Chapter Two
Lilith
Alittle sleep and a few hours didn’t give me much time to reflect or plan how I should proceed with Tom, but there’s no going back now. Tonight’s the night I enact a plan that has been weeks in the making. I’m setting a course for the rest of my life. I’m not going to waste this opportunity.
To still my nerves and kill time, I spent my morning in the city.
Alone by choice, I drifted aimlessly from one district to the next, hoping to find answers in one of them.
None came, but I did manage to find rejuvenation in the endless sea of people and the stalls of the Kinkako District’s outdoor market.
It’s not often that I find myself wanting to be surrounded by people, strangers even less, but every once in a while I find it a welcome reminder that my troubles aren’t nearly as dire as I think they might be. It puts things in perspective. Reminds me that they could always be worse.
I get back to a quiet house. That’s unsurprising, of course, since Mom found herself a new man…
a new toy to play with. Some corporate bigwig from MilGen Global Armaments.
I rarely wonder what Mom’s end goals are when she’s on the hunt, but this is different.
MilGen is one of Midnite City’s big five mega-corporations, and the mega-corps don’t take kindly to people screwing around with their business.
I head upstairs, pretending there’s nothing to concern myself with, and take a shower. I’ve still got a few hours until Tom’s driver arrives, but time has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you’re dressing to impress.
After my shower, I head into my walk-in closet.
That is the understatement of the century, because the closet is identical in size to my bedroom.
It’s also fully stocked with multiple seasons’ worth of clothes, arranged in shelves and drawers, and it contains a vanity table that rivals the highest-end beauty salons.
I have everything at my fingertips to hook Tom for good.
I spend the rest of my afternoon there. There’s no reason to leave other than to pee, but with my nerves bubbling out of control, I’m too preoccupied to worry about bodily needs.
Once my makeup’s done, I slip into my outfit and head back to my room. The lighting’s better in here, and it will give me a better idea of how I truly look. However, I don’t even get through the door before I see a form sprawled out on my bed.
“Jesus Christ.” An ache resonates through my entire body as I tense up in fear. An unnecessary reaction, when I realize it’s just Misha Bardot lying there.
“You scared the hell out of me, Mish.”
Misha’s as much a part of this household as I am. Her family is from somewhere in the west, but she’s never given me a more concrete location as to where in the west that is other than the Mojave Desert.
The Badlands of California, she calls it. She says it is a brutally hot and unforgiving terrain, where the strong survive and the weak turn to dust. That must be how she remembers it as a kid, seeing as she’s lived in Midnite City since ninth grade.
That’s where we met on the first day of high school. We’ve been best friends ever since. Because Misha doesn’t have a place to call her own, Mom and I offered her a part of ours for whenever she needs it.
“I texted you,” she says lazily, not looking up from her cellphone, her dark hair slipping loose from its ponytail. “Shouted when I got to the door, too.”
“I didn’t hear you. But, while we’re on the topic, what are you doing here?”
She wouldn’t be lying about the texting. No matter how many times we tell her she can come by whenever she wants, Misha insists on the respectful approach.
“I have to go in a few minutes,” I add.
That catches her attention and she tilts her head toward me. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her skull when she sees me.
“Good God, woman, you look stunning,” she says.
Without wanting to sound vain, I agree.
So as to stick to the casual dress-up party code Tom set, I opted for a slutty cat outfit.
It’s a cliché, sure, but the leather bodysuit hugs my curves so tightly it leaves almost nothing to the imagination.
It’s cut high along my hips and thighs, the leather broken up by sheer black fishnets underneath.
What I like most is how amazing my tits look in it.
They are propped up, perky and firm, with way too much cleavage spilling out the top.
Tom Henderson’s not gonna know what hit him when I walk through his door.
I head over to the standing mirror and inspect myself in full.
My outfit’s complete, apart from my cat-pawed gloves and kitty-ear headband.
I chose to be sparing with my makeup. Just a light foundation, with a gentle application of blush on my cheeks.
However, I did spend a lot of time getting a smoky, layered appearance around my eyes.
