The sounds of clinking glass, the ringing of silverware and excited conversation surrounded us like a symphony. I sat upright, allowing it to wash over me and wishing the moment would never end.
“Andromeda—”
The voice that commanded my very soul reached my ears, drawing all of my attention to it. “You have barely consumed your cheesecake. Was it not as the waiter assured us it would be?” Riley’s face darkened at the thought that our server may have lied to us.
“Oh no, no, I just… look at it, Riley, it’s huge!” I protested, picking up my fork to poke at the giant slice of cheesecake before me. “I can barely eat another bite!”
It was hardly a surprise, considering the feast we had ordered. The appetizers of fruitwood smoked salmon with classic garniture and multi-grain bread, the jumbo lump crabcake served with smoked tomato piquillo aioli and salad. The main course of true Sardi’s classics: spinach cannelloni au gratin for me, steak tartar for Riley.
Oh, if only Bree could see me now, sitting in Sardi’s with the pre-theatre crowd. When we had first pulled up to the restaurant, I thought for sure getting a table would be impossible, but we were seated immediately upon Riley’s command.
“Hmm… that is a shame, but I suppose I will allow it,” Riley said with a hint of a smile. A careless wave of his hand, and our desserts were cleared from the table.
I flinched to see the barely touched cheesecake taken away—it felt so wasteful.
“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with an aperitif?” Riley offered.
“A… a what?” I asked.
“An after-dinner libation.”
“You mean… alcohol?” I grimaced at the thought. “Ugh, I never want to touch alcohol again as long as I live.”
Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Good,” he said curtly. “I want you to never put yourself in such a situation again, and as you don’t know your limits, it is best if you abstain.”
Only then did I realize that he wasn’t just teasing; it had been a test. I reddened at the memory of Friday’s party—was it really only last night that those horrible guys had tried to take advantage of me? If I had been more responsible, if I hadn’t been out there dressed in only that little bikini, drunk out of my mind, then—
The realization was a sobering one. Then none of this would have happened.
“Excuse me, Riley,” I said, putting my cloth napkin on the table.
Riley straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “Where are you going?” he demanded, and his tone froze me in place.
“To… to the… little girls’ room,” I explained, feeling myself flush in embarrassment and hoping he would get the hint.
He relaxed and nodded. Still burning, I hurried to the restroom. It was frightening what Riley could do to me, making me feel so unsure and childlike. And yet—
The ladies’ room was empty, and I went straight for the sink, turning on the faucet to let cold water run over my hands.
It had barely been a day, but the flood of memories of our time together felt like a lifetime. Chinatown and Little Italy, the crowds and the smells and the colors. Driving by Ground Zero and not knowing how to explain that dark day to an unknowing god. Being forced into a small SoHo boutique where Riley bought me the dress and shoes I was now wearing (a storm-blue sleeveless pencil skirt affair that made me look like an adult, high heels in a silver hue and a Kate Spade bag to compliment the lot). Even if he had let me, I couldn’t bear to see the final price. I was sure it was more money than I could spend in a week, much less a single purchase.
“You can’t wear that to dinner,” he had purred, motioning to my jeans and sweater ensemble as the saleswoman handed me the newly purchased items. “Change here.”
I’d wanted to protest, but the words just wouldn’t come to my mind, and so I obeyed. I shoved my old clothes into the Kate Spade bag, the thought of my ratty things touching such an expensive bag making me queasy.
In the Sardi’s ladies’ room, I smoothed down the skirt, reveling in the feel of it under my hand. The fabric was delicious against my skin. The dress could hardly do much to help my pathetic figure, but the look in Riley’s eye when I’d stepped out of the dressing room…
As much as I suddenly wanted to, I couldn’t wash my face to cool it down—I was wearing makeup. Me. Wearing makeup. The result of a stop into Sephora, where a gorgeous redhead with a playful but no-nonsense manner gave me the royal treatment at Riley’s request. They discussed what colors suited me best—they could have been talking another language entirely. “Not that she even needs any makeup,” Riley had boasted, smiling at me as the woman laughed and agreed. I could only blush, but secretly, the complement set my heart aglow.
It felt only natural to explore 5th Avenue after that, taking in all the high-end designer stores that ran its length. I watched my reflection in the restroom mirror as my hand moved as if of its own volition to the silver Tiffany necklace I now wore. I felt like Cinderella. I only wished ruefully that this night would never end.
