Silence - eARC (7 page)

There were others Sean introduced her to only briefly. People who were almost too drunk to stand. “It’s what they like,” he said apologetically, after one tried to kiss her, fell over his own feet, and miraculously landed in a lounge chair where he immediately passed out. “There’s plenty of room to sleep it off here, anyway, so it’s not as if I’m putting drunks on the road.” He chuckled. “The servants are all trained in picking pockets. Anyone too drunk to drive won’t find his keys until he’s sober.”

“Wow!” she said, impressed. “That’s—”

“It’s smart,” he interrupted. “If I
didn’t
take care of my guests, these parties would stop. Money doesn’t shield you from everything, you know. And it’s not as if there’s much to do in Silence for some of them besides drink.” He shrugged.

She looked at the food, at the pool, at the
house…
then again, if this was what you were used to, maybe you could get bored with it.

Well, she wasn’t used to it. And aside from not knowing anyone, and so, often not knowing what people were talking about, this was probably the best party she had been to, ever. But after a while something made her look at her watch, and she realized with a sense of shock that it was after midnight. And once again, Sean seemed to somehow intuit what she was thinking.

“I bet it’s getting late for you,” he said. “And it’s a long way back to town. Let me get you home.”

He led her back around to the front of the mansion again, and that portico. She thought about being all alone with him in that car…wondered if he was going to try something… She had never had trouble putting off unwanted advances before, but everything about tonight seemed like it was from a completely different world.

But to her mingled relief and disappointment, he left her with the—was it a butler? a footman?—waiting at the front of the house. “Get Padrick to take Miss Staci home, would you, Harris?” he said, once again gently detaching her hand from his arm. “I’m the host, and at this stage in the party, it would not only be rude to leave, it might be stupid,” he said with a rueful smile. “I’d find a television or all of the lounges in the pool, or something equally awkward. The chauffeur will take care of you. Just tell him where you need to go.”

“Sean, thank you for everything. Tonight was…well, it was just great. I haven’t seen or been to anything like this since I’ve come to Silence. But…well, I had one question.”

“I just might have one answer. Shoot, Staci.” He grinned, flashing those dazzling white teeth at her.
Damn if he isn’t smooth.

“Why me? I mean…” She let her voice fade, unable to articulate what she wanted to say. That she wasn’t all that special. That she wasn’t gorgeous—she’d seen gorgeous, there were
models
going to her old high school. She wasn’t able to make conversation of the kind that had guys hanging off her words. She wasn’t special, not in any way. She’d always considered herself
good,
but not
special,
because in New York, you could go see
special
walking around in Soho, or Dumbo, or the Village, any time you wanted to.

“It’s not every day that we get anyone new coming to Silence. Especially cute girls.” He paused for a moment, still smiling before shrugging. “I like to know everyone that I can. You never can tell when it’ll be helpful, down the road. So, I figured I’d get to know you a little better tonight. Satisfied with my answer?”

She nodded, unsure whether she wanted to feel flattered or obscurely disappointed. And she never got a chance to sort things out further, because that was when a huge, blood-red limousine, complete with a uniformed chauffeur, pulled up.

“Here’s your ride,” he said brightly, and reached into a pocket, pulling out a little rectangular gold case. “And here’s my number,” he said, taking a card from it, and pressing it into her hand. Then he pulled out a tiny pencil from the case. “What’s yours?”

She stammered, giving him her cell number first, by accident. “Oh wait, that’s my cell—” she corrected, flushing.

“Which doesn’t work here,” he finished, with a nod of sympathy. She gave him her mom’s number, and he duly wrote it down inside the case. “If for some reason I don’t call you in a few days,
I want you to call me.
All right? I’m serious.”

“Okay…”

“Cool. We’ll hang out again soon, maybe get some coffee.” There was a peal of laughter and shouts from the rest of the party. “That’s my cue; better get back before anyone tries to climb on something. Good night, Staci.” With a final wave, he started to walk back to the party.

Well, what else could she do but get in the limo, what with the driver standing there patiently holding the door open for her?

It was like being driven around in a luxury hotel room. There was even a bar. Since it had bottled water, she helped herself to a bottle. The bottles were glass, not plastic, and unlabeled; she had seen “artesian water” like this served in super-high-end restaurants. It was even chilled.

Just after they came out of the woods and were still at the top of the bluff, she remembered with dismay that she had left her bike at the church, and bit off an exclamation of annoyance.

The little speaker next to the bar activated with a faint hiss. “Yes, miss?” the chauffeur said.

She flushed. “Nothing. I’m just going to have to get my bike from the church tomorrow and it’s a l—”

“Not at all, miss. Master Sean would be extremely put out if he found out we hadn’t picked it up for you. First Methodist, I believe?”