I want the blue to pop and dazzle, and all signs indicate that I succeeded, as I pout and practice different expressions in the mirror.
“Which makes what I’m about to say a lot harder,” Misha continues, once she’s successfully collected her jaw off the ground.
“Let’s hear it, then.” I roll my eyes, already knowing where this is headed.
“You shouldn’t go tonight.” She sits upright and rests her palms on the bed for support. “Something about this doesn’t sit right with me.”
We’ve known each other too long for me to believe Misha’s the jealous type, and that this is an elaborate plan to get me away from Tom or his party.
Having said that, her threat detectors do tend to go off over the smallest of things, even at the best of times.
Guys checking us out on campus, strangers approaching us at a restaurant offering to buy us drinks; the list goes on.
“Why’s that?” I’ll indulge her, but I won’t let it get in the way of my mission.
“Remember Jenny Morgan?”
“What about her?” I glance sideways in the mirror to meet Misha’s gaze.
“She transferred to Paris after the Seine was built,” she speaks softly, but with enough conviction to highlight the seriousness of the topic.
Seine, named after the river in France, is one of the latest districts to be built in Midnite City.
Much like its predecessors, the Seine plays on its origins, with Parisian architecture and designs, so as to make the natives feel at home on foreign soil.
It’s number seven of the sixteen planned districts, and I’ve heard that bulldozers are already pushing the earth back on the next.
“Yes, but from what I remember, that was always her family’s plan. Her dad was here to oversee the Seine’s construction, and they’d planned to go home after that.”
Misha scoffs and shakes her head. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the Morgans didn’t stick around for the grand unveiling? Or why her dad didn’t give any press releases or statements about the work he’d done in the Seine?”
“I didn’t know her well enough to think about it.” I’d be lying if I said Misha didn’t pique my interest, but I also don’t see where this is going other than down a conspiracy rabbit hole.
“Wanna know where her last stop was before they jumped on their jet and disappeared?” Misha steeples her fingers in front of her face and starts tapping her fingertips together like some evil villain.
“Tell me.” The answer is evident, seeing as she’s here to stop me. But what kind of friend would I be, if I didn’t let her play out her detective fantasy…
“The Hendersons.” Misha kicks one leg under the other and grabs a glass of stale water that’s sitting on my nightstand. She drinks it before I can warn her. Unfazed, she continues.
“She was invited to dinner at a grand palace, no doubt served and doted on like a princess, and then never seen again.”
“I’m sure she’s doing fine.” I chuckle at Misha because there’s not much else I can do. “Do you honestly believe that if she’d disappeared that night, her parents would have just gone along with it?”
“That’s where the story gets juicy,” she says, practically salivating.
“I did some snooping and it turns out Jenny’s dad made a long visit to Maxwell Henderson, the night before he left.
Some say it was for a bribe; some say it was about threats, but everyone agrees that it was to cover up what happened at his place. ”
“Have you tried reaching out to her since?” I turn my attention back to the mirror for a final inspection.
“No, but—“
“There’s your problem. I bet if you did, you’d have found Jenny was fine and thriving in her new life.” Well, not so new anymore. The Morgans left almost two years ago. “Besides, you’ve got the wrong idea of why I’m going there.”
Her jaw drops again, and her eyes widen at my comment. She scowls at me, angry that I wasn’t straight with her about what I was planning.
In our first year of high school, Misha and I made a promise to never keep secrets from one another. Good or bad, we’d have each other’s backs through whatever came our way. A pinky promise pact of sorts, and we’ve both adhered to it since its conception.
Technically, I still haven’t broken it. Omission isn’t a lie, and I had to keep it secret because Misha wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing.
She was raised by loving parents who lived a nomadic lifestyle in what might as well be a different part of the world.
Their pure intentions and good-hearted values don’t cut it in a place like Midnite City.
You’re either in it to survive, or the city will chew you up and spit you out as a husk of who you used to be.
“I’m not interested in pursuing Tom,” I say to salve the burning disappointment that I am sure is coursing through her. “It’s more about what I can get out of him.”
The look on her face says she thinks I’ll be regretting my choices for a very long time.
