Black Heart (13 page)

“What do you mean?”

“Hot date,” he says, grinning. “I need you gone.”

“I knew it,” I say. “I so knew you weren’t dressed up like that to go to Paterson with me and meet Bob.”

Barron takes his hands away from the wheel to straighten his lapels and to tuck his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I think Bob appreciated my outfit. He made me buy the more expensive pendant. You might think that was to my disadvantage, but I accept that status comes with a price.”

“Not usually so immediately.” I shake my head. “You better not be hitting on federal agent ladies. They’ll arrest you.”

His grin widens. “I like handcuffs.”

I groan. “There is something seriously wrong with you.”

“Nothing that a night being worked over by a hot representative of justice couldn’t fix.”

I study the clouds through the sunroof. I think I see one in the shape of a bazooka. “Hey, so do you think Dad lied to Mom about the second fake diamond? Or do you think Mom lied to us?”

“To
you
,” he says. “She didn’t even try to tell me.” The smile has curled off his mouth.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “Either way it’s a hell of a dead end.”

Barron nods. His foot presses the accelerator harder, and he veers into the fast lane. I don’t protest. At least he has something good to race back to.

Barron drops me in front of Strong House. I slide out of the car and stretch. Then I yawn slowly. It’s just barely nightfall. The last of the sun is still blazing on the horizon, making all the buildings look like they’re catching fire.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say.

“Okay, well,” he says, his voice full of impatience. “Sorry, but you’ve gotta scram. Call me when you talk to Mom—so long as it’s not tonight.”

I smirk and slam the car door. “Have fun on your date.”

“Byeee,”
he says, and waves. As I head toward the dorm, I glance back at the parking lot. I keep expecting a sweep of headlights as he pulls out, but the Ferrari’s still there. He’s only rolled it forward a little. Is he seriously waiting until I get to the door of my dorm, like I’m a little kid who can’t be trusted to make it home after dark? Am I in some danger I don’t know about? I can’t think of a good reason for him to keep idling near the curb when he so obviously wanted to get going.

I walk into the building, my scheming brain still rearranging the puzzle pieces. It takes me until I get to the hallway, fishing for my dorm key in the back pocket of my jeans, before I stop abruptly.

He wanted
me
to get going.

I run into the common room, ignoring Chaiyawat
Terweil’s cry of protest when I jump over the cords connecting his PlayStation to the television. Then I drop to my knees in front of the window. Peering out, half-hidden behind a dusty curtain, I watch as a figure steps out of shadow, walks to where Barron is waiting, and opens the passenger side door.

She’s not wearing her uniform, but I know her just the same.

Daneca.

Purple-tipped braids glowing under the streetlight. Heels a lot higher than anything I’ve ever seen her in—high enough for her to wobble as she bends down. There’s no reason on earth why she should glance back at the Wallingford campus like she’s afraid of someone seeing her, no reason for her to be getting into my brother’s car, no reason for her to be dressed like that, no reason that makes sense. No reason but one.

The boy she’s been dating is my brother.

THERE IS NO WAY
I can tell Sam.

He’s in our dorm room, still looking pretty hung over, sipping on a can of coconut water. “Hey,” he says, rolling toward me on his cot. “Your grandfather is a madman, you know that? After we finished with the poker, he showed me a bunch of old photos. I thought they were going to be pictures of you as a kid, but no. They were vintage snapshots of burlesque ladies with no gloves. From back in the day.”

I force a grin. I’m still thinking about Daneca and my brother, wondering how many times she’s been out with Barron, wondering
why
she ever went out with him even
once. It’s hard to concentrate. “You looked at porn with my grandfather?”

“It wasn’t porn! Your
grandmother
was one of the ladies.”

Of course she was.

“The costumes were amazing,” he says dreamily. “Feathers and masks and sets like you wouldn’t believe. Crescent moon thrones and a massive rose with petals that swung like doors.”

“You were looking at the
sets
?” Now I’m laughing for real.

“I didn’t want to stare at the women. I wasn’t sure which ones were your relatives! And your grandfather was
right there
!”

