Wicked Stalker (Captives of the Onyx Brotherhood #1)

Four

Eve

“That’s it. I’m calling an ambulance.”

I frown up at Billie framed in my doorway. Her hand rests on her hip, and she’s squinting at me.

“It’s the Love Island finale tonight, and you forgot about it. You must be seriously ill.” She glowers around my room. “And why’s it so bright in here?”

She’s not wrong. I have the nasty yellow overheads on, my lamps, my fairy lights, and a couple of flashlights. It’s as bright as an operating theater. I normally keep my room dim and cozy—I get enough bright light in the labs at school—but this evening, I have something to study.

I hold up the strange pack of cards that came in my mysterious package. “Sorry. I’ve been looking at these. There’s something off about them. They feel a bit too thick.”

She plonks down next to me and takes a card between her fingers, twisting it in the glare. She bends the corner, and I have to stop myself from snatching it off her. They feel special somehow. Like something rare and precious .

Since I opened the package, I’ve found it hard to leave them alone. Billie hands the nine of clubs back with a shrug. “Feels pretty normal to me. That magician, though. He’s a fucking ghost. I can’t find anything about him.”

Billie is an art major, but she should have taken criminology. Her investigative skills are second to none. Before Cole and I went on our first date, she’d already hunted down and stalked most of his exes. Any guy she dates gets the same treatment.

“I’ve looked for him across all the socials, and the only magician I could find called Gabriel is a fat old guy who does kids parties. Definitely not our guy.”

Certainly not. He stood tall and lean and had strong forearms. I can still picture the way his tattoos curled around them and up into the short sleeves of his T-shirt. I blink away the image and focus on Billie.

“Maybe he uses a stage name?”

Billie scoffs. “I thought so too, so I called the bar. I said I loved his show and wanted to book him myself. Asked if they could give me a number or website. They wouldn’t! The guy said it’s against his policy. It’s so weird. Why wouldn’t he want referrals for work?”

I run through every scenario I can think of. “Maybe he just does it as a hobby, not for a job?”

Her forehead creases. “He was good, though, and that equipment couldn’t be cheap. You’d think he’d want to get paid.”

“Maybe he’s an eccentric billionaire.”

It’s a joke, but Billie’s mouth drops, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God. Imagine if he is! It’d explain how he got our address.”

My stomach dips at the reminder of that. However intriguing the cards are, it doesn’t erase how creepy it is that he sent them. We never even pulled out our IDs for security. How did he find out who I am? And so fast.

Still, we spent the morning worrying over that. I don’t want to get sucked down into it again, especially not at nighttime. Instead, I smile. “If he’s a billionaire, maybe he can pay for my doctorate. We should go back to the bar tonight and look for him.”

Billie gives my leg a sympathetic squeeze. I’m desperate to continue my education, but my scholarship only covers undergrad. There’s no scholarship program for higher degrees. The best I can hope for is an internship at a big pharmaceutical company, but most don’t take students with just a Bachelors.

“I know you’re kidding, but I checked the bar’s schedule for the next couple of weeks. They’ve got live bands, a comedy night, and some sort of speed dating.” She makes a revolted face. “Every night, there’s something else on. I don’t think he’s coming back soon.”

I glare at the card in an odd mix of disappointment and relief. Even if we find him, what will I say to him? “You’re a creepy stalker. Stay away from me. Oh, and by the way, can you please show me what this deck of cards does?”

Because I’d have to ask him. I wouldn’t be able to help myself.

I clump the cards together and slip them back into the metal case they came in. It’s as beautiful as the cards themselves, decorated with red and black stones forming the shape of a stylized G . As if he wants to remind me where they came from. I tuck it back into the magic box.

My room suddenly feels claustrophobic. I love having my own space, even though it’s tiny, barely fitting my single bed and a desk. It’s mine. Back home, I shared with my two sisters, who never gave me a single second of privacy. Any piece of contraband they found ended up right in front of my mom.

I’ve covered the walls in posters and pictures like I was never allowed to do as a teenager. It’s chaotic, a riot of messy color. Billie says it gives her headaches if she stays in here too long, but it’s just how I like it. Usually.

I get to my feet. “Come on. Let’s watch the show. I’m sure she’s going to end up with Brayden.”

“No way. It’s–”

My phone buzzes, and Billie sees Cole’s name pop up before I can hide it. “That fucking asshole. Has he been hassling you? I’ll tell him where to go.”

She grabs for the phone. I get there first. “No. Don’t—”

My voice must have given me away. She stares at me, horror-struck. “No. Please. Tell me you’re not thinking of forgiving him for this? They were practically fucking in the corridor.”

I flinch, and her eyes widen. “You are! What the hell? He’s always been a dick, and last night confirmed it. What’s wrong with you?”

Exactly what I ask myself every time Cole tries to slide his hand down my pants and I twist away. What is wrong with me? Logically, I don’t believe that fornication will send me to hell. I don’t believe in hell at all.

But logic doesn’t have much chance against deep-rooted guilt. Against the memories of the beatings I took every time my mom thought she caught me looking at a boy. “You’re different,” she’d always say, “built sinful, not like your sisters.”

Every time I try to relax with Cole and let myself enjoy the wandering fingers, her shrill voice rings in my head, shattering the moment and making me want to run. To push him away and bolt for the hills. And he’s been patient with me. Kind, even though it clearly frustrates him.