Before Misha has a chance to respond, my phone starts ringing on the side table. I glance over and see it’s Tom’s driver calling. When I answer, he says he’s waiting outside.
“I’ll explain everything later,” I rush over to Misha’s side and plant a kiss on her cheek. “Just trust me on this. I’ve got everything under control.”
***
I’ve been around money my entire life. Before he passed, my father built a company that would have rivaled the powerhouses of this city if he’d been there to run it.
Mom sold it to the highest bidder less than a year after his death.
She said that she believed the research and technology he’d worked on would be in better hands with a mega-corporation that could actually use it.
In some ways, I suppose it is. Only instead of honoring him for his work, they scrapped his company for parts and left the rest to die with him. Whatever, it was an enormous payday for us. A number so large, I doubt my kids or their kids will ever be able to spend it all.
However, as we enter the Henderson estate, my views on what true wealth really is, tumble around my feet. We’re rich, but nothing could have prepared me for the extravagance and luxury that belongs to a “one-percenter”.
Their mansion is an indicator of what I was walking into. The building alone is the size of most mid-sized apartment blocks; three stories tall and perched on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.
The inside of their home looks more like an art gallery than a place where people actually live.
The off-white floors are made of some material I’ve never seen before, and are layered with ribbons of real gold between the seeming imperfections of the base.
A thick glossy layer coats the top of the tiles, but even though it looks like glass, it isn’t slippery at all.
Ten pillars, made of the same strange stone with golden accents, run the length of the vast entry hall.
Unlike the flooring though, there’s no shiny coat protecting them.
Then, where the architectural design ends, decorations take over.
Old paintings, trinkets and ornaments that would not be out of place in a museum are openly on display.
Aztec pots and ancient Egyptian baubles lie scattered among family photographs and modern-day technological gadgets.
It’s a wickedly satisfying sight to behold, but stepping through the door is also terrifying.
One slip, one mistake, could result in the loss of a fortune, or a piece of history.
However, when I hear Tom’s friends, in the room over, shouting about drinking games and causing a stir, something tells me that I’m the only person who cares enough about the house’s contents to be concerned.
After seeing all of this, I understand how it is that Tom can be throwing his own party, while the titans of Midnite City congregate elsewhere in this mansion. You could stand on one side of the building and scream as loudly as possible, and someone on the other side would be none the wiser.
“You made it.” Tom’s voice comes from behind, pulling me back down to earth from my thoughts.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I look at him over my shoulder, smiling.
“Fuck, you look amazing,” Tom gulps, his eyes covering my body, drinking in every inch of my outfit.
“You look…” I’m the first to admit that my choice of attire didn’t take very long to come up with. It’s a default classic at every Halloween party. But as far as Tom’s concerned, I may as well have gone all out and spent weeks trying to find the perfect look. “You look the same,” I finish.
He’s dressed in a long brown cloak with a hood draped over his back.
“Sadly, it wasn’t up to me. My fraternity had a last-minute vote on how we’d come and this is what they chose,” he says.
Peering into the room, I see a couple of other guys wearing the same outfit.
Some others have their hoods up and I get a better sense of what their outfits portray.
They give off cultist, bordering on creepy, vibes but not enough to scare anyone off.
The rest of the crowd, like me, is dressed in different costumes. Superheroes, villains, and slutty versions of otherwise respected professions. They’re slamming beers and sucking down shots, all while the ominous hooded figures weave through them.
Okay, it’s official… I’m pretty freaking stoked about being here.
I know I’ve got a plan and all, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun along the way. As long as the end goal remains the same, nothing is stopping me.
“Trust me, if I had the final say,” Tom adds, slipping one hand onto the small of my back, and waving with the other to usher me in. “I’d be running around shirtless and in a loincloth.”
“Now, why would you go and tell me that?” I ask, feigning disappointment and playfully brushing his forearm. “You shirtless is all I’m going to think about for the rest of the night.”
“Good thing the night’s still young, then. Stick around long enough, and those dreams might become a reality.”
He winks, and then we move forward to blend in with the rest of the party.