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Gone, but not forgotten.
After everything she’s put Gabriel through, I’m determined that Cleo’s party will be a night to remember, but not for the reasons she thinks. We need to know what happened in that hotel room. And Cleo needs to suffer for her part in it.
On the way to my next class, Tiberius passes me in the hall and slips something into the pocket of my cheerleading jacket. Great. What now?
I slide into my seat at the back of the classroom and hand the envelope to Noah. “What do you make of this?”
He turns the envelope over. It’s made of thick black cardstock, edged with gold, and sealed with wax. Noah taps the seal. “It’s an eagle.”
Constantine. I swallow. “You don’t think it’s a bomb or something?”
“Anthrax-lined envelope, more likely.” Noah holds the envelope up to the light, but it’s impossible to penetrate its blackness. “I think you’re safe. I doubt Constantine intends to scatter his new fiancee into a million pieces.”
Then what does he want? I slide my nail under the seal and snap it open, pulling out a single piece of black cardstock. Constantine has invited me to meet him at a restaurant in Tartarus Oaks tonight. Come alone, the note commands.
Yeah. Right.
“You want to get out of here?” Noah asks.
I glance up at the front of the classroom, where Mr. Ross is setting up a film. I guess he knows it’s hopeless trying to get anyone to work today. “Sure.”
Mr. Ross watches us leave, his lips pursed like he’s biting his tongue. This school is ridiculous – he’s supposed to be the one in charge, but he knows better than to mess with Noah’s family or the Malloy ghost. We stop by my locker to grab my things. I smooth down my cheerleading jacket over my uniform. I like wearing it even though I’m still on leave from the team, mainly because I know it pisses Cleo off. “Do you think I should go home and change?”
He shakes his head. “Let Constantine see that you don’t doll yourself up for him. You got your knives?”
I pull down my sleeve to show him the blade tucked inside. “The other one is in my boot.”
“That’s my girl.” Noah drags out his phone. “Should we tell the others where we’re going?”
“Text George. Tell her if we don’t check in at seven to send out a search party.”
In the parking lot, we climb into Noah’s Lamborghini. He speeds out of school, chasing the bitter wind toward the coast. He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other leaning against the window like we’re two teens on a casual road trip. Even though we’re crossing the Acheron into the other side of the city, the side his father would like to snuff from existence, he’s completely at ease. Gone is that tight-wound mask of fury he wore like a second skin. I can’t see the senator’s son who tried so hard to be good. For the first time in his life, Noah Marlowe knows exactly who he is – and he revels in it.
We park up along a strip of restaurants and bars near the boardwalk. The place is hopping with people – couples and groups of friends talking and laughing, oblivious to the invisible chess game playing out on their patch of contested earth. We have time to kill, so we walk along the beach. It’s freezing out and my bare legs turn blue. Noah pulls me close.
“You don’t have to burn the world for us,” he tells me.
“Huh?”
“I see what you’re doing, Claws. Going after Cleo for Gabriel, threatening my father, helping Madeline, promising Eli you’ll help him rescue those animals. You have nothing to atone for.”
“This isn’t about atonement,” I say. “It’s about justice.”
“Is it? All the justifiable violence in the world won’t bring your parents back. It won’t erase the wrongs Brutus did to you.” Noah’s voice is gentler than I’ve ever heard him. “Just like owning my father won’t bring my mom or brother back.”
I shrug. “Maybe not. But it feels good.”
He smiles. A dark, wicked smile that melts my heart into my kneecaps. “It does. I’ve never felt more alive. And that’s why we have to be careful. You and I… we’ve been caged our entire lives. Now we’re free, now we sing our songs of bloodshed and peck out the eyes of our enemies. But we’re still birds who don’t know how to fly. We’re still hopping around in the dirt with the mice and the snakes. We may believe we’re the butchers, but we’re always someone’s prey.”
We stay and watch the seagulls dive for food in the shallow water. Noah’s words circle in my mind. When the sun paints a path of orange flame over the water, we wander back to the boardwalk. The address Constantine has sent me to is an upmarket Korean restaurant. I order Noah back to the car, but he refuses, as I knew he would.
“I’m not leaving your side. Constantine knows no Imperator would be stupid enough to come without protection.”
Inside, couples and businessmen crowd the tables, and heavenly smells burst from the kitchen. I give my name to the maître d and he disappears into the back. A moment later, Constantine appears. He’s dressed in black slacks and a black silk shirt that accentuates his willowy frame and the gold flecks in his green eyes. He nods to Noah, acknowledging his presence. He beckons us up a narrow staircase to the third floor and through a set of double doors.
I don’t know what I expect to see when I enter the room, but it’s not the lofty space with the polished wood floor, wall of mirrors, exercise mats, and racks of martial arts equipment and vicious-looking weapons. It’s certainly not the small, bald man in a black robe sitting crosslegged on the mats, his brown eyes vacant, his wizened features relaxed.
Constantine sweeps his arm, indicating the space. “This is my club. Your cousin trains men for the ring – to entertain, to draw out death for spectacle. Here, I make killers. In our public face, we teach advanced classes in a number of martial arts disciplines and send fighters to championships all over the world.” He points to a wall decorated with medals, trophies, and photographs. “The best fighters I recruit into our ranks.”