One drunken mistake isn’t the end of the world, is it? He’s human, and we’ve been together for eight months. Most guys would have given up on me after the first three dates. Right?

Billie tilts her head. “Eve? Are you okay? ”

I close my eyes. “Yes. Look. Can we not talk about Cole tonight? I just want to watch the show and chill.”

She huffs but nods. “Okay. Promise me one thing, though. If you’re going back to him, make him wait a while. Two weeks at least. Make him sweat. Promise?”

I smile. “Sure.”

***

I’m seeing Cole this evening at a fancy restaurant he picked out. I followed Billie’s advice and made him wait the two weeks, and he’s sent me two bouquets of roses, a bottle of too-sweet perfume, and some chocolates, which I’m eating as the professor drones on. Elderly professor Bartlett could make any subject dull. I hate lectures at the best of times, much preferring the practical fun of the lab sessions.

“Those who are attending the enrichment program, please stay behind after class. I need to run over a few procedures for tomorrow’s session with Dr. Michaels.”

My heart sinks. The enrichment program, open to students with the highest grades, comes at an additional cost not covered by my scholarship. I tutor high school kids for cash, but the money I make has to go on basics like accommodation and food. I tried to save up enough but didn’t even come close.

Enrichment students do extra credit courses with some top names in the pharmaceutical industry, building exactly the sort of connections I desperately need.

I pack up my bag and turn to leave. “Evelyn,” the professor calls. “Where are you going?”

“Sorry?” I turn back. All the students are staring and it makes me fidget and pull my jacket tighter .

“You’ve been added to the program. I received word yesterday to add you to the list.”

I set my backpack down on the desk and stare back at him. “Sorry, there must have been a mistake.” Heat rises to my cheeks as I add, “I’d love to do the program, but I can’t afford it.”

“No mistake. Your name’s right here.” He brandishes a printed-out sheet. “Evelyn Walker. Perhaps the university board decided your grades merited a free place?”

Unlikely. I’d been met with a firm no when I’d enquired.

Still. No point arguing with good fortune. “Maybe. Thanks, Professor.”

I listen to the instructions in a daze, then leave the lecture hall deep in thought, heading home to prepare for my date.

Before I get ready, I pull out the deck of cards one more time. I’d told myself I’d leave it alone but can’t seem to stick to the promise. There’s something I’m missing. I just know it.

I pick out a card at random—the three of diamonds—and go through the routine that’s become familiar. Hold it up to the light. Twist it this way and that. Bend the corners. My aversion to messing with the cards wore off quickly as I struggled to find the secret.

I’ve tested them with magnets and electrical current. Examined them under a microscope. It’s gained me nothing but weird looks from everyone else in the lab.

This time, I try to clear my mind and see the card for the first time again, as if I’ve just pulled it from the case. It’s a trick I use whenever I can’t figure something out. People get stuck in a single way of thinking so quickly, our minds running along set paths like trains on a track. The only way to see new perspectives is to break free of that.

Card in hand, I try to strip away all the tests I’ve already done, and the frustration. Something is strange about the card beyond the pretty shimmer. I close my eyes and manipulate the card. It’s too thick. Only by the smallest fraction, but enough that my mind tripped over it for a second the first time I held one.

A thought skips across my mind, and I pull out the whole pack. The cards don’t feel overly heavy. If each card was thicker all the way through, the pack as a whole would be cumbersome. So what gives? The cards are thick, but maybe not all the way through. Maybe the extra thickness is just in the edges.

Adrenaline shoots through my veins, and my fingers tingle. It might be nothing, but I don’t think so. The trick is in the edges somewhere. On a hunch, I pull out the fancy sewing kit my mom sent me for my birthday last year. It’s still unopened, collecting dust under my bed.

I find a pin and, as if I’m defusing a bomb, touch the point to the edge of the card.

It slips in, and I drop the card with a shriek as the characters on the front shift. Like iron filings dragged from beneath with a magnet, the shimmering particles that make up the numbers and pictures move, changing the card from a three of diamonds to a two.

What. The. Heck.

How? How in the world is it possible? I’m obsessed with new developments in tech and have never seen anything like this. It would have been crazy enough if I’d seen it at a TED talk or on a stand at some tech company trade show.

But it’s in my hand, given to me for free as if it’s a worthless gimmick.

I wipe clammy hands on the bed as I try to calm my racing heart. I pick up the card again, handling it like some rare Egyptian artifact rumored to be cursed. Fingers now unsteady, I pick up the pin and try again further down the card. I manage to keep hold of it this time as it shifts into a five of diamonds .

Two at the top, five further down.

The logical side of my brain takes hold, seeing the pattern. I test the theory again, touching the bottom corner of the card. It shifts to a ten.

Interesting. Can it do the face cards?

My mind clears as the minutes tick by and I test the card from every angle. It can’t shift color. But it rolls through the full red side of the deck, numbered hearts on the left, diamonds on the right. The top does the heart face cards, the bottom the diamonds.

I test another red card. Then another. Same result. By the time I move to the blacks, I’m confident what I’ll find, and it doesn’t disappoint. Clubs on the left. Spades on the right.

A knock at the door shocks me out of my concentration. Who could that be? Probably just a delivery. Then my phone buzzes, and my stomach drops. Shit. I forgot about my date.