Chapter 17
Ava
“All I’m saying is, if you don’t believe in it, why not let us do a little balding spell on you?” Rachel pressed nonchalantly while Owen stared daggers at her. “It won’t do anything, if it’s not real, right?”
“If you come near my head, blondie, I’ll turn you into shark chum,” Owen huffed.
I giggled and burrowed my toes deeper into the sand.
The heaviness that had taken a hold of me in Russia was starting to leech away as the sun warmed my skin, and my friends continued their debate.
Rachel believed, as she had since we were kids, that I was a witch and had magical powers, but Owen thought it preposterous.
Come to think of it, it might have been Rachel that had been the cause of the rumours that started so many years ago. The whispers of me being a witch had followed me around all my life. And my… eccentricities hadn’t really helped to clear my name.
I held up a handful of sand and watched it fly away with the breeze.
It was a beautiful day on Bentley Cove’s beach.
We’ve been here almost every day, all day for the past week, teaching Owen to surf.
Rachel and I were tired of the water and the sand already, but once Owen put his mind to something, there was no stopping him.
He finally caught a wave, and Rachel and I celebrated by demanding a damn break.
Owen passed us a drink from the cooler without stopping his bickering with Rach, and I couldn’t help but feel content.
I liked this. This was normal. This was exactly what we needed when I dragged Owen back to Bentley Cove for a vacation away from asshole thieves who demanded every bit of our attention and lives and souls.
“How about we go see a movie tonight?” I interrupted them.
“Yes!” Rachel exclaimed. “Then we can get take-out from Harry’s Diner and have a picnic by the lake.
Like we used to do back in high school. It’s a full moon tonight.
” Rachel turned and wagged her eyebrows at Owen.
“And you’ll get to see I’m right when you witness how all the fireflies flock to her. It’s insane.”
Owen glanced at me thoughtfully. “Well, as long as it’s not spiders.”
Rachel laughed. “Oh, they like her too. In fifth grade, our teacher had a tarantula in a tank, and it kept following A’s movements. It would tap its hairy little legs on the glass until she went to it.”
Owen stared at me, looking horrified. “If that’s true, we can’t be friends anymore.”
I laughed. “She only did that because I would sneak treats for her. Miss Mavis only ever gave her worms to eat, and she didn’t like them. Too bitter. I spent hours in the park catching little critters for her.”
“And how would you know the spider found her food bitter?” Owen questioned.
I shrugged. I just knew.
“See?” Rachel said pointedly to Owen. “I’m not crazy. Spend enough time with her and you’ll notice all these weird little things happening.”
“My God, you were right, blondie.” Owen stared in amazement. “They just keep coming. Do you think you look like a bug to them?” he teased.
We were sitting on a blanket, next to the lake, enjoying our burgers. One by one, the curious little fireflies landed on me for a few seconds, then flew away again, going about their business.
I never could figure out why they did it, but I didn’t mind them. They were gorgeous little things.
“It’s that light of yours they’re attracted to, little star,” Grayson had said when he witnessed it. But now I knew that was not the case. My light went out the moment he left. Only faintly glowing embers remained, painstakingly revived by my friends.
I watched another firefly land on my shoulder, his light flickering in a morse code I did not understand, then flew off again. “Beautiful,” I whispered in awe, watching it go.
“Just like you,” Owen replied softly, an easy smile on his lips. Rachel made a gagging noise and Owen rolled his eyes. “I meant her heart. Yours, however, is as dark as the deepest depths of the Marianna Trench.” He scowled at Rachel.
“Aawh, thanks, love,” Rachel mocked, clutching her hands to her heart.
“To me, Rach, your heart is the colour gold. Like the sun. It warms everyone around you.”
Owen gave me a doubtful look.
I chuckled. “And you, Agent Becket, your heart is a deep blue. Not the sad kind. The calming kind. The quiet kind of blue that makes everyone instinctively trust you. Because you’re a safe haven.”
Owen smiled down at his burger.
Another firefly landed on my knee, and we all quietly watched it flicker its light.
“Nah, it’s definitely the sad kind,” Rachel quipped. She almost sprayed her water all over us, laughing at the glare she received from Owen. I couldn’t help but laugh too. Even Owen turned away to hide his smile.
“You’re pure evil, aren’t you, blondie?” Owen said as his cell phone started ringing.
A bitterness choked me when Syntax’s name flashed on the screen, squeezing out all the good feelings I’ve tried to collect during this vacation with Rach.