“Uh—ye—”

“Very good, miss.”

The limo rolled to an almost silent stop at the church, which was, of course, dark. The gang had warned her that everything would close up by eleven at the latest, and it was almost one, now. The chauffeur came around to her door and let her out. “I’ll get the boot open, miss. If you’ll tell me where—”

“No, no, it’s all right,” she said hastily. “I need to unlock it anyway.”

“Very good, miss.” He went to the back of the car. She hurried off towards the bike rack at the front of the church. It was sitting under a single yellow streetlamp, which was flickering intermittently. She bent down to unlock the chain; the lock was being stubborn, refusing to come open even after she put the right combination in. The light above her flickered a few more times…and then she noticed one of the creepy gnomes with the red, pointed caps, sitting right next to the light pole, facing directly at her.

Staci almost jumped out of her skin, falling onto her backside with a yelp of surprise and pain, her bike knocked over.

“Miss, are you all right?” The driver was calling from the car; he must have heard her or saw her fall over in one of his mirrors.

“Yeah, I’m fine…just got, um, startled.” She stood up, rubbing her now sore backside with one hand. “Stupid, weird little troll,” she muttered, kicking the gnome and sending it rolling off into some nearby bushes. Finally, she managed to unlock her bike, and trudged back to the limo with it in tow.
I really hate whoever is putting those freaky lawn decorations everywhere. Really, really hate.

The driver had exited the limo by that point, and took her bike from her and loaded it into the trunk, which was big enough to hold three bikes. She got into the back as he held the door open for her, and picked up her bottle of water. As she did so, she cast a sour glance at the bushes she’d kicked the freaky little gnome into.

The light flickered again, and she thought she saw it—not lying flat, but standing up again. And…looking down the hill at the car, and her.

But the limo rolled away and the light flickered out again, too quickly for her to be sure of what she had seen.

Must be some shadows, or my mind playing tricks on me. It’s been a doozy of a night.

Chapter Six

As Staci unlocked the door to the house, she felt…eyes on the back of her neck. But when she turned a full circle, peering into the shadows, all she saw was another of those creepy lawn gnomes across the street. Shivering, she hastily got herself and her bike inside.

Mom was predictably nowhere in sight, though there was an empty bottle of vodka and another of orange juice in the trash, along with the zombie-pizza box. She kind of wished now she actually
had
gotten a doggie bag from Sean’s party, crass as that was. The food had been really nice.

She left the bike in the living room. Given everything that had been happening, she didn’t want to take a chance on losing her ride, and it was pretty obvious Mom wasn’t going to care if she kept her bike in the house. She could probably have kept a horse in the house and Mom wouldn’t care as long as it didn’t break into the fridge and drink her booze.

When she got into bed, she had trouble falling asleep. She kept thinking about Sean…
Is he just being nice? Is it just that I’m the first new girl in town for a while? Is this a whole trophy thing or something?
Back at her old school, if a girl was good enough to rank on the “hot” scale there was always this jockeying to see who could nail her first. Depending on how she played that, well, there were a lot of possible outcomes. Back home, she knew she was pretty, but nothing like as gorgeous as some of the other girls. But here…

I guess I could be hot on a Silence scale.

Then there was Sean himself. He was…well, perfect. Charming, cuter than hell, and rich; he didn’t seem to lord it over people, either. He looked equally comfortable talking to any of the cliques, and always had a smile ready. She could’ve gotten lost in his eyes forever, and she wouldn’t have cared. And for some reason, he was interested in her.

With this and other thoughts running around in her head, she tossed restlessly, and only fell asleep after what seemed like hours.

* * *

By the next day all of that speculation seemed utterly ridiculous. As she fixed herself some cold cereal and milk, and looked around the shabby kitchen with its ancient appliances, cracked and peeling paint, and stained wallpaper, she swallowed down a lump of disappointment along with some orange juice. Because,
really,
what could someone like Sean Blackthorne have
possibly
seen in someone like her? She wasn’t a “lawyer’s daughter” anymore, or at least, not in ways that would count to the Blackthornes. She was the daughter of a cheap waitress that worked at a dive bar down near the docks. She hadn’t even been wearing her cute New York clothing; it had been what she’d gotten from the thrift store. Even if he had been marginally interested in her, once he checked on her background (and she knew from the way things worked back home that people like the Blackthornes
always
checked; pedigrees mattered to the upper crust) he’d know everything about her, and know she was never going to be “the right people.”

I bet the only reason he brought me up there last night was so his friends could scope me out, and once I was gone, they had something to make fun of,
she thought bitterly.
I bet if I call the number he gave me, it’ll be Dial-a-Prayer or Time-and-Temperature. Or something worse. Like, maybe one of his friends so they can record me making a fool of myself.