Sighing, I turned off the water and dried my hands. I had wasted enough time lost in thought. Riley was waiting. Besides, the night was far from over—it was only 7:35 p.m. I wondered what else the evening could possibly hold for us. Midnight seemed forever away.
I felt calm and confident as I walked out of the ladies’ room. I kept my eyes on the floor, attempting to appear demure and sexy, while in actuality trying to make sure I didn’t trip and end up looking like a total idiot in front of Riley. I got back to my seat, sat down, looked up and—
Riley was gone.
I could feel the blood drain from my face. Where could he have gone?
The theatre crowd had made their escape, and the restaurant was much quieter than even just five minutes before. An icy cold chill dripped down my spine. Had he left me there, all alone? Where was I supposed to go? I had no money, no phone, no way to get back home without him. The check was still on the table. Surreptitiously, I opened the little black folder; there was change. At least Riley had paid while I was in the restroom. Not that stiffing your—
The word stuck to my tongue, choking me. We had spent all day together, exploring and dining. He’d bought me clothes, for Pete’s sake! But… a date? Why would someone as worldly and gorgeous as Riley ever consider me dateable? Had he done it out of pity? An apology for whisking me away to his other-dimensional abode? Perhaps, but it was impossible to think it could be anything more than that. Especially now, when from the best I could tell, he’d up and left me—
“Get your things, we mustn’t be late.”
Riley’s cool, seductive voice snapped me out of my miserable reverie. I looked up at him, gaping dumbly as he leaned his forearms on the back of his chair, looking down upon me with both impatience and—
Affection?
“What’s the rush, I thought we couldn’t get the—you know—until midnight?” I said as I struggled to gather my bag.
“That is still the plan, yes. But curtain is at eight.” And with a devilish smirk and a flourish, he produced two theatre tickets from the inner pocket of the blazer that fit him like a dream.
Two tickets to Phantom of the Opera.
I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth in shock. “You must be joking!” I cried.
He blinked—suddenly the impossibly suave, unknowable creature was replaced, and his slight head cock made him seem like a confused little puppy. “Is this not pleasing to you?” he asked, stiffening as if preparing for a blow.
“Not pleasing? Riley are you kidding?” I yelled, and without thinking, I leapt forward, throwing my arms around him as if he were only Bree or Vik.
It was a mistake, a glorious, horrible mistake. My brain shut down as the proximity to him sent a wave of longing through me. My arms instinctively drew me closer to him, and the heady smell that was distinctly Riley—of fresh salt breezes and deep, murky seawater—filled my nostrils, setting my nerves on fire.
Only then did I realize that if I thought he had been stiff before, he was a plank of wood now. Crap! I panicked and threw myself away from him, my chest heaving as I did. “Crap, I’m… I’m so sorry, Riley, I just got so excited. I’ve always wanted to see Phantom,” I babbled. “I just can’t… I just can’t believe you… remembered.”
His nostrils flared, but he seemed to soften once there was distance between us. “Andromeda, you just mentioned your love of the thing this afternoon. I am old, but I am not senile,” he droned, and I smiled sheepishly at him.
He checked the clock on the wall. “Now quickly, before we are late,” he ordered.
But his bossy tone meant nothing to me, for as I passed him, his hand gently touched upon the small of my back, and he guided me out of Sardi’s and down the street to the Majestic Theatre. My emotions were so great, I later would barely remember that walk—was it short? Long? Straight? With turns? Nothing mattered. I was with Riley, and we were about to see Phantom of the Opera.
I didn’t come back to my senses until we entered the Majestic Theatre. I was in awe—it truly lived up to its name. It felt lush, rich, just like I imagined the Paris Opera House would be. Riley, his hand still against my back, ushered me up the stairs, through the throng of people excited for a night of Broadway.
An usher stopped us on the mezzanine level and took our tickets. His eyes widened when he saw the seating assignment—I hadn’t caught a glimpse of the row or seat, and his reaction made me curious.
“Right this way, sir, madam,” he stammered, and we followed him up a few more stairs, down a hallway—
And to a door labeled ‘5.’
“Box Five,” he said with a stutter.
Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Impossible!” I gasped once Riley opened the door and ushered me over the threshold. We were in a dimly lit room that only added to the majestic ambiance. A scarlet curtain separated us from our seats.
“This box was actually quite easy to procure,” Riley said, and then added with an almost predatory smile, “for me.”
I couldn’t believe it. The perfect seats for the perfect show. I almost clapped my hands in delight.
