Twenty-Nine
Gabriel
It’s the first good night’s sleep I’ve had since I lost my dad. With the looming horror of the funeral ahead of me today, I’d fully expected another night pacing the apartment, but Eve saved me from that. Just as she’s been the only bright spot this whole, terrible last week.
She fell asleep almost immediately after we showered, but not before she curled into me, hand resting on my chest. It’s the first time she chose to sleep like that. I didn’t dare talk to her, not wanting to break the spell, but she seemed different in the best way, as if the guilt holding her back ceased to matter.
Nothing short of a nuclear explosion would have made me disturb her, so I lay, thoughts quiet for once, and actually fell asleep.
I had to wake up, though. Unfortunately.
Every minute of this day is going to be awful. The funeral director called me up two days ago and asked if I’d like to say a few words, and I couldn’t refuse. Who else is going to do it? Mom has said she won’t be attending. Fair enough. They haven’t really spoken in years, but it still feels weird, as if I’m all my dad really had to show for his life, and we weren’t even close.
My speech is written; my suit, chosen under Sebastian’s guidance, is hanging in the closet; and I can’t think of anything else to do. So, I just lie in bed, nerves creeping over my skin, until Eve stirs.
Once I’m sure she’s actually waking up, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in tight. She yelps, stiffens, then relaxes as she realizes where she is. That hits something in my chest. Being here, with me, is a reason to relax.
She settles, head on my chest, and lays her arm over me comfortably. Her voice is quiet with an anxious undertone. “How are you feeling? About today?”
Damn it. I’d hoped she’d ignore the elephant in the room for a little while so I could too. But now that it’s been spoken the fact of my dad’s funeral is right here in bed with us. There’s no escaping it. “Shit. But I’ll get through it.”
“You will.”
It’s not a question. I shift so I can see her better. There’s a strangeness to her today, an awkwardness I hadn’t expected, given how free she seemed last night. Is she thinking about her mother? Wondering if she’s going to burn in hell?
Though she’s escaped her religion, childhood beliefs have a way of clinging to you. Even now, I’d think twice about saying “Candyman” three times in the dead of night.
Or maybe she’s just worried about me.
Unlikely, given the circumstances. But I can hope.
After a few more minutes of semi-awkward silence, I can’t take it anymore. “Come on. Let’s move.”
Eve sits up, smoothing down her messy hair. She winces as she moves, and a smile touches my lips. “Sore? ”
She gives me a sidelong glance. “Yes. Why do you look pleased about it?”
“Because I’m a man, and we’re disgusting.”
I give her nipple a sharp pinch to emphasize my point, hold it until she yelps and claws at my hand, then let her go. She huffs but looks almost relieved. The tension eases, and I use my thumb to open the locked drawer of my bedside table and retrieve my phone.
I almost drop it when I see the time.
“Fuck! We slept in. I need to go.”
Dad lives close to a three-hour drive away. I rarely get to drive, so I turned down Kendrick’s offer of a helicopter in favor of taking my car. I’ll need the time, I think, to clear my head, both before and after the ceremony. I don’t have a sports car, but I did finally upgrade my boring old Ford to a BMW at the urging of both Jacob and Seb.
“Embarrassment” was the word they used to convince me.
I dress in a rush, pull out Eve’s clothes for the day, and switch the locks to allow her to enter and exit. A quick, oddly domestic kiss goodbye later, and I’m racing out the door to the huge communal garage. A few Brothers are serious gear heads, and their cars sit in special booths, fenced off to prevent any accidental bumps.
My car sits in the main pack, and I leap into it, spinning out of the garage as fast as I can. The guards at the gate pull me over, as always, and search my car thoroughly as I wait. Only Kendrick gets to sail past them without a search. Even if I wanted to set Eve free, it would be impossible.
I tighten my fingers on the wheel. Where the hell did that thought come from?
I accelerate through the forest, air con up full and Pestilence blasting on the speakers. I’ve zero chance of running into anyone on these roads. They’re as empty as a racetrack. Under other circumstances, it’d be fun, but dread at the funeral and a sudden nauseating stomach full of guilt ruin the experience.
I have freedom. I can leave, do things, experience life in the wider world. How would it feel if the gates I just drove through marked the edge of my existence? Even the idea locks a band of claustrophobic dread around my chest. And that’s Eve’s life, forever. Because of me.
I’m a selfish bastard.
I knew it before, but I didn’t really feel it until now. I’ll do everything I can to make sure she loves her cage, but I’m still the one who locked her into it. How could she smile at me so easily this morning? How can she seem like she enjoys my company? I don’t want to think it could be an act meant to lull me into complacency, but it could be. And I can’t blame her if it is.
The hours slip by, and I reach the funeral home with twenty minutes to spare. My guts churn and cramp at what lies ahead. Aside from my magic shows, which were pure escapism for me, I’ve never liked public speaking. The weight of too many eyes doesn’t sit well.
Before I face the music, I make a quick call to Jacob, who answers on the second ring. He’s the only person I know under fifty who prefers to call than to text. “Gabriel. Did you get there safely?”
