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Turning back to my food, I toss the salmon around on my plate, thinking over what the fuck just happened. Who is this woman and why is her name Katsia? Deciding the salmon is way too good to go to waste, I finish it all before washing it down with my water. Leaning into my chair, I think over my options—which, admittedly, isn’t much. I could text Nate, or Bishop, and ask them about this new finding. But that would defeat my purpose of getting away, because I know they’ll both be here in a flash to get me. Then again, they might be able to give me answers, ones I so desperately need because of this new discovery.
Exhaling, I pick up my glass and take a sip. No, I can’t do that. For one, I have too much pride, and two… I have too much pride. I’ll just have to figure this shit out on my own and hope I don’t get killed in the process. Swallowing the cool water, movement catches my eye from the outside patio, and I look toward it. Noticing the outline of the valet’s hat, I get to my feet, drop a couple of bills, and head toward the doors, which are open, displaying the cool woodsy night. There are tea lights outlining the wooden rails that frame the porch and a couple of rocking chairs that sit looking out toward the forest. Looking from left to right, I catch the boy’s back as he turns and disappears around a corner. Gaining a bit of speed in my walk, I follow him. Just as I turn the corner, a hand comes to my mouth.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers into my ear before I have a chance to scream bloody murder. “I—I not hurt you. Nod if I let go and you no scream.”
I nod, feeling like I’ve dodged being killed enough times to be able to write a book about not getting killed. He releases and I spin around, my breath catching as I attempt to slow my erratic heartbeat.
“What the fuck?” I whisper-yell toward him. “Was that necessary?”
His response is instant. “Yes.”
My mouth snaps closed as I study him closer. Close up, he looks a little older than me, now that I can see some imperfections on his face, but still young. His eyes are a warm chocolate brown, circled with long eyelashes.
“Who are you?” I ask, not fully comprehending what I should be asking, but I figured asking who he is was a good start, and it gives me a few seconds to gain my wits after his surprise.
“Damon. You’re Madison Montgomery?”
“Damon?” I whisper, searching his face for clues.
“Yes,” he responds through his broken English, “It’s Latin. You are Madison?”
“No, I just like to pretend to be her, you know, because the perks are awesome.” I can’t help the sarcasm. His face remains poised, still, and unimpressed with my sense of humor. He’s a little serious and a lot dry. “It’s a joke,” I deadpan after the silence gets awkward.
“A joke?” He tests out the word on his tongue. “What is joke mean?”
Tilting my head, I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?” Something seems off about this kid, and it has fear creeping into my throat.
“Non fueris locutus sum valde bonum…,” he begins, and I suck in a breath in confusion. He notices my puzzlement and then corrects himself. “Sorry, I mean, I don’t fluent English.” Well, that makes a whole lot of sense, and makes this thing a lot more complicated.
“Okay,” I answer slowly. “What is your language?” Maybe it’s Spanish. My God, I hope it’s Spanish, because I know a lot of that.
“Latin.”
Fuck.
Rubbing my forehead, I shake my head. “I know jack shit about Latin. Okay.” I look up to him, his face still the same, like a lost puppy bursting at the seams to speak but only knowing how to bark. I can almost feel the frustration radiating off of him.
“You,” I point to him, “meet me in my room in fifteen minutes. It’s not safe here.”
He nods. “Number?”
“No, I’m on the Gold Level. I don’t know what the name says on my door, but I’ll put this…” I pull out a piece of paper from my pocket. “…on my door. Okay? Understand?”
He seems to think over my words and then nods. “Yes, I understand.”
Jesus fucking Christ. Of course my only way of finding something out here only speaks fucking Latin.
There’s that language again.
Nodding, I set off on my quest back to my room, slowly coming to the realization I may not be getting as much shooting done as I had initially hoped.
Pacing back and forth in my room, I wait as the time passes. It’s been forty minutes since I told him to meet me back here, and I’m starting to get impatient. My phone ringing has merely settled into background music until I finally give up.