“Shall we?” he said, his arm sweeping toward me.
“Please,” I breathed, putting my hand in the crook of his elbow.
By the time the cast was taking their final bows, I wanted to leap to my feet, wanted to applaud madly and yell Bravi, bravi, bravissimi! But somehow I managed to keep my cool. I did, however, clap until I thought my hands would fall off. I looked back at Riley; he had stayed seated and wasn’t clapping, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. But he wasn’t looking at the stage. He was only staring at me.
In that moment, as we gazed at each other, the words almost escaped my lips in my euphoria. I love you. The thought sent a jolt of longing through me. My Great One. My Riley. My beautiful, frightening, unknowable, perfect Riley.
I knew then that I could never, would never love another like I loved Riley in that moment. That all else would only be a pale shadow of the reality before me. No matter what he might feel toward unworthy me, I would forever be his. Forever.
We sat in Box Five a few moments more, waiting for the audience to make their exit. “You enjoyed the show,” he stated as the crowds finally started to disperse.
I struggled to find the words, and all seemed inadequate. “It was everything I ever wanted,” I whispered, bringing my hands to my face in girlish wonderment.
Riley smiled, and standing, offered his hand. I placed my hand in his, and once I stood, found we were barely a foot apart. He towered over me; I had never felt safer.
“Come,” he ordered.
I obeyed. We emerged into Times Square, Riley’s hand once more against the small of my back. The crowds were much smaller than before, but there were still people hustling about, taking in the nightlife and the lights. I let the rush and excitement wash over me, the LED billboards painting the air around us in brilliant, bold sweeps. I leaned into Riley’s protective touch. We were an island amidst the sea of humanity. I felt untouchable, like a ship sheltered in a cove, protected from the sea’s rage.
We meandered around Times Square in a comforting silence, absorbing the sights and sounds. I wanted the night to never end. But then, just like Cinderella—
“It is time,” Riley said. He took my hand and led me down 42nd Street toward the Port Authority Bus Terminal.
Midnight was almost upon us, and I couldn’t shake the growing fear that I was about to lose everything.
Riley deftly wove us through the crowds with the same finesse he displayed in driving. I followed blindly, preparing myself mentally for what might lie ahead. What if we were late? What if there were cultists waiting for us? What if—?
“Desist,” Riley ordered, but he threw me a small smile over his shoulder. “I can feel you worrying.”
I nodded mutely and tried to keep up. My heels, while shockingly comfortable, were making it difficult to match the pace he was setting. I was relieved when the Port Authority finally loomed over us, a strangely ominous and dark structure after the wonderland that was Times Square. It looked more like a prison fortress than a bus terminal, and if it hadn’t been for Riley’s pull, I might have paused there in the street in a sudden lack of courage. Instead, I was dragged forward, and I took a deep breath to steel myself.
Inside the Port Authority was a deserted maze of stairs, ugly orange tiles and brown trim. I looked around, already disoriented and unable to determine where the lockers would even be located. The silence within the terminal was stark and oppressive compared to the streets just outside. My eye caught a glimpse of a clock—it was 11:45 p.m.
“Riley—” I began, but he shushed me.
“Not now,” he growled, and he looked like an animal on the hunt. He glanced at me. “Don’t look—but we are being followed.”
My eyes widened, and I nearly did look over my shoulder.
“Don’t,” he ordered. “They are flanking us as we walk.”
“Riley,” I whispered, clutching his hand in fear. “What are we going to do?”
“They are cultists… They will not attack us until we have the book in hand,” he predicted, continuing his brisk but steady gait.
“And then what?” I whispered.
“And then, I will keep you safe,” he promised, his expression darkening.
We found the rental lockers, lined in identical rows. We only had seven minutes, but Riley pushed forward, not paying attention to any of the signs or numbers, seemingly guided by something else.
Out of the corner of my eye down one of the aisles, I caught sight of a black-robed figure. I gasped and turned away, clinging tighter to Riley, frightened. I didn’t know how we’d get out of there with the book, much less—
“It is here,” Riley said. I tightened my hand around his arm for one moment more before I released it to let him work.
It was number L1890, just another in a row of lockers. But a strange sort of energy seemed to be building within it. It set my teeth on edge and raised the hairs on my arms.
Riley placed his hand on the normal-looking combination lock. “Aeons and aeons and he’s still using the same combination,” he muttered with a roll of his eyes, and then he looked at me. I glanced over my shoulder and my eyes found a clock on a nearby wall.
