7. Tristan
Tristan
Iknow two things about Adeline Akatov. She’s Lennie’s younger sister, something that goes in her favor, since I consider her the least annoying of Ren’s friends.
I also know Adeline isn’t like her sister. She might have the same dark hair and quick smile, but she put six rounds in Leopold Stuart without flinching once. And because of this, and because she never talks about it, the people around her are worried.
That’s not any of my business, though. Isolde wants to get coffee with her, so we’re going to get coffee with her.
Which is why after the gym, I trail after them, more like a big brother than a bodyguard, as I listen to them discuss Lennie’s upcoming nuptials. Apparently, finding a venue is causing a headache.
Isolde thinks she has a solution for this, which is why we’re meeting up with Lennie. But coffee comes first.
An older, black-haired woman waves at Isolde when we slip into the bustling coffee shop Luis suggested. A younger barista also directs a friendly smile toward the triggerman.
“What are you trying today, Izzy?” he asks.
I’ve never heard anyone call Isolde by a pet name. As far as I know, Ren doesn’t have a nickname for her. Everyone at Fujimori’s calls her by her full name. So, I’m not sure why this barista thinks he knows Isolde well enough to call her ‘Izzy.’
She smiles, running a hand over her slicked-back ponytail, not bothered by his friendliness.
“You brought friends with you and everything,” the barista adds.
“Hiya,” Isolde replies. “You want anything?”
She doesn’t wait for my reply. A few minutes later, I’m handed a black coffee.
“You never mentioned you’d been here before,” Adeline says as we wait for their lattes.
“Jane and I come here sometimes.” She means Abe’s mom, and I tuck this information away.
Jane Fujimori acts like everyone’s mother, at least when it comes to her son’s friends, but I’ve never thought about the woman outside the context of the restaurant she owns.
“I want to hang out with Jane,” Adeline says as we walk out, understanding this is a privilege not afforded to most.
Isolde says nothing, sipping on some sort of coffee concoction with more sugar than actual espresso. We walk another block, pausing outside a cathedral.
Adeline tips her head back. “Yeah. . . This could work.”
“Hi!” Lennie wraps her arms around Isolde, squeezing tight.
Isolde stiffens slightly, but she smiles.
“Yeah, sorry,” Lennie admits, stepping back. “I know you’re not touchy-feely.”
Isolde shrugs. “It’s all right.”
“I think this could work,” Adeline says, pulling everyone’s attention back to the cathedral.
I’m not sure of Isolde’s religious preferences, but she’s at ease as she opens a thick door and ushers us inside. “I’ve already checked with Father Francois. It’s available the day you need.”
Lennie gives her a funny look, her thoughts similar to mine. “Do you go here?”
“Nah.”
The sun shines through the stained-glass windows. The bright, airy space will easily accommodate whatever massive guest list Lennie’s mother comes up with. A few people currently sit in the pews, and I note Isolde scanning the seating. Like she might recognize someone.
It has me taking in the cathedral again. But other than the idea of Cade, there are no visible threats.
I do, however, feel the ghost of my mother.
My mother was a deeply religious person. She’d write out different scriptures on sticky notes and tape them to her bathroom mirror. She taught me to pray. To believe in grace and empathy.
Most of those teachings faded away after her death.
Dad says he still believes in God. He just never had the time to go to church. Not when he worked almost every day.
The last time we were in church together, it’d been for a baptism. My cousin’s baby, because I’m now at that age where everyone I know is getting married and having kids. I got asked a bunch of questions by all my aunts and thoroughly reminded that I had yet to achieve either of those.
“My mother used to always take us to light a candle,” Adeline murmurs, bringing my attention back to them.
She and Isolde have wandered over to a display of candles.
“It’s beautiful,” Lennie whispers, the light from the stained-glass windows reflecting in her dark eyes.
“You gonna admit to them that you and Elijah are already married?”
Her head snaps to mine, her mouth hanging open. “H-how do you know?”
I shove my hands in my jean pockets. “You’re calm.”
“I’m always calm!” A second later she sighs. “Okay, I mean, I’m not always nervous anymore.”
I allow a smile to flicker over my face. Lennie openly talks about going to therapy, but I’ve seen her hesitation sometimes at Fujimori’s if the restaurant is too busy.
She might be admiring the cathedral’s architecture, but there’s a distinct lack of wringing her hands.
Lennie checks to make sure her friends are distracted. “A couple days ago, we went to the courthouse. I just. . .” She shrugs as she tries to find the right words. “I wanted something for the two of us. Just us.”
“Are you going to tell anyone or pretend to get married?”
