Chapter Five
Ares
Music throbs, the loud beats pounding through my body. Barry, an associate at the firm, is getting married, and he rented an entire club for his bachelor party. As I walk along the dark corridor, the specially mirrored walls show my reflection. The way my eyes glow makes me falter for a second, and I avert my gaze, staring at the wooden floor. Everyone says I have my mother’s eyes. Every time I look at my reflection, I feel like I’m looking into her face, eerie in its love and madness, and the scar on my arm throbs. When I brought up the pain with my doctor a few years ago, he said it was a phantom pain, just psychological.
Thanks, doc, for making me feel so sane .
Wonder if he shared his opinion with Grandmother or Father. That could explain their concern that I might be insane—no, obsessed …although in my family, the words can be used interchangeably.
Once I’d calmed down after the ridiculous dinner where they insisted that I give up on finding Queen and get married to get promoted, I grudgingly accepted that their concern is partially driven by guilt. They were supposed to protect me back then, and I should’ve never been left to survive on my own in the fire. But that doesn’t mean they get to brush Queen off as a figment of my imagination and do their best to convince me of that.
Barry has apparently snagged himself a nice woman. My own hunt for a wife isn’t going as smoothly as I’d like. Most associates at the firm are reluctant to refer suitable candidates, assuming they’re aware of what’s going on with me and The Fogeys. They probably don’t want to get involved in the family drama. The women I get matched with through various online dating sites and apps so far have been the equivalent to what’s left after a two-week clearance sale—ill-fitting and unsuitable, even at seventy-five percent off. The Fogeys would never accept one as “good and respectable.” And neither would I.
If I get really lucky, I might run into a suitable woman tonight. A cursory glance says there are more women than men here. But upon closer inspection, they’re all strippers, given how little clothes they have on. Should’ve known. This is classic Barry. I don’t know how he plans to stay faithful to just one woman when he’s an equal-opportunity lover.
It’s okay, I tell myself. I have a few more dates set up for the next three days. The Fogeys never said anything about a ceremony. I just need to produce a lawfully wedded wife.
The phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.
–Unknown: I love you, my little prince.
This is the third time I’ve gotten a strange text like this. I block the number. It could be my persistent ex, although the “little prince” part doesn’t really fit. On the other hand, who can tell what the hell goes on in her head? In her world, she’s a princess who can do no wrong, and anybody who disagrees with her is a problem.
It’s too bad none of my exes fit Grandmother’s conditions: good and respectable. I boasted I could find a bride in a month, but one that will work? That’s proving to be much harder.
On the other hand, I’m not looking for the love of my life or a soul mate. Just a presentable wife for The Fogeys to accept until I get my promotion. If we happen to fall in love, fine. We can continue. Otherwise, we’ll quietly get divorced. By then, I’ll be a junior partner and the Fogeys won’t be able to force a demotion on me over a divorce. If they do, I’ll sue the damn firm and Dad as well.
“Hey, you made it!” Barry booms. Almost as tall as I am, he’s solidly built, with broad shoulders and massive arms and legs from playing football for the University of Georgia. A knee injury ended his athletic career, so he focused on academics and went to Yale Law. A tuft of bleached yellow hair, an excessive tan and a slightly goofy grin make him appear mildly dim-witted, especially when he lays it on thick with a Georgian drawl, but he’s one of the meanest lawyers at Huxley I hop down. My balance isn’t quite perfect, but I manage to stay on my feet. Yes!
This must’ve been what Lareina felt when she managed to escape her terrible aunt via the balcony. Wonder how she’s doing now. Hopefully she wasn’t caught.
I trot toward the main drag and people. Harder for Harvey and his men to act recklessly when there are so many witnesses. The lights halo, and my eyes refuse to focus correctly, just like the time I had them dilated for an examination.
Blinking, I stumble into the crowd. Nobody seems to notice anything off about me. Harvey is smart. He would never give me something that would earn me a hospital visit.
Moving behind a gay couple with bulging arms and legs, I pull out my phone to dial. Except the battery’s down to nothing. Damn it. I could have sworn I charged it before leaving the room. Scowling, I put it away. No calling for help tonight.
I walk a few blocks, and then see a tall, bald man in a black suit in the crowd. Is that the asshole who dragged me to the bathroom? He swivels his nonexistent neck left and right.
Shit. I turn around and start moving toward a brightly lit building to my left. Every nerve bristles with apprehension. How much of the alarm I’m feeling is real and how much is from the drugs? I don’t want to move too quickly in order not to get spotted, but then the goon sees me. Being as tall as I am makes it hard to blend in to a crowd. I pick up the pace, but the goon increases his speed as well.
It seems like a futile effort. Frustration swells in my chest. Why the hell didn’t the family ensure nobody associated with the Dunkels could get near me?
My eyes refuse to focus properly, but I’m close enough to see that the place I’ve been walking toward is a casino. I start to push the door open, and a cool hand closes around my wrist.