Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
RAMONA
“ Y ou really don’t have to come if you don’t want,” I chewed at my lip while I watched Sylvie work the edges of her hair into stylized little curls and loops. She set down the little toothbrush she’d been using and tied a satin scarf to set her edges.
“ Pfft , are you kidding? I haven’t been to a show in forever. It’ll be fun!”
My lips threatened to curve up into a smile, but I just managed to tamp it down. I leaned against the counter in Sylvie and Orion’s bathroom and watched my sister-in-law start on her makeup. She rifled through a black makeup bag and pulled out an eyeshadow palette and a tube of mascara. She opened the palette and glanced at me in the mirror before us. “Are you not going to get ready?”
I looked down at my ripped denim shorts and sweatshirt. Sylvie was still in her sweatpants and t-shirt, but I’d seen the slinky dress she’d laid out on the bed. “Uh, I—I thought this was good?”
It was a metal show at a dive bar downtown, so I hadn’t even thought about dressing up. But watching Sylvie apply reds and blacks around her eyes made me start to rethink my strategy. It’d been so long since I’d wanted to… be noticed. And there was no denying that my sister-in-law was beautiful. Unnaturally so. Would I just look like a washed up slob next to her?
Sylvie smoothed mascara over her lashes, and with the grungy eyeshadow she’d applied, her eyes looked hauntingly large. “Tell me something.” I tensed. She took a dark liner, traced the contours of her lips, and blended it with a red-tinted gloss that made her look even witchier. “While I was giving Dahlia a bath the other day, she mentioned you acting funny around some guy at the skatepark. This show wouldn’t have anything to do with him, would it?”
The back of my neck began to sweat, and I had the irrational urge to run away. Who knew my niece would be a little traitor?
She rolled her eyes when I refused to answer. “Do what you want, but if you’d like help getting ready, I’d be more than happy to.”
Eyeing the makeup on the counter and the pretty yet simple enhancements Sylvie had done to her face, I bit my lip. When the shifter’s friend had handed me a flyer for their show tonight, I didn’t even want to admit to myself how eager I’d been. To see him aside from the glimpses I got of him flying through the air and laughing with his buddies. Maybe I’d be able to sit with him at the bar. Or… I didn’t know, do something .
“I don’t, um. I don’t have a lot here, but that’d be cool, I guess.”
Sylvie’s eyes almost fucking sparkled as she grinned, and I had to again fight the urge to run. My mom had long ago given up trying to fuss with my hair and force me into clothes that she deemed ladylike and appropriate, so I was tensing for this experience to be more of the same. It wasn’t that I didn’t like getting dressed up, but the times I had let other people dress me or do my makeup, I’d never felt like myself.
Sylvie guided me to sit on the closed lid of the toilet and looked over my face and hair with lips pursed. Coming to some sort of conclusion while I tried to look anywhere else but her, she asked, “So, what kind of look would you want to go for?”
I blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to the question. “Ah… something simple, I guess?”
She nodded, “M’kay. Your eyes are really pretty, so I was thinking about some dark eyeshadow to make them pop. How do you feel about blush?”
I gaped like a fish and croaked, “It’s fine.”
“And your hair? Do you feel better with it down or up?”
It was in a mess around my shoulders, right now, but thinking it through, I felt a little more confident when I let her know that I wanted it down. The shifter had only seen me with it pulled back in a braid so far, and I wanted to do something different. When I’d been able to tame it, my hair could look decent, at least.
Sylvie nodded again, brow furrowed like she was on a mission, and she darted out of the bathroom without saying a word. I watched her leave and heard a rustling in her bedroom. Before she came back, a little pattering on the wooden floor preceded Dahlia sticking her head into the doorway and giving me a curious look up and down.
Her mother came back with a short skirt and a black, long-sleeved shirt in her hands. “How about this? I think they’ll fit you.”
She moved closer toward me, clothes extended in my direction, and I reached up a hand to touch the silver accents on the skirt. They were simple but striking enough to not be boring. Thankfully, she’d picked up my wearing full sleeves without asking any questions about it, and I swallowed the thick lump in my throat. “Yeah, that looks good.”
Sylvie gave me a kind smile, and I understood what my brother went on about when he mentioned his mate’s sweetness. And it was rubbing off on me, because I felt my own smile rise in response.
She draped the clothes over a free area on the counter and turned back to me. “Sweetheart,” she spoke at Dahlia behind her, “can you go get me your hair stuff from your room, please?”
Dahlia let out a little, “Okay,” and scampered out of the room while Sylvie started running her fingers over my hair. The big, dense curls were a far cry from my mom’s pin-straight locks, and if I wasn’t entrusting them to the hands of an experienced hairstylist, it was easier a lot of the time to just plait them out of the way.
