6. The Beauty Parlor
Chapter 6
The Beauty Parlor
The engine hums, a monotonous drone that grates on my nerves. If my mind weren't already preoccupied, I'd have asked Isaac why he doesn't drive an electric car. But I push the thought away, focusing instead on the encroaching twilight. Twilight, the end of another day, but today, the darkness is welcomed.
It means I can hide.
I should have known better than to try this. But here I am, already on my way, my pulse throbbing in my temples. I can’t believe I convinced Isaac to drive me. Is this a mistake? I’m not sure, but I’m not turning back now. No way.
My heart is a frantic boom, boom , in my ears as I tug at the collar of the ill-fitting blouse, feeling suffocated by the tight layers of disguise I’ve chosen with Zara’s help. She tried to talk me out of it, but after I told her I’m a self-destructive American a few times, she stopped trying and started helping me instead.
This is my plan, my way to investigate. My way of showing myself that I can handle this world.
I’ve been training with Zara for a week, sleeping in the dormitory with the girls. I haven’t seen Alexander more than the occasional nod in the hallway and angry looks across the room. The thought of him, his touch, and how he looks at me is like a ghost in my mind. My heart aches for him; all I want to do is charge towards him and wrap myself around him every time I see him, but I need to do this.
I need to become stronger. And today, I’m taking a chance. Alexander is out of the house, out of sight for once, and I somehow managed to convince Isaac to drive me into town in this ridiculous outfit.
Alexander wouldn’t have let me go, not without a dozen guards and a hundred precautions. He’d have wrapped me in bubble wrap and tucked me away in a safe house, safe from the dangers of this world. But I’m not a child.
The urge to call him, to turn the car around, is a knot in my throat. But I swallow it down.
“In and out,” Isaac says, his voice gravelly as he pulls up to the beauty shop. His hand rests on the gun at his hip.
“In and out,” I echo, my hand trembling as I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. The bright red lipstick feels foreign on my lips, and the short blonde wig is a jarring contrast to my own dark hair. This is the only way to blend in, to stay hidden. My fingers nervously tug at my wig, trying to adjust it to make it feel a little less like a mask.
The surprisingly warm city air slams into me as I leave the car. My feet, trapped in these ridiculously high heels, feel awkward and clumsy on the slick pavement. Shit, Ava, get a grip.
I force myself to move forward, my muscles tense, as I cross the street to the beauty shop.
Opening the door is an assault on my senses. I don’t know how I imagined the place, but this was not it. It’s a riot of color, a mix of reds and pinks, a place that feels like a boudoir rather than a beauty shop. The air inside smells of expensive lotions, scented candles, and a hint of something sweet and floral. It looks like a place of comfort and indulgence, not like the gritty, wet streets of Port Haven downtown. The walls are a deep crimson, adorned with plush velvet cushions and mirrored surfaces that catch the light in an array of dazzling reflections.
It’s all a bit over-the-top, a little too flashy for my taste. But maybe that’s the point. Like a glitzy illusion borrowed from a nineties Hollywood commercial.
I see a row of plush massage chairs. Women in silk robes and slippers sit reclining in them, chatting and laughing.
I can totally see Dorthea here. It all makes sense.
A dazzling display of make-up catches my eye on a nearby table. These are high-end brands, their bottles shimmering with a promise of transformation and eternal youth.
My gaze falls on a woman in the mirror. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes darting nervously around the room. She’s dressed in a simple black dress. She looks—out of place. It’s not the girl from the house, it’s another one. One with the same haunted look in her eyes.
The woman who left the house a week ago never returned, despite Isaac and Alexander's search. Shake yourself out of it, Ava.
The girl in the dress notices me watching her and she quickly looks away. Her eyes are wary as if she’s constantly on guard. I clench my fists, the urge to speak to her, to understand what she knows, bubbling inside me. But this isn’t the time or place.
“Can I help you?” A woman with bleached blonde hair, her black roots clearly visible, and garish blue eyeshadow stands behind a counter. Her skirt rides high above her knees. Her voice is sharp and impatient.
“Y-yes, I’m looking for a job,” I stammer.
Calm, Ava.