So when she wheeled down to the bookstore, she was in a pretty dismal state of mind.

Tim seemed to pick up that she was depressed; he told her the first cup was on the house, and pointed her at some magazines he’d just gotten in. She managed to get up enough politeness to thank him, but buried herself in a huge cup of latte rather than reading.

Maybe when the others get here, that silly anime game they are going to start will get my mind off things.
Because now, all she could think about was to go over and over and over the things she had said and done at the party, trying to pick everything apart and figure out how Sean’s friends could have used any of it to mock her.

Seth was first through the door, and lit up when he spotted her. He waved to Tim as he quickly walked over to her, dropping his heavy backpack with a thud as he sat down. “Hey!” he said brightly. “So, what was the
food
like?”

His enthusiasm forced a smile out of her. “Really expensive finger food,” she told him. “Upscale versions of a cook-out. So…mini lobster rolls instead of hot dogs. Real bratwurst. Really expensive-beef hamburgers with bleu cheese and mushrooms. Baby veggies and avocado dip. Chips, but I think they were hand-cut and hand-fried, ’cause they were still warm. With sea salt, or pink volcanic salt, or salt and cracked black pepper.”

Seth’s face crinkled up, and he waved both hands at her. “Stop, I think I’m going to cry!”

Jake and Riley were the next to enter, with Wanda bringing up the rear. Everyone took their usual spots; Seth had gotten up to start on getting coffee for the group, save for Staci who already had a mug.

“So, you didn’t turn into a pumpkin at the end of the night, right? You’ve gotta dish.” Riley nodded her thanks as Seth handed her a steaming mug, blowing on it as she waited for Staci to spill all the details.

She stalled for time by dwelling on the details of the mansion, the pool, the garden, and the party, figuring that was what Riley wanted to hear anyway. “I didn’t go inside the mansion or the pool house,” she finished. “The drapes were open at the living room of the pool house, so I
could
see inside…it looked like a picture in a home design magazine, if you crossed fifties-retro with darker colors. There was a
huge
LCD-screen TV though.” She sighed. “It probably had cable, or satellite; it looked like it was playing music videos, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound system around the pool.”

Cable and satellite; they seemed a million miles out of reach at this point.

“Anyway, I said I had to go home, and he sent me home in the limo,” she finished.

“That’s
all?
That’s
it?”
Riley asked.

“Oh, there was probably plenty after she left,” Wanda said cynically.

“Come on, Wanda. You just wish he had picked you instead.” Seth elbowed her lightly. Her return elbow was a little less than light. “Hey!”

“Hey what?” Wanda snorted. “I bet by the time she got there, half of people were so polluted they won’t remember she was there. And by the time she left, all the rest were so polluted they’ve forgotten. You know what’s sad?”

“I’ll bite,” Jake replied, lightly.

“To think of all that great food being wasted on people who won’t remember eating it, don’t appreciate it, and are probably throwing it up at this very moment.” Wanda actually looked a little…happy?…when she said that last.

“Well, someone has a job making it, at least,” Riley observed. “So I guess that’s good.”

“Whatever,” Wanda said. “I just think it’s borderline creepy; party with a lot of underage drinking, spiriting a girl away—specifically away from her friends—to be alone with you at said party? There are news stories that start that way.”

“I don’t want to think about that,” said Seth. “Ew. Besides, nothing happened, and Prince Charming sent her home untouched in the coach with white horses. Your ability at prediction, Wanda, is right up there with Miss Cleo.”

Who’s Miss Cleo?
Staci wondered. But Seth was still talking.

“Anyway, have you all got character sheets made out? Staci, I did yours like I promised; I figured you’d want to play a Magical Girl. Schoolgirl sailor suit is optional. Tentacles are off the menu.”

By this point her spirits had revived. “They had tempura-battered calamari,” she teased.

“Stop!”
Seth moaned.

* * *

Although she’d been skeptical, the first game session had been fun. She’d watched enough anime to know what was expected of a Magical Girl—although apparently her character was not yet aware she
was
a Magical Girl. That was fine, a lot of anime started that way too, so she knew what was expected of a Magical Girl who didn’t know yet. Even Tim had smiled at some of the antics that Seth got them all up to. The guy had one heck of an imagination—and, she suspected, had seen
way
more girl-centered anime than he was ever going to admit to watching.
I bet he has the
entire
Sailor Moon
collection. And
Princess Tutu
.

She did
not
call Sean, now absolutely certain he had given her some sort of a prank number as a joke. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense.
He probably gave me the number of one of his friends, actually,
she was thinking, as she went down to the curb the next morning to bring in the mail—which Mom had, predictably, forgotten to do. That L.L. Bean catalog should be coming any day now, and she was getting to the end of her thrift-store clothes. She wasn’t sure how much of her wardrobe was going to survive a round in the ancient washing machine in the basement.