I laugh some more. Mom told me about theaters back then, with curtained balcony seating where curse workers could conduct business while the show provided a legitimate front. Then came the raids. Now no one risks that kind of setup. “Imagine you in a place like that. You would be agitating them to do zombie burlesque in no time.”

“Untried market,” he says. Then he taps his gloved finger against the side of his head. “Always thinking. That’s me.”

He doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look crushed and miserable, the way he did all last week. If he’s still thinking about Daneca, at least she isn’t all he can think about. But if he knew about Barron—if he knew that my brother was the one she was seeing—that would change.

I know that if I’m going to be a better person, that includes being less of a liar. But sometimes a lie of omission
is what you need until the world starts being fair on its own.

When Lila finds someone else, I hope they all lie to me.

I wake up with the alarm on my phone vibrating against my skull. Yawning, I glance over at Sam. He’s still asleep, his comforter half-kicked to the floor. I get up quietly, grab some clothes, and pad into the bathroom.

I set my alarm to wake me up silently, so I could go find Daneca before Sam’s up and noticing little things like me yelling at his ex-girlfriend. Before Daneca has a chance to see my good-for-nothing brother again. Before this situation gets even worse.

I shower and shave—so fast that I cut my neck right along my jawline. I wash the blood away, splash with stinging aftershave, and hurry to the cafeteria.

I’m early, which is rare. To celebrate I get myself two cups of black coffee and a piece of toast covered in crisp bacon. By the time Daneca comes in, I am considering a third cup.

Her hair is pulled back by a sandalwood hair band, and she’s got on brown herringbone stockings with brown leather Mary Janes. She looks like she always does, which for some reason surprises me. My idea of who she is has changed completely. She’s been seeing my brother secretly for days—maybe weeks. All that stuff she said, all the questions she suddenly had for me, now it makes sense. But the answer tilts my world on its axis.

I wait until she gets through the line, and then follow her back to her table.

“What do you want?” she asks me, setting her tray down.

“He’s not who you think he is,” I say. “Barron. Whatever he told you, it’s not true.”

Surprise makes her take a step back. Gotcha. Then she recovers herself, looking even more furious than she did before. Nothing makes people angrier than getting caught.

Trust me, I know.

“Yeah, I saw you last night,” I say. “You suck at sneaking.”

“Only you would think I should be ashamed of that,” she snaps.

I take a deep breath, trying to control my anger. It’s not her fault she got tricked. “Okay, look. Say whatever you want about me.
Think
whatever you want about me. But my brother is a
compulsive liar
. He can’t even help it. Half the time I don’t think he remembers the real story, so he just fills in whatever he dreams up.”

“He’s
trying
,” Daneca says. “That’s more than I can say about you. He told me what you did. To Lila. To Philip. To him.”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask her. “Did he tell you what
he
did to Lila?”

“Stay away from me, Cassel.”

Girls say that to me a lot lately. I’m starting to think I’m not as charming as I like to believe.

“Just please tell me he didn’t take off his gloves,” I say. “No, actually, I’d rather you said he did. Because there is no way the Daneca that I know would fall for my brother’s crooked smile and his crooked patter.”

“He told me you’d say that. He practically told me the
exact words you’d use. And he wasn’t lying about that, was he?”

I sigh. My brother can be a smart guy when he wants to be.

“Daneca, look. There are two ways he could know what I’d say. One, he knows me really well. And two, he knows the truth. The actual truth. Which is what I’m telling you—”

“You’re
going to tell me the truth? That’s a joke.” She turns her back on me, picks up her toast, and starts toward the door.

“Daneca,”
I call after her.

My voice is loud enough that people look up from their breakfasts. I see Sam in the entranceway to the cafeteria. Daneca brushes by him on her way out. He glances at her. Then he rounds on me. There is so much anger in his face that I stand, frozen, until he swivels on his heel and walks back out.

I call Barron before I walk into statistics, but I get his voice mail. The class is a blur. As soon as I walk out the door, I try him again.

This time he picks up. The connection is bad, staticky. “How’s my favorite and only living brother?” he asks.