Her eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over me, lingering on my clothes and the way I stand. "What's your name?" she asks. My mind goes blank, the carefully rehearsed answer I'd practiced evaporating into thin air.
“Daisy,” I mumble, my eyes falling on the wilted flower in a pot on the counter.
Great, Ava, can you be more creative?
My frustration with myself is mounting. I should have thought this through better. But I’m already here, and turning back feels like admitting defeat.
The woman narrows her eyes, her gaze lingering on my clothes and make-up. “Alright, Daisy, you might do. Let me get my boss,” she says, disappearing into a back room.
A few minutes later, the woman reappears, her head cocked to the side. “He’s not in now,” she says coldly.
I turn to leave, but the woman stops me. “Come by tonight, around 10 pm, and meet him,” she says.
“Are you open so late?” I ask, feeling a tremor creep up my spine.
“Come to the back entrance. There are offices there for the management. He’ll be there,” the woman says, sizing me up.
“Great, see you then,” I say, my teeth gritting together. I shiver, the feeling of unease growing stronger with every passing second.
I’m being thrown into the deep end. I need to return to the safe house and train more with Zara. I don’t feel ready for this. But also, I know I can’t let this opportunity slip away.
As I head for the door, a bony shoulder, sharp as a knife, bumps into me. I feel a small, folded piece of paper slipping into my hand. Looking up, I see the pale woman, her eyes pleading as she passes me on my way to the exit.
“Nita,” the woman calls from the counter, her voice sharp, “Come here. Eyes on me.”
Without thinking, I snatch the note from the pale woman. Something about her, her almost translucent skin and those haunted eyes makes me uneasy.
“Yes, madam,” the young girl answers, her voice a nervous chirp.
“Go get some more towels from the laundry room,” the woman says, her gaze piercing.
I hear Nita scurrying off. I step out of the beauty parlor and inhale deeply. The rain has stopped, thank you, weather gods . Isaac is waiting by the car. His face tenses as he sees me.
He starts the car, his voice a low growl, “Alexander will kill me. I should never have let you persuade me.”
“Relax, Isaac,” I say, forcing a smile, trying to mask the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. “I’m okay—and I won’t tell him.”
He gives me a skeptical look but doesn’t argue as we merge onto the main road, heading towards the edge of Port Haven.
“What were you doing there anyways?”
“Gathering intel—”
“So, did you get any?”
“Not yet—”
Isaac turns his eyes to the road, leaving me staring out the tinted windows.
The silence in the car is heavy, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the sound of my own racing thoughts. I clutch the note, its paper thin and flimsy in my hand.
Fuck. What just happened? What did I agree to? And what about that girl? Something about her doesn’t feel right. I can’t get that image of her bony shoulder, so sharp against my arm, out of my head.
I unfold the note as soon as the shop is out of sight. My entire body stiffens, and my skin erupts in a sea of goosebumps. It’s a simple message, written in a shaky hand: “Stay away.”
I swallow, shoving the note back in my pocket. I need to find out what's happening at that place, and I need to find out tonight.
The city stretches before us, a canvas of urban life painted in bright lights and dark shadows. As we pass downtown Port Haven, near the harvest market, I see shops closing up, packing away their wares. It’s a scene I used to enjoy, a ritual of the city when fall arrives. But right now, it’s just another reminder of what I’ve lost.
On my right, the coffee shop near my work comes into sight. The storefront window displays a tempting array of pastries and loaves of bread, and the bakery still has its rustic charm.
You’ve only been gone for a few weeks, Ava, relax.
I miss their too-strong coffee and the innocence of sharing a cup with Sarah. I miss Sarah. I miss her homemade tea, the warmth of her hand-knitted wool blankets, and our late-night talks.
I freeze, seeing a mane of red hair. Is that wishful thinking? Or is that actually her?
My heart leaps in my chest like a wild bird taking flight. It’s her!
Sarah sits at a table. Even with the shadows deepening, her red hair is impossible to miss. I rub my eyes, making sure I’m not hallucinating. It’s her, alright. She’s wearing rainbow-colored pants and a white crop top draped by a warm pink wool coat. A laptop rests in front of her, and a half-finished cup of coffee sits beside it.