In a rare display of good luck, the catalog
was
there. So were several others, which she might be able to exercise her bank card on. She was just closing up the mailbox when the sound of a car horn lightly tapped made her turn and look up the street. Not that she thought it was for her, but this would be the first car other than Sean’s limo that she had actually seen driving on this street.

This was a gorgeous little sports car; not the big, powerful thing that Sean had been driving when he picked everyone up at the church BBQ, but a cute little two-seater. Bright red. The yellow badge on the nose, visible against the red even at this distance, told her it was a Ferrari.

That can’t be—
But the car pulled up next to her, and the driver leaned towards her, and it
was
Sean. The passenger-side window rolled down silently. “Hey,” Sean said, with a smile.

“Hey yourself,” she replied, smiling back, but determined not to act excited about this. Because…well, because she was just not going to count on this being as good as it looked. “How’d you know where I live? I kind of doubt you were just cruising by this street.”

“Limo dropped you off here, remember?” He arched an eyebrow at her, still smiling.

“Oh, right.”
Duh, you ditz. I’m going to die from embarrassment. It’ll make for one hell of a tombstone inscription.

“You have plans for this afternoon and evening?” he continued.

Well, it wasn’t a game night for a game she was involved in. It was a
Shadowrun
game that the others were already deep into; “cyberpunk fantasy” is what Seth called it. Staci figured that she would watch a few games, but didn’t feel like juggling a ton of characters the way that Seth and the others seemed to do. And she’d already warned them she just might stay home and watch a movie instead. “No, nothing,” she replied quickly. Too quickly? She seemed to be second-guessing everything she said to him.

“Good, leave a note for your mother and go get a bathing suit and maybe a change of clothes,” he replied. “I’ll keep you from being bored today.”

She didn’t hesitate. She ran up to the house and inside while Sean waited in the car; this time she changed into one of her cute New York outfits. She was
not
going to make the mistake of turning up in front of his friends looking like Little Orphan Annie again. She didn’t need to camouflage herself to keep from being stared at this time. Then she stuffed another outfit into a gym bag along with the new bathing suit she’d never had a chance to use, and ran back down, half convinced he’d have left.

But he hadn’t.

With her bag at her feet, and cradled in the red leather of the passenger’s seat, she marveled as Sean drove the sports car at what had to be an illegal speed back up the bluff; once there, it was obvious their destination was, yet again, the Blackthorne Estate. This time he didn’t leave the car at the front; he drove it around to the side, down another private road, and to a garage that was the size of several houses put together. He left it parked in the front of one of the doors with the keys in it, came around to the passenger side, and the next thing she knew, they were walking between the mansion and the garage, approaching the pool and the pool house from the opposite side as last time.

There were about a dozen people there already. The music was a lot quieter, and no one seemed to be drunk. Already she was feeling her spirits buoyed.

“I figured I would give you a chance to actually swim, and see the politer side of my parties,” Sean said, with a smile, as the group of people disporting themselves in and beside the water all turned to face them. “Staci, this is part of the Blackthorne clan—the younger part. Clan, this is Staci Kelley.”

They were all,
all,
movie-gorgeous. Most of them, like Sean, were blond, although there were a couple whose hair was so black it had blue highlights. Most of them had green eyes. The guys weren’t ripped; they were lean and graceful. Any one of the girls could have walked into any model agency in New York and gotten a contract without a portfolio.

Sean began introducing her. They all seemed to have Irish-ish names. Meaghan, Brigit, Patrick (though it sounded like Padrigh), Ian, Caelen, Finn, Siobhan, Niamh, Liam, Connor, Niall, Aengus. Four girls, eight guys. Normally fourteen people would feel like a crowd, but the pool area was so spacious, it was more as if they were all rattling around in an Olympic stadium.

She was
really
glad she had changed before she left; the guys were all in opened guayabera shirts and Speedos, or a designer version of Speedos, but the girls were wearing little cover-ups over their suits that wouldn’t have been amiss at a dance, back home.
If I’d been doing the faded flannel number, I think I’d just melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

“Sean,
acushla,
I’m starving. Can we eat?” asked one of the girls—one of the dark-haired Blackthornes. Niamh?

“Sure, ring for it, no point in waiting,” Sean said, laughing. “Can’t have you wasting away in front of us now, can I?”

She didn’t catch how they “rang for it,” but a moment later three uniformed servants came out of the mansion pushing carts with silver-domed dishes on top of them, and a fourth pushing what looked for all the world like a street vendor’s ice-cream cart. That turned out to be a refrigerated thing with soda and beer in it. The beer was not in cans, it was in a little keg with a tap, and with it were aluminum steins to drink from.