Page 83 of Dark Night Golden Dawn
Petra looked startled. “Why?” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “That was rude. I’m sorry. I…”
“I’m really glad you came over, Petra.”
“You are?”
Harlow nodded. “Yeah. In sixth year, I used to have this fantasy that one day you’d just stop being so mean to me and we’d be friends. Isn’t that weird?”
Petra’s eyes filled with tears. “Not really. I used to have the same one. Where my parents knew about me and didn’t care, and I got to be friends with you, Enzo and Finn.” Her chin wobbled. Harlow recognized the same loneliness that haunted her chasing Petra, even now.
Harlow reached out and tugged on Petra’s matching sweatshirt, something she couldn’t imagine having done even a month ago. “Hug?”
Petra nodded and Harlow pulled her into a gentle embrace. When Petra’s arms went around her, Harlow felt the other woman’s breath shudder through her. “You get to have a whole new life now, one where all those things are true, and more.”
When Petra pulled away she gave Harlow a watery smile. “We’ll get there. Both of us.”
Harlow nodded. “We’re already on our way. See you tonight.”
Petra waved as she ran down the steps. “Seven. It’s casual. Don’t be late.”
ChapterThirty-Three
Petra had said this dinner was casual, and she had no doubt that meantactuallycasual, unlike season events. Still, she stood in front of the racks of clothing sitting in the middle of her apartment for what felt like forever, trying to figure out what to wear. The weather had warmed just enough in the past few days to make sweaters uncomfortably warm, but lighter clothing was still too chilly.
Eventually, she settled on a plaid shirt in an impossibly soft twill fabric, tucked into a pair of vintage wide leg jeans. Harlow pulled her long hair into a ponytail, deciding not to fuss with makeup or glamour. Everyone knew she’d been having a hard time; there was no need to pretend like everything was fine.
Her intercom buzzed just as she was feeding Axel and thinking about ordering a car. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Harlow Krane. I need a signature.”
A delivery? “Be right down.”
She pulled boots on and ran down what felt like unending flights of stairs. Before she reached the bottom, she hesitated. What if this was some kind of trap from the House of Remiel? She slowed down, breathing deeply, reaching for her shadows. She wasn’t completely confident about using them to defend herself, but she wanted to be prepared.
As she entered the vestibule, she saw a human courier, dressed in street clothes, holding an envelope and a clipboard. Their bike was sitting outside and they were looking at it anxiously. She sighed. Just a human kid, worried about their bike being stolen.
“Hi,” she said as she stepped into the vestibule. “I’m Harlow.”
The kid looked at her, nodded. “Yep. Just like in the gossips.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“What?” the kid said with a grin. “Everyone follows along with that shit. You’re my favorite, by the way. I hope you win. Sign here.”
They handed her the clipboard and she signed, trying not to be offended that her personal life had been reduced to “winning” Finn McKay. Within seconds, the kid had handed her a stiff cardboard envelope and was outside and back on their bike. A dry laugh blew out from her lungs; it was ridiculous to be recognized for doing absolutely nothing—she wasn’t like the twins, she didn’t work at being seen. She tore open the envelope and was about to dump its contents out on the low console table in the front hall of her building when a shifter couple from the third floor passed her coming in from the parking lot.
“Finally using your spot, eh?” the older man said with a wink. “I do love a classic.”
“Hi, Phil. Marisa,” Harlow replied, not sure what Phil was referring to.
Marisa rolled her light brown eyes and tucked a lock of wavy black hair behind her ears. “Come on, Phil. Harlow has better things to do than talk to an old codger like you about classic cars.”
Harlow smiled. They were sweet together, but she had no idea what they were talking about. She waved as they got in the elevator, before turning back to the envelope. She turned it over and a key fell onto the table with a note. She picked up the note and recognized the handwriting instantly.
If I can’t drive you, at least I can give you a ride.
—Finn
She looked at the key again, and then walked quickly in the direction of the parking lot. The penthouse came with a nice parking spot near the door and she could see the Woody from halfway down the hall. He’d known she would need some space to fret on her way over because she’d always been this way, anxious before events. It wasn’t the kind of lavish gift that most immortals would gush over. It was just an old car to most people, but the Woody meant something toherand Finn knew it.
