I amble that way, past the scattered doors that lead into the club’s smaller meeting and social rooms. Stopping a few steps from the doorway the older Mr. Tadros passed through, I pause and pretend to be checking something on my phone. At the same time, I draw on the building’s ephemera and create a thin funnel directing the sound from that room to my ear.
Voices reach me as if stretched across an immense distance, faint and tinny but audible.
The first is Mr. Tadros, though he sounds oddly plaintive. “I’m so glad you could find the time to talk this through with me.”
The answer comes from another male voice: a smooth, deep tone I don’t recognize. “Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”
“It’s such a difficult decision, choosing between the options when each could make such a difference.”
“But you deserve to be in this position. You’ve earned it. Never doubt that.”
“Yes, of course. I’d just hate to make a mistake.”
“Whatever choice you make will be the right one. You have the power here, Ilias. You hold the world in the palm of your hand.”
Those last words set off a creeping sensation over my skin. Who in the blazes is he talking to who’s pumping his ego up like that?
A couple of attendants push a cart down the hall, and I lose my sound funnel while I shift out of their way. One of them smiles eagerly and asks if I’d like one of the sandwiches they’re bringing around.
I take one just to have something else to do with my hands, and then one ofmyfather’s friends comes strolling in the front door. He lifts his hand the second he catches sight of me. Reluctantly, I go over to make the necessary polite small talk, still watching the door to Mr. Tadros’s chosen room from the corner of my eye.
I’m just wriggling out of the unwanted conversation when the older Tadros emerges, with a more energetic spring to his step than I remember seeing before. I drift in his direction again, nibbling on my sandwich and waiting for his companion to emerge.
It takes long enough that I start to think I must have missed the man leaving ahead of Mr. Tadros. To avoid looking awkward, I amble into the lounge, staying close to the doorway. Finally, the door clicks again.
A figure walks past the lounge so briskly I only catch a glimpse of bowler hat and gray pea coat… and a tickle of ephemera that hits my skin just slightly heavier than seems quite right.
My pulse stutters. I lurch forward without thinking, tossing a tendril of collected energy after the figure, attempting to divine what I can from his presence.
The fleeting impressions I glean, fading as the man strides away, feel totally ordinary with the usual light quiver of ephemera; starkly bitter coffee, a bland reception room, a cheerful hello. Not a trace of it jolts me with the same uneasy familiarity as that first wisp I thought I noticed.
The stranger leaves the building with only a quick nod to the doorman. I return to the lounge, my face carefully blank, my nerves twanging.
I could have imagined the odd sensation. It was so subtle, so brief, and I wanted to find answers so badly, to be able to connect something here to what happened with Kenneth. It could have been a random shift in the air or pure hallucination.
The latter isn’t totally unbelievable, is it? I can’t exactly claim I’m perfectly mentally stable.
The thought rattles through my skull and constricts my lungs. I manage to smile and choke down the rest of my sandwich, but my mind has scattered.
I’m not going to accomplish anything else here today.
One of the family cars arrives shortly after I text my request for a pick-up. I slide into the back with a polite greeting to the driver, but my attention is already darting through the space.
There’s too much scrutiny in the club to release the pressure in my head effectively. Here I can count every stitch on the seams of the seat in front of me, every parked car we cruise by, until the jumbled sensation behind my eyes starts to settle.
I’m all right. I’m still in control.
Even if I slipped up and thought I sensed something that wasn’t there, it’s not the end of the world. I just… won’t mention it to Elodie or her other matches.
I wouldn’t want my capricious ticks to lead us down the wrong path.
When we reach the house, I’m itching to head straight to my room and completely ground myself. Unfortunately, Pa hustles to meet me as soon as I step inside.
“Byron! You’re a difficult man to keep track of these days.” He taps his knuckles against my shoulder the playful way he’s been doing for as long as I can remember, though he no longer has to reach down to do it. “We’re having dinner a bit early, unless you’ve got other plans to rush off to.”
I don’t think my parents would accept re-straightening my bookshelves or floating in my bathtub as acceptable “other plans.”
I summon another smile. “Sounds good. What’s for dinner?”
