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Oso pulls the van over. In the back there are no windows, and it’s too dark to see through the windshield. I have no idea where we are, or why we’ve stopped.
Aydan swivels his chair and beckons James. With quick hands, he attaches a small pin to James’s lapel, then turns back to the computers and punches a few keys. One of the four monitors comes to life, displaying an image of Aydan’s back.
“Okay,” he says, “try to point the thing at as many faces as possible. I’ll record everything. And Blare,” he reaches for a small box, “these earrings are for you.”
Blare takes the box. “They’re hideous!” she exclaims.
“Sorry, darling. They didn’t come in crossbones. I did what I could,” Clark says.
She gives him the finger. “Screw you.”
When another monitor comes to life, showing an image from Blare’s perspective, Aydan rubs his hands together. “It’s showtime.”
“C’mon.” James slides the door open and gestures for us to get out.
“Be careful,” Oso admonishes.
Once outside, I look around. We’re in the almost empty parking lot of a Mexican restaurant. If we had disembarked in China, it couldn’t be more bizarre. The restaurant is closed and there isn’t much else around.
Blare steps out through the passenger door. When I see her, I do a double take. She looks stunning, nothing like the Medusa monster I met the other night. Her every curve is revealed like an individual art piece; her dress fits as if a master artist painted it right on her skin. She has long, well-toned limbs, and a graceful air I would have never suspected. Her blond wig falls onto naked shoulders in loose curls and—if I didn’t know better—I’d say it was her real hair. The brow ring is gone and the black lipstick has been replaced by a deep red tint, creating a dramatic effect on her pale features.
My hands self-consciously tug at my dress and I feel like an ugly duckling. I’m taken by surprise by the ridiculous reaction and even more by the surge of anger that electrifies me when I notice Xave ogling her.
I want to ... slap him. Instead, my eyes shift to James, the retreating van, and the restaurant’s neon sign that reads “Casita Mamita.”
James pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and clicks the remote control. The sound of popping locks directs my gaze toward a black Lincoln LS. Blare and James walk toward the car with purposeful steps. Xave and I just stand there, watching like a couple of idiots. With a nasty backward glance, Blare says it all. We snap out of it, follow and get in the car.
As James drives out of the parking lot, he checks his watch. “When we get there, the others will be nearby in the van.” He looks at us through the rear-view mirror. “The party is by invitation only. Everyone is expected to bring a date, so a little bit of acting will be required on your part. Do you think you can handle that?”
Blare huffs. “For these two? It should be effortless.”
The heat of a blush ignites my cheeks. My stomach turns upside down. The passing buildings and lampposts become terribly interesting all of a sudden.
Cool it.
I dare turn my head a little toward Xave and catch a glance out of the corner of my eye. It seems he’s developed a passion for lampposts, too.
After a fifteen-minute drive, the view outside changes considerably. Dark alleys and dingy bars aren’t everything IgNiTe has to offer. We’re in some fancy neighborhood. The kind I’ve only seen on television. There are huge iron gates, security cameras, impeccable landscapes in every house ... or I should say mansion. No wonder we had to ride in this car, except now I’m not sure it’s fancy enough.
Xave and I elbow each other, point and gawk. When James comes to a stop at a huge gate guarded by two mean-looking guys in suits, we compose ourselves and act cool and collected.
James rolls down both front windows and gives a small wave. The two ogres on either side practically stick their heads in and peer at each one of us with narrowed eyes. Their noses flare like hound dogs’ and the humming in the back of my head picks up a couple of notches.
Inhale. Once. Twice.
The one on my side gives me a smile full of complicity, as if we’ve known each other for ages. I smile back, doing my best to match his expression. They wave us in, just like that. I thought James said the party was by invitation only. What did the guards do? Sniffed the fancy stationery to make sure we have an invitation?
As we move up the long driveway, bumpered by two rows of perfectly trimmed hedges and many strategically placed spotlights, James turns and says, “Good job.” It seems like a harmless comment meant for both Xave and I, but—from the way his gray gaze lingers on me—I know there’s a deeper compliment in there meant just for me.
Blare shakes herself and rolls her shoulders, as if chilled. “Disgusting.” She sounds as if someone just poured a bucket of slug slime down her impossibly tight dress.
The driveway takes us to a majestic mansion, capping the top of a hill. The place is gigantic, and even though I understand squat about architecture, I know you have to have some serious money to own a place like this. Not just any “Joe Blow Millionaire” can afford this type of luxury.
Xave and I exchange puzzled looks. I know he’s thinking the same thing I am. How does James and his miserable, shabby posse fit in with this filthy-rich bunch?
As we step out of the car, a man wearing a white coat and black bowtie takes the Lincoln and drives away. James pulls me aside. Xave and Blare look surprised by his hand at my elbow, leading me away from them. Begrudgingly, Blare takes the hint and pulls Xave with her, walking with slow, easy steps toward the main entrance.
When they’re out of earshot, James grabs my hand. “When you walk in there, the droning in your head is going to feel like a million killer ants eating your brain.”
His eyes are dead serious and the hard line of his lips uncompromising. My heart takes a leap and runs, scared like a jackrabbit. James takes my hand and puts a wide ring in my palm. The ring is pretty, with red stones inlaid in three rows. I stare at it, rendered speechless by surprise and confusion.
“When that happens and you feel you’re about to lose control, you can use this, if you need to.” He presses a button on the side of the ring. Little, sharp needles spring out on the inside. “Pain is your friend, Marci. Remember that. I’m taking a big risk bringing you here, but I have my reasons. I wish I could have prepared you better for this, but lately time has become a luxury. Don’t worry, you’ll learn everything soon enough. For now just remember, I need you on board. There’s something that makes you special. Being here will help you understand that. And I need you to understand. Fully. I know you’re strong. You can do this.”
Putting an instant smile on his face, James loops his arm around mine and ushers me along. We fall in step with the others as they’re about to enter the house. I slip the ring on my index finger, sparing a frightened glance its way. James just handed me a tiny and beautiful torture device. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to use it.
Nuts.
Relax.
Totally cracked.
Blare leaves Xave’s side and gives me a look plastered in ice. James nods slightly toward Xave. I know how to take a hint too and rush to my friend’s side.
“What was that all about?” Blare asks James between clenched teeth.
James’s answer to her question is lost to me as we step inside and the sound of voices, classical music, and wine glasses clinking in toasts fills the air. I barely have time to register all these details before the back of my head explodes into a maddening buzz. I grip Xave’s arm, my knees turning into rubber. My vision blurs.
“Are you okay?” Xave asks, putting a hand around my waist.
Calm down.
Connive. Fractious. Incisive.
Breathe.
My eyelids grow heavy and I fight to keep them open. Shadows spread over my thoughts like never before. They take macabre shapes that make me want to weep in terror.
“Marci, what’s wrong?” Xave is holding most of my weight now.
I can’t ... lose control. There ... are ... no—
Suddenly, James is at my side, grabbing my hand and pressing the button on the ring. The needles spring out and stab my finger, sending a jolt of pain up my arm. My eyelids shoot up and a fierce clarity floods my brain, shining a brilliant light over the shadows and breaking them apart. Surprisingly, no one notices, and I even have enough presence of mind to choke the cry that wicked pinprick kicked into my throat.
Now I’m very much in the moment, wrapped in layers of extravagance and luxury. Yet, as I stare into James’s intense, gray eyes, I realize I’d rather be in hell.