Page 18 of Tempest

“Oh, I saw it,” I mumble, remembering its bronzed decay in the darkened holding room.

“Huh?”

“Miss Callahan?” A man in yet another suit climbs onto the curb, signaling us.

“Finally.” Clover takes my hand and pulls me toward him, but I yank mine away.

“I’m not a child,” I say. “I can walk on my own.”

Mila claps me on the back. “Thatta girl. I knew you’d claim your independence one day. Gimme.”

I hand her back the flask. She shakes it one a frown. “Damn girl, how much did you drink?”

“Enough to forget,” I say, my voice dropping down a few decibels as the images return. Thick hair. Scarlet blood. Pieces of skull. Emerald eyes. Oh, God. I think I might throw up.

“Not with my jacket on, you don’t.” Mila grabs my collar and peels the jacket off my shoulders as I fold over and gag into the street gutter. “This is a classic Tom Ford.”

I allow her to pull it the rest of the way off, coughing on the salted, acidic spit.

“She better not puke in the car,” the man says. “It’s just been reupholstered.”

“If she does, I’ll pay you triple.” I hear Clover say. “Just get us out of here.”

“You got it. She need help into the car?”

Clover answers with a clipped, “No,” before she hoists me at the hips and assists me into the Town Car. Mila follows, slipping on her jacket and pocketing the empty flask.

I don’t end up vomiting anything but my own terror, and I slip into the middle seat with shaking, sweaty limbs as the nausea subsides. I’m getting away. Everything will be fine. There’s no way that man could know me. Father ensures I’m never in any photos, not even class pictures.

In any case, Barry will protect me. All I need to do is return to him.

Both Mila and Clover huddle close to me as the man slips into the driver’s seat and smooths into traffic. Mila requests he play EDM hits from her phone and whines until he turns the volume up to obnoxious levels.

Clover looks like she’s close to jumping out of the car window to escape the noise, but I don’t mind. It helps drown out the pounding in my head, and the gnawing worry that I left Tempest back there, doing God knows what.

The thumping bass drives into my spine, vibrating along my limbs and hardening my bones like a tuning fork. Mila bops along to the music, her arms flying as she mouths the words and urges us to join her.

“C’mon guys,” she yells. “This is meant to be Ardyn’s night! We can’t end it with frowns!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious. She doesn’t stop until she nudges a small smile out of me, and soon, I’m singing the words with her. I can always rely on Mila to put a positive spin on things. Plus, I want to feed off her pleasure in the small things. The big things can wait.

Clover remains stiff-backed beside us but endures the incessant climb of our dance moves. She shakes her head at us. “What did you guys drink?”

“I slipped a little Molly in!” Mila cries out, shrugs, then laughs.

I pause in my gyrations. “What? I’m drugged?”

“Mila!” Clover balks. “Are you crazy?”

“Yep.” Mila smiles. “Girl needs to live a little. She’s been wound up tight since she escaped her tower.”

Clover responds, “Mila, sometimes I wish you weren’t so fucking clueless—”

“Actually, this makes it easier to put the monsters away,” I add as the car’s interior turns into bright neon.

Clover’s mouth twists into a worried frown as she studies me.

“There’s a door in the back of my head,” I explain, though she hasn’t asked a question. “It’s where I lock the monsters in. And they can’t get out. Not if I don’t let them. And tonight … tonight… wait, did I see something bad tonight?”

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