Edge of Darkness (4 page)

She
wanted
to know.

Dammit!

“Do you believe that? That all animals are equal?”

His question was asked with such searching earnestness, Ember felt the sudden, irrational urge to reveal something of herself, something she never felt, with anyone. “My father always said man and animal are interdependent. What we do to them, we do to ourselves. And I think that’s true. I think…we’re not better than animals. Humans
are
animals. Just a different kind.”

He sat slowly back in his chair, his gaze never wavering from hers. “Smarter, though, than all the others. You have to admit that gives humans a distinct advantage. You don’t think that’s enough to make humans ‘better’ than the other animals? You don’t think that gives them the right to rule over all the other animals as they see fit?”

“Absolutely not,” she said instantly. “Am I ‘better’ than a five-year-old child because I’m smarter? No. Am I ‘better’ than someone who’s mentally handicapped because I’m smarter? No. Are men ‘better’ than women because they’re—usually—physically stronger? No. There’re just differences that should be respected, not degrees of superiority.”

“There are many who’d disagree with you,” he said flatly.

“Just because they disagree doesn’t make them right. There was a time when it was generally accepted that white people were ‘better’ than black people. And there was a time when a failed German painter convinced a lot of people that Jews should be wiped off the face of the earth because they were ‘inferior.’ And thousands of years of history have shown us what a bunch of frightened, cowardly mice people really are. General consensus doesn’t equal incontrovertible truth. As a matter of fact, I think you’re safe going
against
whatever the popular ideology happens to be. If there’s anything I know for sure it’s that people are easily led, and don’t like to think for themselves.”

She didn’t know why she spoke so passionately; it just came out that way. She was sitting forward in her chair, gripping the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white, staring at him in unblinking intensity.

“Well,” he said after a time, his voice tinged with new warmth, “it doesn’t appear you have that particular problem.”

She released the edge of the table and sat back in her chair. Heat rose in her cheeks, spread throbbing hot to her ears, down her neck.

“That’s another thing my father always said,” she muttered. “I’m way too opinionated for my own good. Sorry.” She dropped her gaze to the table, ashamed by her inappropriate outburst. The man must think her crazy. Or at the very least overbearing.

But why should she care what he thought? She didn’t—she just wanted the sale…right?

He sat forward suddenly and grasped her hand. The contact shocked her, and she looked up at him, startled, as the butterflies sat up en masse and looked at him, too.

“Don’t ever apologize for being yourself.” His voice was urgent, his gaze scorched hers. “That kind of self-confidence, especially for someone so young, is amazing.”

His hand was warm and big and she wanted to look down at it, to see it touching her own, but she was held in place by the sheer force of his gaze. He was so…
fierce
. Why?

“It’s not self-confidence,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. “It’s more like misanthropy.”

He slowly shook his head. “You don’t hate people. You’re too kind to hate anything.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“No. I don’t.” His voice dropped. His grip on her hand tightened. “I’d like to, though.”

Everything ground to a halt. The sun slanting through the front windows of the shop, the sound of traffic on the street outside, the familiar, musky scent of old books—all of it vanished. In its place came white-hot, encompassing heat.

No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now. He, the perfect, mysterious, beautiful stranger.

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She sat there bombarded by unfamiliar sensations, lightness and warmth and a dizzying, stupid kind of wonder. Wonder that someone like him could have actually said those words to someone like her.

For the first time in a very long time, Ember felt alive. The butterflies were soaring and screaming in glee.

And then his cell phone rang, shattering the moment.

There were several more rings before he finally released her hand—almost begrudgingly, it seemed, almost reluctantly. Without taking his gaze from her, he reached into the pocket of his shirt and answered it with a curt, “Yes.”

Whoever it was on the other end spoke a few, short sentences, and Christian’s entire demeanor shifted from impassioned intensity to stiff, jaw-clenched strain. Suddenly, he radiated violence.

“How many?” he hissed into the phone. He listened for a beat, then, “And you’re certain they’re headed
here
?”