Sylvie retrieved a glass spray bottle from the wooden cabinets beneath the counter and held it up to me with a questioning raise of her brows. I bit my lip and nodded, and she got to work.
After she wet my hair, Sylvie slowly started on my curls, and when Dahlia came running back into the bathroom with a jar of curl cream in her little hands, Sylvie began smoothing the product into the strands. Though there were some nasty knots in there, her fingers were gentle, and at some point, I’d closed my eyes, relaxing into the way she worked on my hair.
“Oooh,” Dahlia’s voice broke my trance, and I fluttered my eyes open to find Sylvie twirling her finger around the shorter locks framing my face. She then took large handfuls of my hair, scrunched them to encourage the curls, and let them fall around my shoulders and down my back.
I still hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror, but I continued to stay still while Sylvie went to her makeup bag and pulled out a new brush and swiped it in a pot of shadow. I closed my eyes obediently and tried my best to keep still.
Luckily, Sylvie wasn’t like Mom or the makeup artists she hired over the years, because it took about five minutes for my sister-in-law to brush the color on my lids and swipe some liquid blush on my cheekbones. Lastly, she dipped her finger in a jar of Vaseline, and I tilted my mouth up toward her. She dabbed it on my lips and pulled back.
She looked at me with a satisfied grin, and Dahlia’s face was a cute echo of her mother’s. Sylvie opened her hands toward me, and I looked at them, confused. After a moment, I settled my palms over hers and let her bring me to a stand. She pulled me back toward the mirror, but I hadn’t been prepared for this .
My hair fell in buttery ringlets around my face and cascaded down my back and shoulders. Black shadow smoked around my eyes, making their light color sharper, and the delicate blush made me look more alive, somehow. I didn’t remember ever admitting to Sylvie that I had a weird aversion to anything other than balm on my lips, but she’d somehow known what to do. The Vaseline made my lips look poutier.
I examined my face and hair, tilting my head this way and that, admiring what Sylvie had done. My hair would dry, getting softer and bigger, but the way she’d set it left the smile on my face. For once, I was done up, and I felt like myself. The makeup didn’t swallow my features or comically exaggerate them.
With an encouraging pat on my back, Sylvie steered Dahlia out of the bathroom and closed the door to let me change.
I unbuttoned and unzipped my shorts first, switching them out with the miniskirt that was a good fit. My hips were a little narrower than Sylvie’s. If I had to guess, the skirt was meant to be higher on the waist, but on me, it settled around my navel. I lifted my sweatshirt a little, and did a little turn in front of the mirror. My legs looked nice and long under the short hem, and it hugged my ass in all the right ways.
Satisfied with that part, at least, I took a deep breath, and pulled my sweatshirt up and over my head. I eased it slowly, trying my best not to ruin my makeup or my hair, and tossed it to the floor. My lace bralette was pretty but not anything special, and the silver bellybutton ring I’d gotten in a rebellious fit at seventeen matched the decorative details on Sylvie’s skirt.
As much as I tried not to look at them, the deep scars running along my inner arms were an ugly sight. I shoved on the shirt as quickly as I could while still being careful to not ruin Sylvie’s hard work.
It was oversized and cropped at the same time, and the boxy silhouette was familiar and comforting. The hem of the shirt just met the waistband of the skirt, and when I twisted or raised my arms, a sliver of my belly showed. At least that wasn’t a part of my body that I was insecure about.
After a few more twirls in front of the mirror, I opened the door and stepped out into Sylvie and Orion’s bedroom.
Sylvie was doing her final twirls in front of a full-length mirror near the closet, and Dahlia was running up and down the length of the wall of windows, engaged in her own imaginary play. When I made a few tentative steps toward her, Sylvie turned her head and gave me another approving grin.
“I’m so glad the clothes fit. You look great!” Her praise made me blush, and I hoped the redness was disguised by the makeup she’d put on my face. Sylvie smoothed a hand over the sleeveless dress she’d put on that hugged her curves and ended about mid-calf. A pair of combat boots rested against the double doors to the closet, so I figured those were the shoes she’d decided to go with.
She gave herself one last once-over and grabbed a small fanny pack that’d been thrown on the large bed. I almost laughed at the outdated thing, but when Sylvie buckled it around her waist, further accentuating her curves, and settled it into place, the snicker died in my throat. It was black, to match our outfits, and I had to admit. It looked good with her dress and was a smart way to avoid holding onto a purse all night.
“All right, are you about ready?” She opened up and dug in the fanny pack. After checking her phone and putting it back, she bent down to pick up her shoes. “We’ve got time to grab a drink and find a good spot, I think.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and took a breath. “Yeah, that sounds good. Just gotta grab my phone and wallet from the room.”
