Page 43 of XO Karma

A rock settles in my stomach. “These innocent creatures were shown mercy,” she continues. “These pieces freeze them in time. Ensuring they’re never forgotten about, even after death. They’re eternal.” Her gray eyes meet mine. “Pretty things deserve eternity, don’t you think?”

A chill scatters down my spine in a way I can’t quite explain. The way she speaks, there’s so much I fear needs to be read between the lines, but I don’t have the cipher. “Of course.”

She leans close, tone hushed. “Is it safe to assume you won’t be bidding on this piece?”

I gesture towards it. “It’s all yours.”

“Isla,” a familiar-looking man says, walking up with loafers, slacks, and a burgundy velvet suit jacket on. He leans in, kissing her on both cheeks, and the way her eyes brighten, they are clearly familiar. “How is it going tonight, love?” he asks in a thick British accent.

“So far, so good,” she replies, then gestures to me. “This is Aster Blake… journalist.” The words are like a warning. Don’t say anything you don’t want plastered on page ten.

“Frederick Vetrel,” he says, taking my hand and shaking it. “But just call me Vetrel.”

“Like the bar on 58th Street?” I ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, it’s my place.”

“Nice to meet you,” I reply curtly. Now I know why he looks so familiar. Vetrel’s Bar is headquarters for some of the most nefarious crimes going on in Cleosville. Drugs. Weapons. Call girls. You name it. I haven’t yet been able to dismantle them as it’s felt a bit like a chicken walking into a fox den, and I want to ensure I’m fully prepared for whatever blowback that would cause.

“Here for business or pleasure?” Are you here for information gathering or connections? That’s what he’s really asking.

“Just came as a plus one,” I say.

“Frederick, there you are,” a blonde woman says with another thick accent.

“Karolyn,” he replies, kissing her on the cheek, and drops his mouth to her ear.

She shakes her head. “He knows,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear.

Vetrel’s jaw tightens, and he takes a slow breath, scratching his graying beard. “You’re sure?”

“Isla,” another woman says, waving and getting her attention. “The French ambassador would like to have a word.”

“Excuse me,” Isla says, slipping away. Vetrel and Karolyn are having their own hushed discussion, leaving me with no one to converse with but the trash panda.

Isla’s explanation regarding the art was intriguing, but something about all of this is still… weird. I should’ve just stayed home and finished painting. Or checked in on a certain pink-haired spitfire.

Before I decide to do something reckless like leave and resume my stalking habit, I wander in search of Diego. As I weave through three more rooms of sculptures, the light harmony of string instruments catches my attention. I follow the sound floating down a corridor to a small ballroom filled with people laughing and dancing. A mahogany bar lines the wall, and there are a few high top tables where people are eating hors d’oeuvres. What grasps my attention the most is above the wide rumbling fireplace on the far wall. A massive mirror with gold framing is adorned with the top halves of three human-shaped skeletons protruding out. They’re jeweled just as the other pieces, but these sparkle brighter. Each skeleton is positioned differently. The first has its hands covering its eyes, the second its ears, the third its mouth.

See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil.

Interesting choice of art.

Beside the fireplace, a door swings open, and a few waiters appear with full trays of food, causing my stomach to rumble.

The soft sound of a woman’s laugh, a familiar laugh, has my head snapping to the side. Lily’s talking to some pretentious trust fund baby looking guy. Her hair is in big loose curls, and a fitted silk maroon gown adorns her body like a fucking sculpture of Aphrodite.

My neck burns, and I bring my fingers to the place she carved me. Branded me. A constant reminder of what she’s capable of. And I hate myself for loving it so damn much. Since my collar mostly covers my neck, I was able to forgo the bandage tonight, and the scar flames under my touch. The last time I saw Lily this close, I’d just pulled a dagger out of my leg. A dagger she placed there. And I still can’t find it in myself to hate her for it. Seeing Lily here, in that dress, my resolve wears thin.

Her baby blues connect with mine, and a deep frown envelops her face. She returns her attention to the preppy guy, faking a smile. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I stride over, her body tensing more with my every step.

“There you are,” I say, sliding my arm around her waist, pulling her in, and dropping my lips to her ear. “Caught you.” Her body shivers under my touch, and she laughs nervously, placing an arm on mine. Her fingernails dig in, and I revel in the pain. “And who is this, darling?” I ask, smiling towards the man. I’m not sure when I decided to pretend she and I are more than we are.

And what is that exactly?

Enemies?

Mutual stalkers?