11:59 p.m.
“Whatever happens,” Riley whispered, “you will do as I say.” It wasn’t a question, but an order that allowed no argument. I nodded.
The seconds passed with agonizing slowness as his hand poised upon the door, waiting for the appointed time. I tried to calm my breathing, tried to prepare myself for whatever might come next. I had to pull it together, if for nothing else, then for Riley.
The clock struck, its mighty chime echoing through the terminal. In a flash of movement, Riley had the lock off and the door open. He plunged his arm into the locker, as if reaching into unfathomable depths. He suddenly grimaced and gripped the locker edge desperately with his other hand. I nearly grabbed him as he abruptly surged back from the door, and then surged forward again as if to punch something inside. He then reached once more, as deeply as he could, into the locker. His eyes widened, and with a grunt, he pulled something out of it.
It was a brief case.
“Neil,” he growled, and plunged his hand back into the locker. “Of course his accursed briefcase would come first.”
Riley seemed to root around within the locker’s depths, struggling to find the book.
“I have it!” he finally cried, and with a mighty pull, his hand emerged clutching a slim tome bound in ancient red leather. The Eldrich Grimoire.
“Close your eyes,” Riley ordered as he shoved the book into my hands. “And get down!”
Going on pure instinct, I did as he commanded, clutching the Grimoire to my body as I sank to the ground.
I could hear the patter of running footsteps. A rough hand grabbed my arm—but before it could pull me to my feet or touch the book, a roar the likes of which I’d never heard rang through the locker room, making the metal shake. I could sense the lights flickering from behind my eyelids. In terror, I gathered the book even closer to myself as tears began to fall down my face uncontrollably.
The sounds of a desperate fight surrounded me. How many attackers there were, I could not tell. A body was slammed into the lockers to my left. The metallic crash shook me, and I felt the body hit the floor. A male voice began screaming in unimaginable pain.
“Riley!” I cried.
Another body fell, this time even closer to me. I wrapped myself tighter around the book, desperately squeezing my eyes shut. There was then a strange change in the air around me, the sensation of something—powering up. A wind seemed to rise from nowhere, whipping about me, trying to suck me in. The air seemed to scream, and I could swear its voice sounded—human.
The wind died as suddenly as it came. I did not dare open my eyes. In the dark silence, a hand grabbed my upper arm and I struggled against it, lashing out wildly.
“Run!” a voice at my ear said, and I nearly collapsed in relief. It was Riley.
“No, don’t look, just run!”
He pulled me forward, and I struggled behind him in my heels. I thought for sure I would fall, or drop the book, that we would get caught, that something terrible would happen—
The cool night air hit my face and I gulped it down gratefully, trying to wash away the violence that had filled the terminal.
“To the car,” Riley ordered, and I hesitated.
“Those… those people that attacked us?” I whispered blindly.
“Cultists,” he confirmed huskily.
“Can I open my eyes?” I meekly asked, afraid of the answer.
He paused. “Yes, now you can.”
I did, and instantly sought him out. There he was, briefcase in hand and breathing heavily, but there was an ethereal glow about him. Even his eyes seemed to burn emerald in the yellow haze of 42nd Street at night.
“What happened back there?” I all but sobbed, clutching the book tighter.
Riley’s eyes seemed to flare. In that moment I could almost have been frightened of him.
“The cultists are no more,” he said. “My hunger is sated.”
“You… you ate them?” I forced the words out of my mouth. It came out as a squeak even though the shock was finally subsiding.
He looked at me for a moment, and then let out a low laugh. He shook his head slowly. “I have consumed that part of them which held together their sanity. Their being.”
Their souls, I realized. There was nothing I could say.
He stepped closer to me. “Does that frighten you?” he demanded. “Does it, Christine?” he taunted. He stared down at me, his face tortured but also… fierce.
Wild.
Beautiful.
I impulsively reached up and touched his arm.
“No,” I grimly said. And it didn’t.
Riley’s eyes seemed to flash again, and he grasped me by the elbows to gaze deeply into my eyes.
My knees faltered. The evening was finally catching up to me.
“Whoa,” I mumbled, my eyelids suddenly feeling impossibly heavy. “I think it’s midnight for this Cinderella.”
I sank into Riley’s arms as the last of my adrenaline abandoned me. I gazed up at him, and in his expression I thought I again caught a glimpse of something almost like…
Affection.
“Sleep,” he ordered. “I will care for you.”
And so, I obeyed.