Chapter 4 Vivid Black
Valentine’s Day, A Year and a Half Ago
My gaze sweeps through Arcana & Bloom from my perfect vantage point in the back southwest corner of the café, away from the windows, against the walls of bookshelves, no blind spots behind me, everyone in full sight.
The café and bookstore are an assault on the senses.
Multicolored throw cushions clash across sunken seating.
Artsy prints collide on green walls. A bust of some dead poet stands in the corner.
Lana is currently chatting animatedly with the redhead, Scarlett, who’s grabbing pinches of strange herbs from jars and tossing them into a blender behind the counter.
And I haven’t even cataloged the outrageous displays of flowers—dripping from the ceiling, clustered in corners, on top of tables, against the walls.
Celia would love this place. Someday, when she gets better, I’ll take her here.
I check my phone. Four p.m. One hour down. Lana should be done soon. Then I’ll escort her back to the estate and disappear before she canoodles with Elias—it’s sickening how disgustingly in love the two of them are.
I’ll clean my guns. Do some target practice. Read. Books don’t speak.
“You’re scaring away our customers,” a teasing voice says to my right.
Surprised—and I’m never surprised—I turn to find the brunette in Lana’s trio staring quizzically at me, her lips twitching.
Aria.
“This is not your—” I stop moving my hands, belatedly remembering she doesn’t understand sign language.
Looking around, I snatch a loose sheet of paper from the closest bookshelf and pluck the pen peeking out from her jeans pocket.
“You could’ve asked,” she sputters.
Ignoring her, I scribble onto the paper and hand it to her.
This is not your café. The customers are fine. I’m doing my job.
She snorts.
“You’re a robot, you know? Lana said you’re hard to read, and I thought she was joking. But it’s been months since we’ve met, and I’ve only gotten a few nods out of you. Thought I’d break the ice.”
I stare at her, not responding.
“Okaaay. She was definitely not exaggerating.”
Aria scrunches her nose. This is the point when people walk away and leave me alone.
Or not.
She settles next to me, her elbow resting on the nearest shelf.
“Eh, but I’m not her. She’s nicer than I am—she’ll give you space and all that. I like a good challenge.” A sly smile quirks her lips, and she eyes me from head to toe.
I frown and rake through my memory of the background checks I did on all of Lana’s friends. Nothing suspicious in any of them. No mention of anxiety-driven chattering or anything unusual in this one’s psych profile.
“I like to matchmake people with books,” she whispers, leaning in. “And you’re a puzzle. You don’t talk. You don’t smile. I watched you last time. You stood still like one of those royal guards in England for an entire hour without moving a muscle. It’s abnormal. Unnatural.”
Something tickles in my throat, but I fight the urge to cough.
That’d ruin my not-moving-a-muscle image, apparently.
Why the hell do I even care?
Boredom. That’s why. The Association won’t be moving in on Lana until after her birthday at the end of the month, so my guarding her is just a precaution.
Releasing a sigh, I grab the paper and pen to continue this strange conversation.
What makes you the arbiter of normal?
“Oh! Arbiter. Fancy vocab. You do read! I knew it.” She seems especially gleeful. “So, what do you like? Let me find you your perfect book.”
Keeping my eye on Lana, I scrawl my response.
Not a challenge if I tell you.
“You’re an interesting one.” She’s full-on beaming now. The tickle worsens in my esophagus. “You’ve got to give me some clues though, or we’ll be here all day.”
What makes you think I’ll stick around all day?
She laughs. “You’re curious. Admit it. You could’ve ended this ‘conversation’ much earlier.”
I narrow my eyes and scan her. Humans are animals. And animals sense danger and stay away. When Si Shen comes, folks run in the opposite direction, afraid they’ll keel over if I so much as glance at them.
But not her, apparently. The woman’s lost her fear gene.
“Come on. Just do it. I’ll leave you alone afterward.” She wiggles her brows.
I sigh and scribble on the paper.
You get three questions. Nothing about books or authors. I’ll answer. Those are your clues.
Grinning, she taps her lips as she muses over her options.
She leans against the shelf like she belongs there, all dark hair and lipstick, her black lace top buttoned up to her throat in a getup I’d expect to see at a punk rock concert, not on Valentine’s Day. She’s small. Not a threat. But I catalog her all the same as I do everyone around Lana.
“Got it.” She snaps her fingers and spins back to me.
I quickly avert my gaze. “First question: What’s your favorite movie?
Second question: What scares you more? The dark or spiders?
Third question: If you could spend the next hour at an all-you-can-eat buffet or skydiving, which would you choose? ”
I blink, my head canting down. What the fuck?
“I’m serious,” she says. Like she knew what I was thinking.
Bewildered, I take the paper and write my answers.
1. Final Destination
I don’t really watch movies, but this one is as good as any. It’s amusing hearing people scream in theaters at something so decidedly not scary.
They haven’t seen real terror like I have.
2. Spiders
Spiders can kill. The dark is just nothingness. Easy choice.
3. Skydiving
I’m an assassin. Need to be in shape.
She brightens and snatches the paper from me.
A bell rings at the door, and I look up, finding a familiar blond man sharply dressed in a khaki blazer and jeans striding toward us.
“Are you scaring off the customers, Aria?” he says with a bright smile.
He’s hiding something behind his back. I stiffen, my hand reaching for my gun until I spot a flash of yellow and green leaves.
Flowers.
“That’s my line,” Aria grumbles, and I bite back my snort. “One second, Blake. I’m getting a book for Ren.”
She finishes scribbling, then moves to the farthest bookshelf with a determined gait.
I eye the good doctor. He smiles and extends his hand. “Blake Amscot.”
I nod and turn away.
Blake Amscot, cardiothoracic surgeon, boring do-gooder. Bad credit. Worse investments. Already cleared.
Aria grabs a navy book off the shelf and dashes toward me.
She slams it against my chest, and I automatically reach out to grab it.
“Let me know if I got it right!” With a wink, she traipses over to Blake, who’s shaking his head with clear affection before handing her the bouquet.
“Really? Sunflowers again?” Aria rolls her eyes, but a smile quirks her lips. “When will you ever get me my favorite flowers?”
“Anyone can get you your favorite flowers. It’s too obvious.” Blake grins, leading Aria toward the door. “Only I can get you my favorite flowers.”
“Excuses,” Aria mutters as the door chimes open. “I bet you don’t know my favorite flower.”
Blake laughs. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“You totally evaded my question! What happened to your whole ‘be prepared’ thing?”
The surgeon sighs. “Fine. You got me. I forgot.”
Aria waggles her finger at her boyfriend. “Queen of the Night tulips. Remember that next time, boy scout.”
The two disappear from view.
I roll out my stiff shoulders and stare at the book in my hands.
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.
The damn tickle appears in my throat again. I cough into my fist.
Mom used to read me this story about a lonely prince cut off from warmth in an unfamiliar world. A boy learning too late what it meant to belong to someone.
A slip of paper peeks out from between the pages.
I take it out and carefully unfold it.
I’m right, aren’t I? Tell me next time.
My heart throbs a painful beat, and I clutch my chest. Fuck, this ticker’s going to give out soon if I don’t get a damn transplant.
Frustrated, I fish out the meds from my pocket and swallow a pill dry.
There won’t be a next time.
I shouldn’t want one.
I shove the book back onto the shelf harder than necessary.
But the note sits on my palm for a second too long before I finally crumple it.