“Stay away from her.” My hand shakes with the urge to deck him. I will bet anything that she was the girl he was talking to when I ran down that death worker. I will bet anything that he loved getting away with talking to Daneca right in front of me. Texting her from the car. Bragging about his date.

He laughs. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

I remember what he said long ago when I accused him of dating Lila just because she was Zacharov’s daughter.
Maybe I’m dating her just to mess with you.

“Whatever you’re trying to pull . . . ,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Whatever it is, it’s not going to work.”

“Me and her—it bothers you, doesn’t it? I saw the way it got under your skin when I talked to her, first at Zacharov’s little fund-raiser—where you got Anton killed—and then at Philip’s funeral. It bothered you, but it made her blush. Guess you shouldn’t have brought her around if you wanted her for yourself.”

“Daneca is my friend. That’s all. I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want you to hurt her. And I know it’s impossible for you to date a girl and not hurt her, so I want you to leave her alone.”

“You’re only trying to convince me because you already failed to convince her. Nice try, Cassel, but are you really betting on my backing down?” His voice is smug.

The problem with cell phones is that you can’t slam them down into a cradle when you hang up. Your only option is to throw them, and if you do, they just skitter across the floor and crack their case. It’s not satisfying at all.

I close my eyes and bend down to pick up the pieces.

There is only one person I can think of with the power to convince Daneca to stay away from Barron. Lila.

I text Lila that I will meet her anywhere she wants, that I need to tell her something, that it’s not about her or me,
that it’s important. She doesn’t respond. I don’t see her in the halls or the lunch room.

Sam grabs my arm the minute I walk into the cafeteria, though, so even if she was, there wouldn’t be much I could say to her. He’s got bed-head and is looking at me with the gaze of someone who’s hanging on to their sanity by a very thin thread.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he demands in a tone that suggests false calm. “You snuck out. You wanted me not to see you with her.”

“Whoa.” I hold up both of my hands in a sign of surrender. “You grunted and opened your eyes. I thought you were awake already.” It’s a lie, but hopefully a believable one. Lots of times I’ve said a few things, rolled over, and gone immediately back to sleep. It’s just that Sam usually kicks my bed frame again before he heads out.

He blinks a couple times, rapidly, like he’s restraining himself.

“What were you and Daneca arguing about this morning?” he asks finally.

“I said she was being a jerk,” I tell him, frowning. “That you didn’t deserve the way she was treating you.”

“Yeah?” He slouches a little. I feel like the lout that I am. He wants to believe me, I can tell. “You sure? It seemed worse. She looked really mad.”

“I guess maybe I didn’t say it in a nice way,” I say.

He sighs, but the fury has gone out of him. “You shouldn’t talk to her like that. She’s your friend too.”

“Not anymore,” I say, and shrug.

Then he looks grateful and I feel even worse, because I sound like a loyal friend who is declaring how firmly I’m on his side, when actually she’s the one who’s done with me.

“Cassel,” a girl’s voice says from just behind us. I turn to find Mina Lange looking up at me. She smiles, but she looks tired, which makes me feel suddenly protective. “Can we talk about tomorrow?”

Sam glances at her, then back at me. Then he looks up toward heaven, like that’s the only possible explanation for luck like mine with women.

I can guarantee that’s not where it comes from.

“Uh,” I say. “Sure. I’ve been considering things, and—” I’m improvising, since I honestly haven’t thought much about Mina’s problem since our last conversation. The weekend came and swept everything away with it.

“Not here,” she says, interrupting me.

I jerk my head toward the door. “Sure. We’ll go to the library. There won’t be that many people there, and we can find a quiet place in the back.”

“What’s going on?” Sam asks.

“Ah,” I say. “Sam, Mina. Mina, Sam.”

“We have a film studies class together,” Sam says. “I know who she is.”

“I’m just helping her out with something.” It occurs to me that this is a perfect opportunity to distract Sam from all things Daneca-related. “But you should come to the library with us. Be the Watson to my Sherlock, the Hawk to my Spenser, the Mouse to my Easy, the Bunter to my Wimsey.”