You just have to ruin everything, huh, Grayson?
I knew what that bitterness was—the reminder that burned in my throat as a constant reminder of what I had to endure. Of what he’d put me through.
Owen ended the call and turned to me. There was a glint of excitement in his eyes, but also weariness. “No,” he exhaled, shaking his head in dismissal before he even told me what was going on. “We can deal with this tomorrow, let’s enjoy—”
“No. Tell me,” I interrupted.
He sighed but nodded. “Syntax found out who Grayson gave the paint to. A Michael Volkov. He has ties to the Bratva. She found a warehouse belonging to him in Willsbury.”
“Oh my God, Ava!” Rachel shrieked. “You helped steal money forgery paint for the Russian Mafia?” She gave a freaked-out squeal. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s badass, babe. But who are you? The Bratva?” she mouthed, looking all kinds of flabbergasted.
I shrugged. It didn’t even surprise me that Grayson was working with the Russian Mafia. Of course, he was.
“We have to go to Willsbury to check the warehouse out ourselves,” Owen continued, ignoring Rachel’s little freak-out. “Emerie and Marshall are in France with the art informant and Liam has been MIA for two days. Claims to be sick. The bastard’s never sick.”
“Are you gonna do a stakeout?” Rachel’s eyes were glinting. “Can I come with? I’ve always wanted to do a stakeout!”
“Yes!” I answered excitedly.
“No!” Owen countered. “I’m not taking a civilian on a stakeout.”
Rachel and I instinctively clutched onto each other’s hands and held tight. We exchanged a sad look. We weren’t ready to say goodbye yet.
We turned our gazes on Owen.
He recoiled a bit, as his eyes flicked between us. “No! It’s out of the question. It’s too dangerous. And not to mention, I could get fired!”
“But we’ll just be sitting in a car, watching the place from a distance. That’s not dangerous. And no one has to know. Please, Owen. I miss my friend.” And I needed her. She kept my embers glowing. They would surely go out if I had to leave her again. So, I gave him my best puppy eyes.
“Ava…” He groaned throwing his head back in exasperation.
“Look, I’ll even be nice to you,” Rachel tried.
“Please, Owen,” we both said at the same time, giving each other a quick smile. Rach and I must have been twins in a previous life. Or so we liked to think.
“Fine!” he answered after an uncomfortably long and despising glare at the two of us.
A few hours later, we sat in Owen’s SUV, parked on a dodgy street in Willsbury’s industrial area, each sucking on a lollipop.
“That’s definitely a ten out of ten,” Rachel announced from the backseat, pointing her lollipop at the girl walking up to the bouncer, completely skipping the line. We were rating the club-goers’ outfits to pass the time.
It seemed that the Bratva had a nightclub in the basement of their warehouse.
The above ground levels were tightly locked up and completely dark, with windows painted over to conceal whatever they had inside.
A burly-looking man in a leather jacket moved around the building every two hours to ensure none of the club-goers had gone near the warehouse.
Owen decided to get a better look, once the burly man completed his rounds again. Until then, we waited patiently.
“Oh my God! Turn that up!” Rachel waved her lollipop at the radio, bouncing up and down. She gave another excited shriek as I turned the volume up.
The song playing on the radio didn’t match Rachel’s excitement at all. It was beautifully sad and haunting.
Rachel went still for a moment, then chuckled sadly. “That’s my song.”
I whipped around in my seat. “What?” I whispered. My heart swelled with pride and broke at the same time. One of Rachel’s songs was playing on the radio, and it was the first time I was hearing about it.
I blinked at the mist blurring my vision. “Why…” The lump in my throat made it impossible to say anything else.
Rach understood anyway. “I wrote it when you were taken. My mom secretly recorded me and sent it to a producer. ‘Cause I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do much of anything during that time.
” She huffed a sad laugh. “But they loved it. And I know I should’ve told you about it, A, but you were in a bad place when you got back.
It just didn’t feel right. But I wrote it for you, babe. ”
“Oh, Rach!” I scrambled over the seat and tackled my friend into an iron hug, sobbing loudly. “It’s so very perfect.” I pulled away and wiped the tears from her face, then softly smoothed her hair down. “I’m so unbearably proud of you,” I cried.
My tears wouldn’t stop flowing as I listened to the rest of the song while tightly holding on to Rachel. It reminded me of the night I delivered the letter to tell her I was okay. It reminded me of the way she looked, standing under that streetlight, a mere ghost of herself.