“Yep. Just here. Is Eve okay?”
“Yes. She’s gloved up at the moment. Do you want to speak to her?”
I consider it but dismiss the idea. I need to focus, and Eve is pure distraction. “No. Just tell her I said to be good.”
“I’m not telling her that.” Deadpan as ever.
“Then tell her— ”
“Gabriel. Focus.”
Reality crashes back in like an unwelcome guest. Pure distraction. Even without actually speaking to her.
“Yes. You’re right. Bye.”
“Good luck.”
“I’ll need it. Thanks.”
The ceremony is as depressing as I’d imagined. I manage not to fall apart while making my speech, but it’s a close call. It’s a closed casket, thank fuck, and I stare at the varnished pine box for a long time before I leave. It’s one of the fancier options, paid for by the Brotherhood and selected by me over a Zoom call in a numb haze.
The sales guy seemed pleasantly surprised, as if people rarely pick the posh caskets. And why would they? Why would people give a shit what type of box they were buried in? Or cremated, in Dad’s case. He always hated closed spaces. He wouldn’t have appreciated being buried.
I make awkward conversation with Dad’s side of the family for a while. My aunt and uncle hug me and compliment me on my speech. A couple of male cousins seem more interested in my car and my new job. I fob them off with the same vague story I give everyone who asks, make my excuses, and jump back into the car.
Three hours, and I’ll be back with Eve again. Where I belong. As I slam the door shut, I breathe out heavily and close my eyes. There’s still tension and grief, but my mind is fresher. Going through the depressing ceremony has helped, against all logic. Maybe it’s more than just a stupid tradition after all.
“Bye, Dad,” I mutter, and this time, I don’t stop the tears when they come. I’m safe in here behind my tinted windows. No one can see.
I ring Jacob before I set off. Again, he answers as though he’s been waiting for the call. “How was it, mate? ”
I sigh. “Good, actually. I feel better.”
“Good. We’ll grab a beer later.”
“Definitely. Is Eve still with you?”
“Nope. I offered to get some lunch with her after her shift finished, but she said she had a headache. Went for a lie down.”
“Oh?” I tap my finger on the steering wheel. “Did she seem okay? Or like she’s getting sick?”
“Jesus. I don’t know, Gabriel. She seemed like a woman with a headache. I’m sure if she thinks it’s life threatening, she'll tell someone.”
“Right. Sorry.” He’s not wrong, but the prickle of worry remains. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye.”
Once I hang up, I pull up the camera feed from my apartment. I scroll through all the rooms once, then again, carefully studying each corner. There’s no mistake. She’s not there.
She probably just went for some air.
It’s the most likely solution. It makes sense. But that prickle of worry grows, turning into a cluster of stabbing thorns. Why in the name of fuck didn’t I get her a phone? A secure one only linked to mine. If I hadn’t been so scattered for the past week, I would have.
I pull up the tracker program. It’s linked to both Eve’s collar, with its restricted zones, and the second tracker she doesn’t know about, the one buried in her neck. Sweat breaks out on my skin, and my stomach gives a sick lurch. The screen is blank. It shouldn’t be possible, but it is. Where Eve’s little red dot should be, in the center of the screen, there’s nothing.
Someone has disabled both of her trackers. My phone buzzes in my hand with a message.
ANONYMOUS: I have something of yours.
The picture turns the ice in my blood to raging boiling lava. Eve, tied to a chair, head slumped to the side. Unconscious. In the background, a blond woman frowns at the camera.
What the fuck?
An uncontrollable shiver racks me. Not again. It can’t be real. Someone must be recreating my dad’s death as a sick joke. Surely? And who is the blonde?
I study her more closely, and her name slots into place. Melanie. I’ve never spoken to her, but Jacob once told me he felt sorry for her. Her Patron, Aldo, is a rude asshole. I stare at the photo, trying to make sense of it. Another message comes through.
ANONYMOUS: Don’t contact the Gilda. I’ll know. I want all your teleportation research. Every theory, every line of code. All of it. I’ll send a location. You speak to someone, she loses a finger. If you’re not here in three hours, I’ll chop one off anyway. She’ll be awake for it. I’ll film it for you.
My body flushes hot, and my head spins as blood pounds through it in a heavy rush. Someone has her. My Eve. My fucking girl. What to do… I clutch my phone. Would they really know if I called someone? Kendrick or Jacob would know what to do. They could—
No.
I cut off my cowardly line of thinking. Eve belongs to me. She’s my responsibility. And I’m going to risk her getting mutilated just to ask for help? No fucking way. I slam the car into drive and shoot out of the car park .
They want my research. My discovery all set to change the world. Everything I’ve worked and dreamed of for years. That’s the price for my Eve.
They can have it.
It’s as clear as a ringing bell. My discovery is worth everything to me, but she’s worth more. If it keeps her safe, I’ll give them my own head on a silver platter. I’ll slit my wrists and pour the blood out for them to drink.
Or better, I’ll take the gun I’ve got hidden in my bottom drawer and make them pay for daring to touch her. Whoever the fuck they are.