9. Laura

Chapter 9

Laura

I throw myself into sculpting for the next couple of days. At some point, Angelo shows up with that list that I requested, and I toss the papers on my workbench, but I can't bring myself to go through them.

Instead, I dump all my energy into completing two more sculptures in the next two months. I have nine more in the back yard, but dozens of smaller pieces I can sell at the next show, although I'd like to have more jackal ears. My life is hammer, chisel, dust, and sleep, with the occasional break for food.

Which is why it surprises the shit out of me when I turn around one evening to find Elena standing on my basement steps.

"What the hell?" I say, whirling around and brandishing my hammer.

She holds up her hands. "Laura, I was ringing your bell for like fifteen minutes. I knocked, I shouted, and I've been saying your name. You're like in a trance."

"I'm working." I glare at her, although she's right. I glance at the clock on the wall and realize three hours melted away without my noticing. This is what happens when I get deep into the zone: it's like nothing but the work exists. Background noise melts away until my hands are my tools and the block of stone is begging to be released into its final shape.

It's probably not healthy, this obsession, but it's who I am.

"I just wanted to check in with you." She glances around the basement and frowns at my work in progress. "That doesn't look human."

"It's not." I stand between her and the half-finished ear. "I'm fine. You can go."

"Angelo told me you showed up at his house and asked about a show." She comes down into the basement instead of out the front door, which is the opposite of what I wanted. I glance back at my work, already yearning to get lost in the flow again, but she's not going to leave until we have a talk.

And to be fair, I haven't given her much time lately. "I liked the last one." I walk past her and head up into the kitchen. She follows, drifting after, and accepts a cold glass of wine when I pour.

"I'm not sure how to say this nicely, so I'm just going to say it. That's not really like you." Elena takes a long drink and smiles. "It's good, but you and good don't usually mix."

I narrow my eyes at her. "I'm allowed to change my mind about some things."

"I know that, and don't get me wrong. I'm really happy you're doing this. I'm just… trying to understand."

I look away and bury my discomfort with wine. How am I supposed to explain to her that I met a man in a mask and let him finger-fuck me on a ledge until I had the best orgasm of my life? Oh, and we're playing some weird game where my life's in his hands and it's the most erotic and exciting experience I've ever had? She already thinks I'm fucked up—for good reason, I did threaten to murder Davide's wife at least once or twice—but this'll just make her institutionalize me.

"I got a taste for what it's like to have a life outside of this house." I decide to go with a half-truth. "And I wanted to do it again."

"That's great." The relief in her tone makes me feel guilty as hell. "I know you've struggled over the years, after what happened?—"

I give her a sharp look. "That was a long time ago. I was a teenager."

"I know, I know, but I mean—" She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. "I'm not sure you ever dealt with it. Not really."

"I went to therapy." A lot of therapy, actually, but I don't say that part. I spent half my life talking to counselors, doctors, psychiatrists, anyone else who might be able to make me more normal . None of it worked. I only kept sinking into my own world.

"Right, but don't you think it means something that you keep making human body parts? Fingers, hands, tongues, eyes…"

I forgot about my eyeball phase. "I don't want to talk about this."

She nods and holds up her hands. "You're right. I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm just saying, I'm really happy you're doing this, that's all."

"Great. You're happy. I'm happy. Can I get back to work?"

Elena sighs and finishes her wine. "I'm also concerned."

"Of course you are."

"It's just so sudden, that's all." Elena chews her lip, and I can tell she wants to say more, but I speak up first.

"Can you just let this be good? Can you try not to look into it? You don't have to always help me, you know." I know that goes against her nature. I sculpt weird body parts, and Elena tries to take care of the people she cares about. That's just who she is.

But in this instance, I don't want her getting too close. Because if she does, she might unmask my little secret, and I'm not ready for him to be public knowledge.

Jackal is mine, and mine alone. That's what gives him so much power.

Elena reluctantly agrees, and I even suck it up and give her a hug. That makes her happy enough to leave me alone.