Another beat of silence, then Christian, in a move that was shocking in its speed, shot to his feet. “Send me everything you’ve got. I’ll be back at the house in ten minutes.”

Then without another word or glance in her direction, he turned, ran to the door, then set off at a flat-out sprint down the street.

Ember sat at the table in stunned disbelief, her eyes trained on the front windows, staring at the view of the street beyond, of the pedestrians and the traffic, until Asher darted over, still clutching
Mastering the Art of French Cooking
in his hands.

“What the hell have you done to Christian? He ran out of here like he was being chased!”

Ember shook her head slowly from side to side. “I have…absolutely…no idea.”

He sighed. “Well, there goes your big sale. Looks like I’ll be needing to hide you from Dante for the rest of the month.”

She looked down at the copies of
Casino Royale
on the table, sitting as he’d left them, and had the sudden, uncomfortable realization she didn’t really care about the sale at all.

Even though she absolutely hated to admit it, what she cared about had just run out the door, and possibly out of her life forever.

“Faster, Corbin,” Christian barked from the back seat of the Audi. At his command, Corbin pressed his foot to the gas pedal and the car lurched forward. The powerful engine propelled them through the winding, cobblestoned streets of Barcelona so fast the scenery became a painted blur of color flashing through the windows.

His mind was a blur as well.

All animals are equal. People are easily led. General consensus doesn’t equal incontrovertible truth.

Ember might be surprised to discover exactly how much he agreed with each of those sentiments. She would definitely be surprised to discover the effect her words had had on him. And the effect her smile had on him.

Jesus, that smile.

He’d thought her plain, but now realized his mistake. She was plain in the same way the ocean was plain before dawn, before the sun illuminated the unembellished dark surface of the water, bringing all its color and motion and beauty into brilliant focus as the light reflected off the waves. When she smiled it was like watching sunlight play over water. Her entire face was illuminated. It was transformed.

It took his breath away.

In a quiet, natural, earthy way, Ember was lovely.

She was also human. And, therefore, as much of a danger to him as he was to her. He should stay away. He knew he should.

And yet…

All animals are equal
.

If there ever was to be a chance for his kind, if there was to be a future for them, it would hinge on people like her. Like the modest and lovely September Jones, she of the piercing dark eyes and passionate convictions, of the wary glances and spectacular smiles. Of the slightly trembling left hand and arm filled with metal she tried to disguise with long sleeves.

What is your mystery, human girl
? Christian mused, watching the sprawl and chaos of the city give way to the green expanse of the rolling foothills as they sped nearer to home.
And why, why do I care
?

He had no answer for either one. By the time the car pulled up to the scrolled iron gates that marked the beginning of his property, Christian had managed to convince himself it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. The quest for an original copy of
Casino Royale
was a sentimental one, entirely ridiculous. It had no place in the stark reality of the reasons he’d come to Spain in the first place, and the phone call he’d received had only reinforced that.

He couldn’t afford to get distracted now. He couldn’t afford curiosity. Or flirtations, no matter how innocent they seemed.

As the gates swung slowly open, his cell phone chirped with an incoming text message. He lifted it from his shirt pocket, gazed down at it, and felt his heart twist in his chest.

Hope everything is OK. If I don’t see you again, it was…interesting…to meet you.

He muttered an oath and Corbin’s gaze flickered to his in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing,” he said to Corbin. “It’s nothing.”

Corbin nodded wordlessly and Christian turned his face to the window, wondering if he’d ever uttered such a colossal lie in his life.

Ember passed the rest of the day in a haze.

Asher left and she ate the lunch he’d brought her, standing behind the counter, leaning against the wall. She couldn’t concentrate and she couldn’t banish the thought of Christian and his strange visit from her memory, either. She’d re-wrapped both copies of
Casino Royale
in the tissue-thin sheets of black paper, carefully set them back into the transport box and put them on a shelf in the store room. She sent him the text, but her own phone remained silent; he hadn’t responded.

She didn’t try to fool herself that her reasons for wanting to hear from him were entirely financial.

By six o’clock, when she locked the front door and flipped the square white sign that hung in the window from
abierto
to
cerrado
, she was exhausted.

