Page 12 of Tempest

Clover doesn’t ask for further explanation, one of the many reasons I love her so much. She takes the bag from me and plops it on the counter in front of the woman, who sniffs in distaste. I pretend not to see it and turn my back on her, taking in the space.

A lot of white space with splashes of colorful, impressionist canvas pieces. Marvelous, but not the reason we came. “Where are the stairs?” I ask Clover after she finishes at the coat check.

“This way.”

Clover takes her hand in mine, and Mila squeezes my other one. Whether on instinct or as a form of protection, they always put me in the middle, and I’m instantly at ease. Between these two, I’m comforted, alive, and safe, feelings I can never truly find when I’m alone in my bedroom with Barry stationed at my door.

Whatever happens and if I get caught, I think, I’ll remember this moment when I’m happy and free with my friends.

“Hey,” Mila says, drawing my attention. “I’m sorry for how I acted in the car. Tempest … gets to me, you know? I’m not used to being denied such a prime cut of meat if you know what I’m saying.”

Laughing, I release her hand and loop my arm around her shoulders. “I understand.”

Mila wiggles close. “I love you, girl.”

Me, too.

This is just like Mila, to be frustrated with her one moment and in love with her the next.

Clover leads us behind a fake wall, jutting out from a real one and housing some abstract pieces with violent slashes of red and black paint. A man dressed in all black hovers near an all-white door, a stark yin and yang.

All three of us offer innocent, doleful smiles while Clover reaches for the handle.

He scans all three of us with a shrewd look before giving an infinitesimal nod that allows Clover to push open the door.

The hallway leading down is black. A plastic string of LED red lights outlines the stairs at our feet. No wilting flower, Mila takes the stairs first.

“C’mon!” she says over her shoulder before disappearing from view.

My hand involuntarily clenches around Clover’s.

“This is normal,” she assures me. “Auctions like this, they don’t like the average Joe to know about it, so they make it super intimidating.”

I nod, though my internal alarms are screeching.

Clover gives me a light tug, and I follow her into the basement.

---