Chapter 6 #2
Will I ever be able to tell her about that part of me? The little but persistent ways I’m broken?
I swallow that worry down and hustle the rest of the way out of the building.
My family’s driver drops me off outside The Eclipse without comment.
I make an appearance at the club once or twice a week to establish myself and forge what connections I can, staying as long as I can tolerate it before I end up wanting to scream at the privileged jackasses.
No one will think anything odd of me arriving today.
As I step into the main lounge room, my gaze immediately latches on to the self-satisfied olive-toned face of a tall figure across the room.
Grady Tadros sweeps his hand over his dark hair and grins at the cluster of Luminary students—current and graduated—who appear to be hanging off his every word.
In the first instant I see him, I can’t help thinking he’d look much more fitting at Elodie’s side than I do. That’s what everyone would think, isn’t it?
I close my eyes against the idea, mentally smacking myself over the head.
There’s realism and then there’s idiotic insecurity. Elodie believes this guy might have something to do with her attempted murder. She wouldn’t want him for a match.
I ease closer to Grady’s group, smiling and nodding at the older gents I pass who always study me a little longer than is comfortable no matter how often I come by the club.
On the drive over, I had time to consider potential approaches. I settled on a straightforward one that works well with my magical strengths.
Grady cocks his head to one side, tsking his tongue at something one of the recent grads just said. His guffaw rings through the room.
He’s even more puffed up than usual today, acting like he’s the most senior in the bunch.
That doesn’t seem like an expected attitude from someone who just had a murder plot foiled, but maybe he’s laying it on extra thick to deflect any suspicion.
I wouldn’t normally outright join his group, so I just station myself where I can watch him surreptitiously, request a rum and coke to sip, and strike up a polite and dull conversation with a middle-aged member who’s collaborated with my parents on a few projects.
Grady shifts his swaggering stance. The nearest doorway to the hall will now be in his view—just what I needed.
Forcing a light chuckle at my companion’s small talk, I focus the rest of my attention on pushing the room’s ephemera into a brief illusion.
It doesn’t need to be completely accurate. In fact, I want the plausible deniability once people start asking questions.
The image wavers to life. A skinny form with distinctive red hair and a Luminary uniform hustles past the doorway, so swiftly no one will get more than a glimpse.
Grady’s gaze ticks toward the illusion’s movement. The only other reaction I note is a small lift of his eyebrows—no concern or shock.
“I think that was just the Hearst kid there,” he says, as if the ‘kid’ isn’t only a year younger than he is. “All that panic about finding him, and here he comes strolling into the club.”
He laughs as if it’s all a big joke. Either he’s an Oscar-worthy actor, or he had no idea there’s any reason Kenneth shouldn’t turn up today.
Why would he draw attention to the guy at all if he knows his family is conspiring with the Hearsts in an assassination plot?
One of the grads lets out a snort. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Hearst is always sniffing around for any chance to get a pat on the shoulder.”
Another student grins crookedly. “Must suck extra hard being the second son when the first got all the chops.”
I knew Kenneth was hardly a stellar student, but I hadn’t given his elder brother much thought.
Several years older than us, he graduated from senior classes before we moved out of junior.
I did hear that his parents had already started giving him some prominent responsibilities in their various business dealings.
But how would secretly murdering Elodie Devine have helped Kenneth prove himself, to his family or anyone else? Did this mysterious woman convince him it was somehow Elodie’s fault that he wasn’t showing more potential?
The other guys have already moved on in their conversation. One of Grady’s classmates pats his jacket pocket. “I’ve got the good stuff if you all want to have some extra fun.”
The others make eager noises—except Grady, who gives an imperious shrug. “I’m just stopping by. Gotta get on with the moving and shaking.”
He’s just finished speaking when his phone chimes. He shoots his friends a smug smile and heads for the club’s front door.
I toss out a hasty excuse to my conversation partner and trail after Grady several steps behind. It’ll be too obvious if I go right out after him, so instead I stroll to the picture windows at the front of the building.
At the thud of the door closing behind Grady, I nudge the heavy curtain to the side. No one will object if it’s just for a moment.
Grady is making a beeline for a beige sedan. As he opens the back door, I get a glimpse of a figure perched at the opposite end of that seat: dark hair flecked with silver, a pale face, a blue dress.
Grady yanks the door shut behind him, hiding them both from view behind tinted windows. The car peels away from the sidewalk.
I let the curtain fall.
It was probably a relative of his, picking him up to include him in family business or a social venture. He hasn’t said or done anything I can reasonably call suspicious.
So why is my skin creeping?