“Okay. Come on sweetheart, Auntie Mona and I are gonna say bye to Ollie and Daddy then go to the concert.”
We left the bedroom as I grumbled, “It’s not really a concert.”
I heard more than saw Sylvie roll her eyes. “A show, whatever. I’m the one who actually likes heavy metal, you know.”
After retrieving my things from the guest room, I followed Sylvie and Dahlia up the hall and into the living room. The light of the few lamps turned on in the large space was low enough to be cozy, and the record player that ran at nearly all hours of the night played my brother’s preferred mellow Motown rhythm.
Orion was sitting with Ollie before the unlit fireplace. They were both on a little play mat with toys strewn about, and Ollie was in his pajama onesie. Even though it was almost his bedtime, my nephew looked cheerful as he lifted and rattled a brightly colored ring before tossing it to the floor.
Dahlia pattered over to her brother, but Orion stilled at the sight of Sylvie beside me. He rose to his feet, and it was like they were the only two in the room. My brother was in some sort of weird trance.
When his tongue swiped at his bottom lip, I’d had more than enough and made my way to the little bench near the front door.
While I laced up my boots, aside from the music and the soft noise of Dahlia directing Ollie on how to play with his toys, I heard Orion and Sylvie’s heated whispers.
“I swear , baby, if you ruin this dress when I get back, so help me.”
“Why would I when you look like this in it?”
Sylvie scoffed, “Because I know you won’t want to bother with the tiny zipper, and you’ve ripped to shreds plenty of my clothes at this point. I’m on to you, Dr. Gealach.”
“Well, what if I just lift it up, then?” Aanndd that was my cue. Though I’d never admit it to him, I was extremely happy that my brother had found a mate like Sylvie. But, my god, they were disgusting to be around sometimes.
“You ready, Sylvie?” I hollered over to them and stood. Luckily, I’d packed my old, worn-in boots during the frantic dash out of my apartment back in New York. With my arms still wrapped in bandages and my head foggy, I’d frustratedly ripped through my clothes, stuffing my go-to’s in my bags and only snagging the shoes that were sitting by the front door. Faced with piles of expensive fabric I’d hardly worn, I couldn’t see the point of… any of it.
The shifter not even asking me for my name at the skate spot was one thing. But the accurate nickname made me feel all kinds of annoyed and frustrated.
Sylvie and my brother made their way over while my niece and nephew stayed bickering and giggling in the living room. Orion and Sylvie both had evident blushes on their cheeks, and I didn’t even want to fucking know. I’d been living alone long enough to kind of forget what it was like living with married people. And though the soundproofing they’d done a few years ago was good, it obviously couldn’t be absolute, what with having kids.
“Okay, baby, I love you.” Sylvie smacked a kiss on my brother’s cheek, and we switched places on the bench. Her boots looked about as old as mine, and when I took in both of our outfits, I realized for the first time that we were matching.
She stood, and I patted my pockets before my brother opened the door for us. “Pssh, never opened the door for me before,” I muttered on my way past.
“I open it for Sylvie,” he said with no other explanation or pleasantry.
“Bye Mommy! Bye Auntie Mona!” Dahlia yelled from inside, and Sylvie and I called our goodbyes back.
“Be safe, you two. Call me if you need me to come get you.”
Sylvie walked to the driver’s side of her shiny red car, and the door unlocked at her touch. After reaching inside, she unlocked it the rest of the way, and I slipped into the newer SUV. The leather was still warm against my bare legs, and as soon as she pushed the start button, the air conditioning and music blasted in our faces.
We both flinched, and Sylvie turned some knobs until the volume was comfortable and rolled down the windows. With a few glances in the rearview, she turned us around to proceed up the drive and toward town. The sun still hadn’t fully set, and the burnt orange color in the sky chased us through the dark cast by the lush canopy of trees. I sucked in the air that raced past us and tasted the aroma of my brother’s homeland. What was it like to belong so deeply somewhere that the land sang to the same melody as your soul?
Even Sylvie, who, as far as I knew, wasn’t tied to the land in the way Orion’s family through his father was, had some sort of pull to it. It was almost like the trees, the brush, and the essence of the forest bended toward her, ready to listen. A small but bright smile was pulling at her lips, and though she’d slicked her hair up as tightly as possible, a few strands bobbed and swayed as if answering back.
She skipped to the next song on her playlist and a harsh guitar solo filled the speakers. I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Going to a metal show in a mom car is kinda weird,” I deadpanned.
Sylvie released a tinkling little laugh. “My idea of a Wednesday night, if you ask me.”