She looks up, her face brightening, but then her smile fades, her gaze flitting towards the door. My heart sinks. She looks—different. Something’s changed in her. I want to jump out of the car and hug her until I can’t breathe. But I hold myself back. I can’t put her in danger. Not again.
“It’s Sarah,” I say, pointing towards the shop with its bright, cheerful lights.
Isaac nods, his expression unreadable. “I told you she was fine.”
“Can you slow down?” I ask, my voice tight. “Just for a moment.”
“You can’t say hi,” Isaac says, his tone firm.
“I know,” I whisper, my throat tightening. “I just miss her. I want to—see her.” My eyes are fixed on Sarah. She looks like herself, but her composure feels forced, like a thin veneer hiding something beneath.
As we’re about to drive off, a figure emerges from the coffee shop. A familiar shape that I had hoped never to see again in my life.
He’s instantly recognizable, and a chilling wave of fear washes over me. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a dark aura that seems to cling to him like a second skin.
It’s Cole. The Raven .
I duck low in the seat, my heart hammering against my ribs. But it’s in vain—he’s not coming towards us. His eyes, cold and calculating, are fixed on Sarah.
He walks towards her, a smirk playing on his lips, a chillingly familiar expression. He leans in, hugging her, and whispers something in her ear. She tenses but nods curtly, a subtle tremor running through her shoulders. He hands her a small object, I can’t see what it is, and then he leaves.
Our eyes meet for a fleeting moment, his gaze piercing through me. I feel a cold prickle of recognition. I might be imagining, but I’m not taking any chances.
“Drive!” I gasp, my voice trembling. “It’s Cole!”
Isaac doesn’t need any more prompting. His foot slams down on the gas pedal, the engine roars, and the car shoots forward, leaving behind the coffee shop and the image of Cole and Sarah.
I try to make sense of what I just saw, but my mind is racing, a tangled knot of fear and confusion. Cole and Sarah, together? What is going on?
I stare out the window, the city blurring past, a whirlwind of houses, shops, and apartment buildings, and the familiar streets suddenly feeling alien. The world feels like it’s spinning, and I feel like I’m falling into a darkness I can’t see but can feel closing in around me.
Why is Cole meeting my best friend?
My mind is racing, but one thought rises above all others: I have to protect her. And there’s one thing I know with a terrifying certainty: I need to get rid of the fucking Raven, even if I have to kill him myself.
The safe house feels stiflingly quiet, like a heavy blanket. The scent of lilies met me as a woman opens the kitchen door, a sickly-sweet reminder of my parents’ funeral, making me gag. The memory hits me like a freight train, a jarring reminder of the pain I’ve carried for so long.
I’m sitting in the living room with some of the women, trying to read a book, but everyone’s eyes dart around the room, waiting. The room itself feels like a cage, with its rough-hewn wooden furniture, a massive stone fireplace, and the freakin’ stuffed moose above. It’s all starting to annoy me.
I need to talk to Alexander. I need him, but he’s not back yet. He’s been gone for hours. I don’t want to admit it, but I miss him. His hands in my hair, his touch, the way he’d lean down to whisper in my ear, his deep voice telling me anything. I miss talking to him. But a more profound fear is also growing, a fear that’s as sharp as the rain that clings to the windows of this house. Is he safe?
But a darker feeling is also stirring within me. It’s like that time in elementary school when Alicia Higgins got a puppy, and all the girls wanted to be her friend. I remember the gnawing feeling inside me, a feeling I'm too proud to admit: jealousy.
This week, I’ve noticed how the women in the house practically swoon at the mention of his name, their eyes following him when he enters the room, a silent competition for his attention. It feels like they’re all vying for him, and I’m just another piece of furniture, another pretty face in a sea of similar faces.
“Where is your Alexa ?” one of the women asks, batting her eyelashes, bringing me back to reality. Her voice is breathy. “You still— with him?”
He’s not even in the house, and she’s already practicing a hundred ways to hit on him. Ugly jealousy rears its head, a venomous snake slithering through my gut. I know I shouldn’t feel like this. But we haven’t spoken for over a week now. It’s not like us.
“He’s with me,” I say, my voice calm but with a sharp edge.
The anger inside me flares, a building wildfire threatening to erupt.