Mentally exhausted, that is. Physically, she felt as if she might crawl right out of her skin.

In chilly twilight with her coat buttoned up and her scarf wrapped tight around her neck, she walked the few blocks from the bookstore to her apartment building in the
Plaça Sant Jaume
, blind for once to the lighted fountains, carved marble statues, and vendors with food carts hawking
helado
,
chorizo,
and
chopitos
, her least favorite: crispy fried baby squid. It was only a few days before Carnaval, and preparations were being made all over the city. Already the bars were full to bursting, breathing crowds of people in and out into the streets, laughing revelers dressed in bright colors who were determined to stuff themselves with food and alcohol before the fasting period of Lent began next week.

A block over on
La Rambla
, the main thoroughfare, the Carnaval King parade that signaled the kickoff of the weeklong festivities was already in full swing. Music and singing filled the air, drums beat, a rash of azure and crimson and gold fireworks flared in the dark sky then began a slow, dying float back to earth, teased apart by the salt-laden breeze from the Mediterranean. There would be floats and masked dancers and costumes aplenty, and though she couldn’t see it, she could imagine it well, as she’d attended every year since she’d moved here at eighteen.

But not this year. She just wasn’t in the mood.

When she arrived at her apartment, Asher was just leaving. Dressed in black military boots and a hot pink mini skirt with orange ruffles, he wore two bandoliers with fake ammo slung across his bare chest, had a plastic rifle strapped to his back and a variety of fake knives and other weapons on a belt around his waist. Atop his head perched a towering hat of colorful feathers and fruit. It appeared as if he’d oiled himself; his muscular arms, chest and legs glistened in the fluorescent hallway lights with an iridescent sheen.

His skin was tanned and hairless. She resisted the urge to ask him if he shaved or waxed his entire body, because that would be a little too much information, and also because he probably did.

He sent her a roguish smile and made elaborate spokesmodel hands at his outfit.

“Whaddya think?”

“I think you have bipolar disorder,” said Ember, eyeing him.

“Puh! You’re just jealous I come up with all the creative ideas for costumes. Isn’t it genius?”

“You look like the love child of a Navy Seal and a vegetarian
cancan
dancer.”

“Exactly!” he shrieked, clapping. It was alarming to see an oiled, half-naked man in a fruit hat and bandoliers shrieking and clapping, but it definitely wasn’t the strangest thing she’d ever seen, so she just shook her head, laughing.

“Okay, I give. What’s her name?”

Because there was always a name when Asher donned a costume. At his Halloween bash last year when he’d dressed as a nun from the Order of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, his name had been Helen Bed. Hell-in-bed. Where he came up with these little gems, Ember had no idea.

He grinned. “Carmen MiRambo.”

Ember blinked at him. “You’re right. That
is
genius.” Looking him over again, she said, “Where are you hiding your wallet in that getup?”

He blinked demurely, but his rogue’s grin grew wider. “You
don’t
want to know.”

“No. You’re right. I really don’t.” She smiled and gave him a kiss on one ruddy cheek, then unlocked her apartment door and turned back to him. “Be safe tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He looked crestfallen. “You’re not coming out? But it’s tradition! And I wanted you to meet Rafael!”

Interested, Ember leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb. Since Asher’s long-term partner Sebastian had died last year, he’d developed an ironclad rule never to get serious with anyone again. He claimed he needed to make up for being with just one man for so long, and so was going to dedicate himself to sampling every young thing Barcelona offered up, but Ember knew better. It was really his way of staying detached, because no one could ever measure up to Sebastian. And Asher didn’t want anyone to. Bas had been the love of Asher’s life. Deep down, he didn’t think he could bear that kind of loss again.

There are only so many times a heart can break, Ember, before it’s broken for good.

He’d said that the first week she met him. And she knew from personal experience it was true.

“Rafael? Is this your new flavor-of-the-week?”

Asher playfully batted her on the arm with his plastic gun and did a happy dance in the hallway, which included a twirl that dangerously flared the mini skirt. She quickly averted her eyes—Asher was infamous for going commando.

