Page 92 of Archenemies

The red light blinked out at the same time a lock clunked inside the gate.

Nova pushed on the gate and it groaned and creaked, but once she was through, it swung back of its own accord. She heard the locking mechanism bolt again and buried a shudder.

“Stay on the path,” she said, scanning the flagstone. The vast green lawns to either side were tidy and quaint, like they were waiting for someone to roll out a game of croquet. “Duly noted.”

She made her way to the door and stepped into the shadow of the portico. Two topiaries stood on the steps, taking up residence in ancient stone urns. A knocker on the middle of the yellow door was shaped like a tusked elephant, with the knocker held in its looped trunk.

A small bronze plaque beside the door read:

GATLONCITYHISTORICALMARKER

MAYOR’SMANSION

This house served as the home for Gatlon City mayors for more than a century prior to the twenty-year period known as the Age of Anarchy, during which Mayor Robert Hayes and his family and staff were murdered in this location.

Beneath this stoic plaque was a smaller, wooden one, with hand-painted words that read,EVERHART-WESTWOOD RESIDENCE: ALL SOLICITING, PICKETING, AND VILLAINOUS ANTICS STRICTLY PROHIBITED!

Before Nova could determine if she thought this was funny or not, one of the double doors swung open.

She jumped back. Her hand reached for her belt before she remembered she hadn’t brought it with her.

“Nova?” said Adrian, haloed by the light of the foyer behind him. “I thought the security system might be pulling a joke on me.” He almost, but not quite, smiled. “What are you doing here?”

A hundred little observations rushed into Nova’s mind at once, rendering her speechless. That the smell of cinnamon wafted from the doorway. That Adrian’s long-sleeved T-shirt seemed tighter than normal, and he was wearing paint-splattered jeans with tears in the knees. That there was a charcoal drawing on the wall behind him depicting the Stockton Bridge at night. That he was pressing a hand beneath his ribs in an odd way, and as soon as he noticed her noticing, the hand dropped to his side.

She picked what seemed to be the least problematic of her thoughts, and said, “You live in a mansion.”

Adrian blinked, then considered the entryway, as if it had been a long time since he’d stopped to really take in his surroundings. “The Mayor’s Mansion, yeah. You didn’t know that?”

“No, I did,” she said. “But I didn’t expect… I mean, it’s an actual, literal mansion.” She gestured at the lawn. “You have a fountain in your yard.”

A slow grin crept over Adrian’s face. “Don’t freak out, but there’s a carriage house in the back. Oh, and the attic used to be servant’s quarters. There’s even a bell system that connects to all these little buttons throughout the house, so if the mayor’s wife wanted a cup of tea, she’d just have to push one of the buttons and a servant would come and take her order.” His eyes twinkled. “Classy stuff, right?”

Nova gaped at him. “Tell me you don’t have servants.”

Laughing, Adrian stepped back. “No servants. Do you want to come in? I was warming up cinnamon rolls for dinner.”

“What, you don’t eat seven-course meals every night?”

“Only on Sundays. Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.” Nova held her breath as she crossed the threshold, her focus roving from the intricate crown moldings to the crystals dripping from the chandelier. She glanced at Adrian’s abdomen and could detect a squarish lump beneath his shirt. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Adrian said quickly, pressing a hand to the spot again, then waving the question away. “I was, uh… unpacking some boxes with a box cutter and it slipped and got me. You know how they always say to cutawayfrom yourself? I finally understand why.”

He turned and she followed after him, frowning. Adrian was a lot of things, but clumsy wasn’t one of them. It was difficult to imagine him making such a mistake.

They passed an oak staircase that curved upward to the second floor and an arched doorway through which she could see a grouping of chairs and sofas and a piano in the corner, though even from here she could see a layer of dust on it.

“Is that aparlor?” said Nova.

“No, it’s aformalparlor,” said Adrian. “My dads hired a fancy interior designer to put it together a few years ago, and I don’t think we’ve used it since. They insist it will come in handy, though, once we start inviting foreign dignitaries to visit and they need a place to ‘host’ them.” He made quotes in the air.

Nova expected to be taken to a kitchen, but instead Adrian led her down a narrow staircase into some sort of basement. The aroma of cinnamon grew thicker around them.

Nova realized with a start, as her foot landed on plush carpet, that she was in his room.

His bedroom.

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