I hesitate before heading back down to the basement. I love my sister, even if sometimes I don't know how to properly show it. I want to make her happy, and I want to live up to her expectations. But how would she react if she understood what I've been doing? Getting involved with a masked man like Jackal is incredibly dangerous, especially considering who I am.

There are people in this city who would gladly use me to get closer to the Famiglia.

And plenty more who would happily slit my throat to make my siblings suffer.

But for some reason, neither of those thoughts bother me. If anything, they make this whole situation more exciting.

I guess that proves I'm still very much fucked in the head, and all that therapy didn't do a whole lot.

I head downstairs to sculpt.

And I keep sculpting for two weeks straight.

There are breaks. Bathroom, food, sleep, the usual human needs. But Angelo says we're having a show in two months, and that means I need to be ready. I throw myself into work, and I don't even notice it when time slips past. The list of hackers remains on my workbench, and I haven't been able to bring myself to open the folder.

I'll figure him out. He's in there, no doubt in my mind. My family has very impressive dossiers on anyone with talent in this city, and if the Jackal's able to take out Cage's security, there's no doubt my brothers know about him.

Between that, and the description the hostess gave me, I'll recognize him somewhere in that file.

I don't look. It's like a constant, low-level ache in my guts, but I drown the need to peek with more work. I'm physically exhausted and pushing myself to my limits, but I'm happy with how the ears are coming out. I spend a lot of time on the little hairs, making them as realistic and detailed as I possibly can, while making sure to include what I remember of my Jackal's geometric patterns.

Dimly, I become aware of a noise. It's beeping, no, it's ringing. I squint through the dust and raise my respirator over my head as my house's filtration system sucks away the worst of the rock grit.

My phone's ringing. Which is weird, because my phone never rings. I walk over and frown at the screen: it's an unknown caller.

That should be impossible. This number isn't listed anywhere. It's a clean line, given to me by Simon after his best tech guys stripped it down to bare functionality and gave it an untraceable SIM card. Only family has this number.

Except someone else is calling.

I pick it up between two fingers like it's a rat and carry it over to my sculpture. Then I place it down inside the ear, and I smash the shit out of it with my hammer.

"That felt good," I say, smiling to myself. The phone is a wreck of cracked glass and bent internals.

I sweep the mess away and I'm about to get back to work, when another noise gets my attention.

This one's coming from upstairs.

It's ringing, just like my phone had been a second ago, except my phone is in a million little shards.

"What the fucking hell?" I walk up the stairs, mystified, clutching my hammer. "Angelo? Elena? Davide? Simon? If any of you are messing with me, you'd better stop." I yell out into the empty house, feeling like a moron. The ringing is coming from my bedroom. "Seriously, I'm going to murder you with a hammer. That's not an empty threat."

I head toward the sound. In all the horror movies I've ever seen, this usually ends with some masked monster with a knife stabbing the shit out of the dumb girl victim. Except there are no monsters here, none aside from me, and I hope some idiot tries to stab me. That'd be the best thing to happen to me all week.

Nothing moves upstairs. The ringing is coming from my bedroom, and my heart starts to accelerate as I push open the door. It's meticulously clean inside, everything neat and orderly, the bed made and crisp, and it takes me a second before I can figure out where the sound's coming from.

It's my laptop. The screen's closed, and it should be in sleep mode, but it's making this terrible ringing noise. I walk over to my end table where I keep it plugged into a dock and yank it out, cursing at the thing, tempted to smash it with a hammer but then I won't be able to stare at the screen and watch random anime while falling asleep tonight. I toss it down and flip it open, teeth bared and pissed beyond belief?—

When the image of a jackal emoji stares at me from a black screen.

It's jiggling like a call's coming through.

And the emoji is smiling.

I stare as my heart goes haywire. It keeps ringing, ringing, the jackal head dancing, and I reach out with a trembling hand to move the cursor on top of the small green accept button.

I click and my heart's in my throat.