Page 41 of All Saints: Pledge

I’ve been ignoring Kendall all night. I make an effort to keep many people between us. And yet, every time I look up, he’s watching me.

I have no idea how much time passes, though things seem to wind down eventually. Fatigue slows my reactions. My smiles get more forced. More than one patron has nodded off in a cozy corner, victim of the open bar. I watch in envy as a dark-haired Korean woman sashays toward the door, giving Kendall's father a regal nod. I want to go home too.

“Are you okay?” It's a quiet, dark-haired man with an Irish accent. Clara has been serving this table, but at the moment I don't see her in the room. In fact the room has mostly cleared out. I frown. Have I missed some signal to leave? I sway a bit on my feet.

“Here, have a seat, you look pale.” He pulls out one of the plush seats next to him. “It's vacated. These English can't hold their liquor. The trick is to go slow and steady. I find that the most interesting time is to be had late in the evening. When everyone has put the cards on the table, so to speak.”

“Ah.” I say like I get it, even though I don’t. I’m wary about sitting down before my job is over, but my legs have no such compunction. I sink into the chair he offers.

“Helena isn't it?”

I eye him, alarmed I should know who he is. “Yes?”

“One of the Americans.”

“Guilty as charged.” I take a deep breath, steadying my body. Across the room, Kendall's father beckons to me. Immediately, I push back away from the table. “I should get back, thank you.”

“No, I insist. Five more minutes, your color is returning. We can't have a rumor being spread that we injure our scholars, can we?” His hand reaches out and pats my arm. In a fatherly way, but there's steel under that grip. “I rarely come to these things,” he says conversationally with a sip at his small glass of amber liquid. I’m surprised, given he looks vaguely familiar to me. Have I seen him around campus, does he teach here maybe?

“Not a party-goer?” I ask, because it seems I'm supposed to talk now. My brain feels sluggish after my long night of performance.

“I find some other supporters of this fraternity... distasteful." He admits. "I much prefer being home among my own comforts. When I do go out, I prefer the orchestra or the opera. How about you? Do you like the opera?”

I’m too tired to continue performing, so I go with honesty. “I’ve never been to an opera, but I think I would like it. Actually, I'm in a choir here.”

His gaze sweeps over me, and I see him perk up with the discovery of common interest. “Marvelous. I did a little singing in my time here, and my son too. How are you finding it?”

I lean forward, feeling like for the first time all evening, I can be myself. “Honestly? I love it more than I ever thought I could. I know it's supposed to just be volunteer hours. Service. But...it brings me a sense of peace I didn't know I was missing.”

His eyes glint. “There is something magical about musicians working together.”

“Yes, exactly that.” I tap the table. “It's well, if you forgive the term, divine?”

He swishes his drink thoughtfully. “Your appearance on our roster was a surprise. I am pleased you are here, however, and found our conversation refreshing. I look forward to talking with you more at a future date.” He uses his drink to motion behind me. “I believe your company is being requested. It seems I have monopolized enough of your time.”

I glance behind me to find Kendall stalking toward me. Does he ever just walk?

“Until our paths cross again,” the man says, helping me up. The warmth of his large hand engulfs mine, granting me a sense of security despite Kendall’s deadly gaze. I hope I am the only one who can read the wild look of jealousy that flashes across his face. By the time he reaches me, he's in control again.

“Your shift is over,” he growls before grabbing my elbow and propelling me into the tunnel.

Clara is waiting out there, as are the three goons that grabbed me. I rip my arm from Kendall's hand and turn to face him. "Stop manhandling me." I try with all my might to tell him with my eyes that his jealousy is an asshole move. He was the one who told me to be charming. I’d been charming.

His eyes blaze down at me. “You're playing with fire." He’s so quiet, I don't think Clara can hear. He covers his actions byyanking the small apron off of me, undressing me yet again, like I’m a toddler in need of tending.

I'm so tired of feeling powerless. So tired of Kendall acting like he knows everything. So tired of being a pawn in a game I don't even understand. “No, you're playing with fire. You said you needed me, well you're going to have to stop messing with me if you want me to cooperate. I have my limits. You’ll have to actually model some self restraint.”

His glare cools and he steps back. “We'll talk later.”

“No. We won't,” I say, turning to Clara, snatching her elbow and dragging her down the tunnel.

She totters on her heels before falling in step beside me. “What was that about?”

“Nothing. I swear.” Nothing that she needs to be jealous of at any rate.

“What do need to cooperate with?”

“He’s pretending like he’s trying to help me—us,” I hasten to add. “But really, Kendall is being an asshole and trying to manipulate the situation. You know how he is.”

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