“Flavor-of-the-month if I play my cards right, honey. Please come. Please?
Pretty
please?”

Each entreaty grew progressively louder…and ultimately proved disastrous. From downstairs came a hollered, “
Septiembre! Es que se?
”

Ember hissed a curse, Asher gasped an apology, and they both scuttled into her apartment just as the sound of shuffling, slipper-clad footsteps began to travel up the stairs.

“Dante!” Asher said in a stage whisper as they stood with their ears pressed to the back of the door in her dark apartment.

“You’ve officially woken the beast,” Ember muttered. “Thanks a million, Carmen.”

Even in the dark she saw him cringe. “God, that man has hearing like a bat! I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Come out with me tonight and I’ll buy you as many—”

Her glare stopped him before he could say “drinks as you want.” It was force of habit, all his friends drank like fish, Asher included, but Ember never touched a drop. He amended it to, “
—chopitos
as you can eat.”

She sighed. “You know I hate
chopitos
, Ash.”

“Honey, they’re so good. Don’t discriminate based on how they look—”

“They look like fried alien afterbirth. I am not putting fried alien afterbirth in my mouth.”

“They’re chewy, and salty, and entirely delicious. Close your eyes if you have to, it works for me.”

“Ugh. Gross. Forget it. I’d rather eat toe jam.”

Asher snickered. “There’s a whole underground fetish movement in this city devoted to exactly that, you know.”

“Double gross! Stop talking before I barf on your shiny combat boots.”

The two of them were whispering, listening to the slow, shuffling footsteps draw inexorably nearer as Dante climbed the staircase. The apartment building was old, and lacked an elevator, a fact she was now grateful for. The reprieve would be short—though Dante moved slowly, once he decided on a course an act of God couldn’t deter him—but any reprieve was better than none.

“Okay,” Asher said, brightening, “here’s the plan. You go put on that fabulous costume you wore to my Halloween party, and I’ll go tell Dante you’re staying the weekend with your boyfriend in Terrassa.”

Ember stared at him. “
What
boyfriend in Terrassa?”

“The pretend one, knucklehead! Do you want me to buy you a weekend so you can put together the rent money or what?”

The footsteps moved closer. Through the windows of her apartment, the rising moon hung heavy and languid in the sapphire sky. Ghostly pale moonlight sketched shadows along the floor and walls, creeping over to where they were huddled by the door. “Fine,” she relented. “But I get to choose the name of this pretend boyfriend. I don’t want you saddling me with a Xalbadoro or an Innocencio.”

Asher sent her a sly, sideways smile. “How about a…Christian?”

“Funny. Very funny, Mr. MiRambo. You’re lucky I don’t give you some authentic knife scars on your stomach to go with that costume.”

As she turned and tiptoed toward her bedroom, Asher chuckled quietly. “Kitty doesn’t like to get her tail pulled, does she?”

She waved a hand and disappeared into the darkness of her bedroom, while Asher slipped out into the hallway to break the news to Dante that he’d just missed her. She’d left with her boyfriend Christian for a leisurely weekend touring the Romanesque monasteries of Terrassa.

Six hours, four bars, two discotheques and one hellish taxi journey that rivaled Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, Ember was ready to drop.

“I’m calling it a night, Ash!” she hollered over the pounding of the music. Though Asher’s ear was inches away, he gave her an
I can’t hear you
shrug, and went right back to grinding against the very pretty Rafael, who was dressed as the Black Swan, complete with tutu and red contacts.

Ember made hand motions toward the exit. Asher gave her a giddy thumb’s up, which she interpreted as,
knock yourself out, there’s no way I’m leaving, sister
. She sent him an air kiss, along with one to a pirouetting Rafael, and pushed her way slowly through the gyrating crowd on the dance floor until finally she stood outside on the pavement, breathing in lungfuls of fresh night air.

She wasn’t cold because her costume was composed entirely of latex. She was encased head to foot in a thick, shiny layer of black material. She’d have to peel herself out of it later, but for the moment it was doing a fine job of protecting her from the chill of the February air.