddenly his arm is a barrier as he gives me a long look. "You really shouldn't be here tonight, Miss Grey. If I told you to turn around and go home, would you listen?"

My heart stops.

"What? Why? Do you know something I don't?" I search his face.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "I simply know there are people here tonight who prefer not to be seen—and it would be unwise for you to see them, Miss Grey."

What people?

The Jacobins?

That rips at my heart, but I mask it behind a numb smile.

"If I'm going to call you Joseph, you should call me Talia. Look, I promise I'll be in and out. Less than five minutes. I'm just picking up a check before Xavier leaves the country."

He gives me a long, heavy look that makes me realize I would never be one of the final girls in those movies—you know, the ones who survive because they listen when the creepy, seemingly crazy old man with the bulging eyes warns them before they head into the woods where their friends will be murdered.

I mean, Joseph doesn't really fit the crazy old man bill, but…

I'll be fine. He'll be close by.

What could happen just by sneaking in to grab a check?

Joseph's look lingers a little longer.

I check to make sure my phone is in my bag and that app Micah had me install is on the main screen. Even if we're strangers again, I still think he'd come running if I needed him.

"I promise," I repeat with a smile that's braver than I feel. Everything in me screams to turn around and go home, forget the check. But I can't forget my grandfather's bandaged hands and that nearly empty pill bottle. "Five minutes. Go ahead and count. I'll keep my head down and avoid eye contact with anyone else. And you'll be there, won't you?"

The look he gives leaves me so uneasy.

"Hurry. He should be in his office." Silently, he pulls one of the double doors open and waits for me to enter.

For once, I lead the way with Joseph close behind me like a shadow—guardian angel or stalking demon, I don't know. My back suddenly feels too exposed and it's a little harder to breathe.

Stop it.

You let him get inside your head.

You let him scare you.

My chest aches by the time I stop outside Xavier's partly cracked door.

The halls are a little dimmer, making the golden light falling through that slit brighter. I rest my hand on the door and turn back to Joseph with a smile and a wink.

"Start the timer," I tease.

He doesn't answer.

He just stares like this is the last time he's ever going to see me.

A cold lump settles in my stomach.

I hold my breath and knock on Xavier's door.

"Mr. Arrendell?" I call. "It's Talia Grey."

"Of course. Come." Past the door, his voice is icy and eerily calm.

Stealing one last glance at Joseph for reassurance, I find nothing there except blank withdrawal, save the silent warning in his eyes.

It's like he's still telling me not to go in there.

I hold his eyes for another second, then push the office door open and step inside.

Xavier looks more casual than I've ever seen him.

His suit coat is draped over his chair, the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, the collar unbuttoned.

His blond hair seems disarrayed. He leans back in his high-backed leather swivel chair with one leg crossed, his elbow propped on the arm and his gaze fixed on his laptop screen.

A paperweight on the front corner of the desk pins down a slip of paper that looks very much like the infamous check I desperately need.

How bad would it look if I just grabbed it and ran out the door?

But he looks up, his dead green eyes piercing me as he gestures to the empty chair across his desk. "Come, sit. I have something I'd like to show you."

Oh, no.

He really wants to talk about the project now ?

So much for in and out in five minutes.

But Grandpa's treatment is riding on keeping Xavier Arrendell happy, so I force a fake smile and pull up one of the desk chairs.

"Sure. What do you want me to see?"

He says nothing, just gives me a measured look.

Then he slowly turns the laptop around so I can see it.

I'm expecting something normal.

A Pinterest mood board with new designs, a home tour video, an Instagram home show that screams we need a whole new direction, suited to his rich, finicky attitude. Instead, I see—

Me.

Caught on video.

First, slipping Micah's number into Joseph's pocket, my lips moving soundlessly.

Then I'm rifling through Xavier's desk, taking photos of his phone bill before I'm pawing through the drawers like a hungry bear chasing honey. I know what's next.

Taking the camera from his desk drawer .

My vision goes white for a second.

I can feel him glaring, but I can't take my eyes off the screen.

Every passing second steals more air from my lungs. I can't seem to make the simple act of breathing work anymore.

I am a flipping idiot.

Of course there was a hidden camera.

Of course someone as paranoid as Xavier would have cameras everywhere.

And now, he knows.

I'm gasping, making a strained, wheezing sound.

"Problem, Miss Grey?" he bites off.

I jerk my head up, my heart hammering, my lips working as I meet his eyes.

Except nothing comes out.

I don't have air for words. Not with my entire body imploding while I'm trapped in those inhuman jade eyes.

Sometimes, I thought Micah's eyes were hollow when he'd shut me away.

But they're nothing like this.

Nothing like the arctic green void of Xavier's as he tries to decide how to kill me.

"Mr. Arrendell, um…"

A tired, angry sigh boils out of him.

"I suppose I have you to blame for the fact that my domestic bank accounts have all been frozen by the federal government. You really should have minded your own goddamned business, little girl. Now that idiot cop you've been fucking is going to make himself a problem, too—or perhaps not, once he realizes you're such a desperate little jezebel that you'd flirt with my valet for information."

Flirt?

Oh. Without the sound on the camera, he must have thought I was—

Yeah, it doesn't matter.

There's a second of surreal relief knowing that Joseph Peters won't be implicated by my stupidity.

But then Xavier's gaze flicks past me with a weariness, like he's done this a hundred times.

"Take her," he growls.

I don't understand the flick of his hand.

Not until a shadow falls over me from behind.

It's hard to move, but I whirl around, half expecting to see Joseph Peters, complicit and doing his master's bidding.

Oh, if only I was that lucky.

Eustace Jacobin stands over me, this hideous witch in black.

She leers like a nightmare, reaching bony hands out, aiming for my throat.

She doesn't get a chance to strangle me.

Panic detonates in my brain until I'm spinning.

The lights go out as I fall down a black vortex of fear, screaming silently into total oblivion.