“Then why you sleep with us, slatka ?” another one says, a sly smirk on her lips.
I’m about to explode; the anger will spill over in a moment like an erupting volcano.
“B-because—”
Instead of answering I storm out of the house, the air outside is fresh and chilly. I need to breathe, to move. I need to feel something, anything.
I find Zara at the back of the house, practicing her punches against a heavy bag. Her movements are fluid and controlled, almost hypnotic. She catches my eye, and her lips curl into a smile. She’s a beautiful woman with a wild mane of dark hair and eyes that hold a mischievous glint. She’s a woman who knows her power, and she doesn’t hesitate to use it.
“I need a session, now!” I demand, my voice a breathless rush.
“That is good attitude,” Zara says, her smile widening. “Keep that up, da .”
Before I can even register what’s happening, she throws a punch, her fist connecting with my stomach.
The air leaves my lungs with a gasp, and I double over, my breath catching in my throat. My teeth clench, my jaw tight, and pain explodes through my core. I try to draw in a breath, but it feels like someone is squeezing my insides. I see stars, my vision blurring at the edges, but I don’t fall.
I get up, my legs wobbly, my stomach screaming in protest. Zara’s voice cuts through the haze. “You’re nothing—you ragdoll,” she says emotionlessly.
I meet her gaze, my anger simmering. “I’m not,” I say, my voice bitter, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
Zara shrugs, her eyes flickering. “Or—punch bag. For men to have fun with.”
It’s the last straw. Her words, dripping with disdain and mockery, ignite a fury I never knew I possessed.
“You! You don’t talk to me like that,” I say and lunge forward, my feet barely touching the ground, fueled by a burning need to prove her wrong. But Zara is too quick. She side-steps, her movement is graceful, and she sweeps my legs out from under me. I fall heavily, my jaw connecting with the cold ground. A wave of nausea washes over me, my vision dimming, the world a spinning blur of pain and confusion.
The world shifts back into focus, and I’m still on the ground. My jaw aches, and the taste of blood is metallic on my tongue. My body throbs with a dull ache, my clothes damp with sweat and tears. I’m bruised but not broken.
“You need to fight with your mind, slatka ,” Zara says, her eyes flashing with amusement and cold calculation. “Not your emotions.” She throws back her head and laughs; it sounds like a wolf’s howl.
I’m still on the ground when I see Alexander stepping out of a sleek black car that just drove in. He’s impeccably groomed, his hair perfectly in place, his face clean-shaven, dressed in a sharp new suit. He’s back, he’s safe, he’s okay.
I smile, the tension easing from my shoulders for a moment. I almost forget that we’re still fighting. He hurries toward me, his eyes filled with concern, but Zara intercepts him before he can reach me. She wraps her arm around his neck, her grip tight and possessive, a viper coiling around its prey.
“Let Zara know when you tire of that—little thing,” she purrs, her voice a low growl. “When you’re ready for—real woman.” Her smile is predatory.
Alexander tries to ignore her, but she plants her lips on his, a bold move that catches him off guard.
He pushes her away, his voice a low warning. “Don’t do that.” He wipes his lips clean.
“Easy—big man,” she says, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” She pulls down her shirt, a blatant display of her curves, her eyes daring him to take notice.
My blood boils. There’s a fire igniting in my gut, a fierce heat that’s spreading.
I’m not just a little thing . I’m not a ragdoll. I’m not a punching bag.
I get up, my legs shaking, and run toward Zara, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I see the surprise flash in her eyes as I charge, my fist coming up to meet her jaw. She turns just a second too late, and the impact sends her staggering back.
Zara stumbles, her eyes wide with surprise, and then she’s on me. Her grip is a vise, and she slams me to the ground, the wind knocked out of my lungs.
“Decent punch, Parker,” she says, her voice a low growl. “But you’ve got a long way to go.”
Her words hang in the air, laced with a cold, hard truth. She’s right. I have a long way to go. But I have to go tonight. Even if it kills me.
“Alexander?” I call out. But he’s already disappeared inside, his silhouette swallowed by the ranch house.
Whatever.
I rise to my feet, brushing the dirt from my clothes with a restless hand. I need a shower, and then carefully choose my outfit for tonight.