Chapter 33 Clara
The world was completely dark when Clara awoke.
She blinked slowly, orienting herself to her surroundings.
Between the bed, their bags, and Carver stretched out across the floor, there was almost nowhere to walk.
The two of them fully consumed the room and it was stifling.
Carver’s shallow breaths were loud in the silence, grating across her skin.
How much longer could she be this close to him and not break?
She inched out from under the covers, bare feet hitting the uneven wood flooring. She carefully stepped over Carver and to the window. Tugging on the blinds gently, she managed to move the slats enough to see out without opening them entirely.
Carver stirred behind her and she froze, not wanting to wake him. He didn’t open his eyes, still dead asleep.
The outside world was still abuzz with life, and she was amazed at the energy that pulsed up from the street.
Bright lights shone from various buildings.
Men stumbled down roads and alleys, some with bottles still in their hands.
Even from her perch on the third floor, she could hear the sounds of music from one of the establishments.
Girls clothed in almost nothing beyond feathers and beads called out to the men, waiting on corners for their opportunities. With the number of drunken bodies and celebratory attitude, most found someone. She watched for a few minutes before letting the slat fall back.
She allowed her eyes to readjust to the darkness so she didn’t trip over Carver.
Once she could make out his form again, she stepped over him, grabbed her bag and slipped out.
There was too much chaos in the streets for her to stay inside.
She wasn’t sure how long she had slept, but she felt refreshed enough.
Drunk men were the perfect way to learn more about the city and what she needed.
In the hallway, she pulled out one of the other outfits Command had sent befitting a Calyndor girl. A flouncy skirt red, please kill me now, and a tight black tank. At least she liked the tank.
Only one street over from their building, she found a popular bar. At least she assumed it was popular. People were continuing to pack inside, even as patrons who had enough found their way back into the street. Or were tossed into the street–depending on their sobriety and attitude.
She slipped inside, remaining unnoticed against the wall as she observed. A couple poker tables were surrounded by men thoroughly engrossed in the game, or the girl in their lap. One man in particular stood out to her.
His coat was a little too nice in comparison to those around him, but he had intentionally ripped a sleeve to make it look older.
The line was a little too straight. His shoes were purposefully covered in dirt, not a single scuff present underneath the thin layer.
His eyes stayed alert as he watched the other players.
She wasn’t sure who he was in the city, but he was someone with money and a position.
He held himself with far too much confidence not to have a role that fit that. He was her best bet.
She waited until he excused himself from the tables, and once he ordered a drink, she moved towards the bar.
A spot opened near him, and she gracefully sat, crossing her ankles together even as her skirt shifted to lay across her mid thighs.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she pretended not to notice.
When the bartender reached her, she motioned to the man’s drink and said, “I’ll have one of whatever he’s having.”
“That’s a stout drink, girl, are you sure?” The man asked, now looking at her with open curiosity.
She smiled at him, attempting to charm him in a way she wasn’t sure she was capable of. She shrugged as delicately as she could. “I think I’d like to try it.”
“Suit yourself.” He went back to his drink, and she kicked herself for losing his attention.
Unfortunately, all of her training had to do with forcefully making men talk, or leaving them where they could never talk again. Neither option worked here. She needed to charm him into talking. How on earth did one do that? Carver was great at charming people. She could figure it out.
When her drink was placed in front of her, she took a sip and managed to avoid a grimace.
It wasn’t good. But she wouldn’t let anyone else know that.
With another sip, she asked, “You in town for the festival?” Keeping her tone as bouncy as she possibly could.
Bouncy was the best word she could think of for how Reese managed her conquests. It didn’t come easily to Clara.
He turned towards her, and she congratulated herself for having gained his full attention.
His eyes roved over her, and she couldn’t stop the flare in her chest that insisted she should stab his eyes out.
“I’m one of the organizers of the festival.
” He said, practically puffing his chest out as he continued to stare at her.
“No,” she gaped at him, channeling whatever stupid inner school girl she could find. “That’s amazing. Then I bet you know where all the best spots are.”
He took another sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her body. “It’s my job to create the best spots.”
“What’s your proudest creation?” She concluded the question with another sip of the terrible liquid she held. It took everything inside of her not to gag, but she was where she needed to be.
He leaned over, intruding into her space to whisper the answer. “The creatures we’ve created. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”
She let her jaw drop as though she was insanely impressed. “Those aren’t just rumors?”
He shook his head, a smile settling on his face.
She felt a chill run down her spine and didn’t want to know what he had created.
It couldn’t be good. “I could give you a special tour if you want.” His voice was still low, words murmured directly in her ear.
His sticky breath made the bar feel smaller and more overwhelming.
She reminded herself it was a game, and he was giving her exactly what she wanted.
She took another sip of her drink as his hand reached out to stroke lightly across her thigh.
Her skin crawled. She could stab him. She was all too aware of the daggers she had strapped high under her skirt, and the small one she kept against her side.
She couldn’t do that. She knew that. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t.
She wouldn’t. “What exactly,” she dropped her voice, now leaning closer to him, “Does a special tour entail?”
“They’re in their cages for the night. I could take you and explain to you every single one.”
She breathed out as though heavily impressed, “That would be incredible.”
His hand moved a little higher, his thumb rubbing her skin. If there wasn’t a purpose she would have decked him. If she hadn’t needed to see the labs she would put a knife in him right now. But she knew what was at stake.
“Why don’t we finish our drinks and then we can go?
” He looked at her like he was winning a prize.
It would be fun to let him know he was, in fact, not that charming.
She could go with him, get the information she needed, and then leave him in an alley somewhere.
No witnesses, no one to miss him. She doubted he had anyone who would truly miss him anyway.