She shoved me lightly on my shoulder as she turned onto the road leading to town. A few cars sped past us, and I could practically feel my hair growing in volume as it air-dried. “Are you sure you’ll be able to peel yourself away from the crotch-goblins for a few hours?”
She shrugged, but instead of saying something smart back, she answered earnestly, “I’ve been out and about without them, but I’ll miss tucking them in tonight.” I remained silent, feeling bad for teasing her about something I had no idea about, and the heavy music filled the space between us.
We started to hit more and more traffic, and soon we were surrounded by buildings and shopfronts instead of clusters of trees and the odd house or private drive or two. My stomach began to flutter as we continued through the narrow downtown streets that were a grid of one-lane roads which was annoying and stupid. I drummed my fingers on my knee while we drove around, eyes scanning for a parking spot.
“There,” I pointed at a lucky opening someone was pulling out of. After crossing a lane to get there, Sylvie pulled us in and shut the car off.
Before she could protest, I shot out of the car, pulling my slim wallet from my back pocket. With a quick swipe, I put as much money on the meter as I could, and after the confirming beep that the charge went through, I let Sylvie lead me down the sidewalk toward the dive bar.
I ran my hands over my front and back, making sure my outfit wasn’t riding up or pulling in a weird way. After a minute or two, Sylvie made a turn and pushed open an old, beaten wooden door that led into darkness. Cool air settled over my skin, and the universal smell of alcohol and cigarettes made me feel nostalgic.
The walls were painted a dark umber, and band posters and weird knickknacks decorated the walls and side tables. The old couches and scarred wood tables were nearly filled with Antler Pointe townies.
A hand clamped around my fingers, and Sylvie pulled me in the direction of an empty curved couch in a deep fuchsia color. I tried to focus in on my anticipation instead of the thin thread of disgust at the less-than-clean furniture that met the skin of my bare legs.
“Okay, what do you want to drink?”
I floundered, trying to think of all the possibilities, but I apparently was taking my own sweet time, because Sylvie just nodded and patted my leg. “Okay, I’ll get you a beer. Be back!”
Before I could insist that I treat her to a drink since this was my excursion, after all, she was already lost in the crowd that was filling the bar floor. I scanned the space, feeling out of place until glancing at my outfit and realizing that, okay, my sister-in-law did know what she was talking about. Everyone was dressed in black and denim, the makeup was sparse or dark, and the looks were somehow severe and good-natured at the same time.
By the time Sylvie wound her way through the crowd and back to me, she’d already been stopped a few times to chat, and her smile was pulled high.
“Okay, I just got you one of my favorites. Hope it’s okay.” I took the proffered can and was met with a light and tangy fizz, like blackberries.
“Yeah, this is good. Thanks. I’ll get the next round.”
She waved my offer away, “Hush, I kept my tab open.”
Well. As I was planning a way to pay her back, the lights around us began to dim, and a round of cheers and hollers started in a wave, cresting in a few screams when the members of the band began to step out.
The drummer and bassist I didn’t recognize, but next came the pale, soft face of the vampire who’d given me the show flyer at the skatepark. His eyeliner was heavier now, making his eyes sunken craters to offset the softness of his round cheeks and tapered chin. A ladder of piercings up his ears and one in his lip set off the look as he sauntered to the microphone, center stage.
My eyes ran frantically back and forth on the stage, where is he where is he —“Thanks for coming out,” the vampire’s voice was deep and raspy. “We’re Concrete Executioners…” he cut his eyes to the side of the stage, and I watched his pinched brows relax. “And this first one is ‘Forget Me Not’.” Just as he announced the first song, the one I’d come for, the Jaguar I’d dragged myself to the bar to see, ran onto the stage with a purple guitar slung across his front.
The bassist started strumming a rumbling beat, with the drummer following in step, and the jaguar shifter took his place on the right of the stage, back straight and cocky smirk on.
I was entranced, the loud, scratchy music scraping against my ears, but all I could take in was his form, easy and confident holding his guitar. Long fingers working the strings with practiced ease.
His gaze lazily swept the audience that nodded along to the heavy beat, and it felt like my heart was just at the back of my tongue. My muscles vibrated with more than the reverberation from the amps, and when his black eyes, creased with joy at the music he created, met mine and held, I stopped breathing altogether.
Like he had every time at the skate spot, he grinned. This time though, as the band handed the song over to him and the drummer to carry the bridge, he didn’t let me go. As if the song was an enchantment to root me in place. To paralyze and open me up for him to see. And when he threw his head back, laugh bobbing his throat, in perhaps joy at what he’d discovered, I felt it in the deepest parts of me.