Page 1 of Tempest

Ardyn

It’sone thing to use protection to keep people out of your home, but it’s a whole other effort to use that protection to escape.

“The dove is in her bedroom, boss,” Barry, my security detail, also known as my ride-or-die, mumbles into his wrist where a discreet microphone is placed.

I can’t currently see him, but I can picture his stance, and the following fifteen minutes of routine checks he’ll go through before nodding to himself, tapping my closed door thrice with the pads of his fingers (he’s the superstitious sort), then rotating 180 degrees until his back is against my door, crossing his arms, and remaining in place until my alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m. and my weekday routine begins.

My phone chirps, drawing my attention. With half an ear to Barry’s movements, I lift it from where I’d flung it on my bed and read the message.

Mila: Have you broken out yet?

My stomach leaps at the words. Mila’s helped me plan this moment meticulously since the moment we heard the words black tie secret auction three weeks ago. My parents, of course, would never let me go to an event unsupervised, never mind one held at midnight. The thought of going hadn’t even crossed my mind until Mila caught my eyes with her green ones, the sharp slant of them adding to her mischievous wink the instant she realized I’d heard the whispered conversation in Manhattan Elite’s cafeteria hall, too.

Mila’s wanted to be my bad influence since she met me, and this was her moment to shine.

Not yet, I texted back, annoyed at the way my thumbs were already shaking.

C’mon, Ardyn, you’re sneaking out and going to a party. You should be an ace at this by now if you ever got up the nerve to try since enrolling in junior high. Which you didn’t. Wimp.

It’s my internal voice talking, but the longer it goes on, the more it absorbs Mila’s playful cadence. It’s no biggie, we’ll steal some champagne and flirt with older men, and you’ll be home in time before Barry turns into a pumpkin!

Mila: Hurry!!! They shut the doors at 12:30.

I check the time on my phone. 12:06. Shit.

“I can do this,” I whisper, smoothing down my pajama shirt and straightening the hem of my plaid shorts.

Hermione makes a low-pitched mewl in response.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I say to her, then wince once I realize where she’s decided to curl up.

The black silk gown Mila lent me currently acts as my cat’s bed, despite it being laid carefully on the corner of the mattress.

“It’s a king-sized bed, Hermione!” I whisper-screech. “You literally could’ve chosen anywhere else!”

Hermione slow-blinks in reply.

Hissing under my breath, I carefully nudge her fuzzy white butt aside and pull the dress from underneath her. She swipes out in warning, and I nearly choke on my swallowed cry as I try desperately to save the silk from catching on her unsheathed claws.

I stumble back on weak knees, clutching the fabric to my chest.

A light knock follows. “Everything okay in there, Ardy?”

I blow out a tense breath. “Yes!” I reply, glaring at my cat. Then I remember what I’m supposed to do. “I mean—no. I’m feeling … I’m not feeling very good…”

I wilt onto my knees to give my voice a true wobbly effect. Hermione looks on in disdain.

“Do you have a fever? Should I come in?”

“No, I’m—I’m indisposed. I’ve been throwing up in the bathroom and trying not to let you hear me.” I cringe in embarrassment, then guilt, at how easy it is to gain Barry’s concern. He’s more a father figure to me than my actual one.

“Oh, Ardy, what can I do? Should I call your parents?”

“Absolutely not.” I bite back the panic at the possibility of my parents coming home from their banquet and sending them into a round of alarm at the thought of something being wrong with me.

Guilt burrows further into my chest. They’ve never gotten over what happened to me six years ago, and here I am, using the concern of people I care about just to go to a party…

My phone buzzes nearby.

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