A huff of laughter leaves her lips. Her cheeks are rosy. Her expression is that type of over-the-moon happy. “I don’t know. Yes, maybe for our families, but I’m really not sure.”
We’re silent for a second, Lennie glancing at her friends again.
“Is Isolde. . .” Lennie crosses her arms. “Is she going to be okay?”
I can’t guarantee shit. And she knows that. Lennie might be shy, but she’s an Akatov. Bloodshed and pain are their way of life.
“Can you do me a favor?” I ask. She stands taller. “Call your husband for me.”
She blinks. “Right now?”
I nod.
She pulls out her phone, hesitating like she doesn’t want to break the rules by making a call inside the hushed sanctuary.
The line only rings once.
“Love?” Elijah’s voice comes through.
Lennie makes a face at me when I hold up my hand. She passes the phone over, though.
“I assume by now, you’ve heard that one of your wife’s best friends has a hit out on her.”
I don’t have to see Elijah to know I’ve pissed him off. Good. I want the Zimin prick to know how serious I am.
“It’d be a real fucking shame if your bride were too heartbroken to enjoy these moments of newlywed bliss.”
“That it would.”
“His name is Cade. He dissects his opponents loved ones, and the Stuarts and the O'Connells don’t want to take him on because he’s such a fucking freak.”
Elijah won’t help me out of the goodness of his heart. I want Lennie to hear this. For her to prod him along into helping me. Which should be easier considering her husband is attracted to sociopaths like a moth to a lightbulb.
“I don’t have anyone in England,” I explain.
“And I have several,” Elijah says lightly.
He lived in Oxford for almost five years and still flies to the UK regularly. He found his most loyal guard, a man named Ivan, while he was there. Elijah’s got enough infrastructure in the UK. He’ll know the moment Cade makes a move.
“I’ll be sure to call you if I hear any gossip,” he promises. “Now hand my wife her phone back.”
The moment she has her phone back, Lennie walks to a far corner, no doubt to assure her husband she’s fine. Her face is drawn, the bubbly smile no longer there. She studies Isolde, and I know she understands now, like I do, how serious this matter is.
Adeline and Isolde are still at the candles. But Adeline’s eyes are wide when I join them.
Isolde has lit every single candle in front of her.
I’m reminded of a kid going crazy. But like always, Isolde’s moves are assured.
Her eyes are closed, not even needing to see the match hovering from candle to candle.
“You religious, Matheson?” I murmur.
Her eyes open, the blue eyes lighter thanks to the sunlight filtering through the windows. “Someone told me how you can light a candle for a person. I thought that was really nice.”
The flames flicker, and smoke tickles my nose.
My mom went to chapel every week. Used to light a candle for me and Dad. And whoever else needed something that week. An aunt about to give birth. A cousin fighting a cold.
Isolde doesn’t strike me as having a big family. So I wonder who the candles are for.
When I acted as the Ghost, I knew exactly who I was killing for. The names and faces of the victims I wanted justice for.
She offers the lit match. “Do you want to light one?”
I think of my mom again. How I’d hang onto her knees as she prayed.
“I’m okay,” I mutter.
“So what are your thoughts?” Adeline asks when her sister rejoins us.
Lennie nods, but her smile is tighter. “Should we find a bookstore? I still need this month’s book club pick.”
Isolde steps back from the flickering candles. “Yeah, let’s go get the smutty book Abe is obsessed with.”
We’ve been in a bookstore for three minutes, and all three women already have multiple books in their hands.
“Ren says you’re big into self-help.” Adeline picks up another fantasy.
“How much shit did Ren tell you about?” I ask, momentarily forgetting about professionalism.
“She went on a whole rant about kale smoothies one time.” Adeline shrugged. “Lennie told me about it.”
“They’re really not that bad,” Isolde says before I can reply. She struggles to keep a hold of all the books in her hands. When I grab a few that are tilting dangerously, she says, “I figured you’d like it if I stayed at home and read.”
The relief settling in my chest is short-lived when she pulls her phone from her pocket. I’m close enough to her that it’s easy to see the messages.
Hadrian: Dinner tonight?
Hadrian: I’ll even go to that godawful place you like so much.
Fujimori’s is lit up in the dark, the lighting having a greenish tint due to the houseplants Jane Fujimori takes care of.
There are only a few people here, thanks to the late hour. A weary couple, sightseeing in the city. A quiet man, eating a bowl of noodles.
And Hadrian Fucking Hallow.
Jane set them up at a table in the front, giving them privacy. Or as much privacy as possible.
“You look like you’re about to murder him,” Ben mutters as he flips through a legal document.