Torn. Part 20

I'd been gone for an hour and a half, tops, but it felt like the entire night. Still, I dreaded explaining my absence to Ms. C. Lena, though, must have been keeping watch, because she came bounding out of the room the minute she spotted me.

"Where have you been? I went to look for you and-" She broke off. "Are you okay?"

I looked down, making a show of checking my watch. "I lost track of time," I said, frantically composing a story in my mind. "I went outside for some air and ran into the guy from the party. He's just a guy, not a boyfriend. He knew Verity."

She looked at me suspiciously. "From this summer? She was seeing someone before she left?"

"No. She met him down there. Don't say anything, though. I don't think a lot of people knew about him."

"But you do."

"He came up here after she died." I didn't trust myself to say more. "What did you tell Ms. C?"

"The only thing she'd buy. You were having a hard time putting together the memorial. I put your bag in my locker, by the way."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Big-time."

We retrieved my bag, and I texted Colin to let him know I was ready. Lena waited with me by the doors. Colin's rule-even on a beautiful autumn night, stay inside until he gives the signal. Now that I knew what sorts of things came out at night, I didn't mind so much.

Lena tapped a foot on the tile floor, studying me. "You and Verity always seemed like such a tight unit. Self-contained, you know?"

"She had tons of friends," I said, surprised. "Everyone liked her."

"They like you, too. But Verity . . . she let people get close, or at least think they were. You don't do that."

I fiddled with the flap of my messenger bag, clicking and unclicking the latch. Maybe I didn't welcome people in the way Verity did, but it was common sense. I didn't want to have to explain my father, or listen to poorly disguised questions about Uncle Billy's business interests. Even when I was little, it didn't take long to figure out parents didn't want their kids playing with me. They were happy to rely on my uncle for help, for jobs, tracking down a wayward spouse or covering a debt, but setting up a playdate with the felon's daughter was a different matter.

"I'm just saying . . . it might not be the worst thing in the world, you know. To reach out. Or to let people reach out to you."

Outside the double doors, Colin honked, two short bursts. "Thanks again for covering."

"Anytime," Lena said, a little sadly.

"Hey, do you need a ride?" No way was I letting another friend go home alone in the dark.

She smiled. "No, I'm good. Ms. C is waiting on me to click *send.' We'll walk out together."

"Okay. See you tomorrow." The temperature outside was at least fifteen degrees cooler than it had been in New Orleans, and the cold made me clumsy as I climbed in and fastened my seat belt.

"Home, Jeeves."

He turned the heater on, fighting a smile. "Don't call me Jeeves. You get the newspaper done?"

"Mmn-hmn." It should be alarming, how effortlessly I was lying these days. "I just want to go home and crash."

Colin humphed. "Naptime has to wait. Your uncle wants to see you."

"It's after eleven."

"It shouldn't take long."

Dread settled over me. "Am I in trouble? Did you tell him about . . ."

"The party? No. Relax."

Easy for him to say. I leaned my head against the cool gla.s.s of the window, trying to find a comfortable position. The adrenaline rush from the bar was gone, and my head felt heavy and stupid. Not the best state to see Uncle Billy in. "G.o.d, I'm tired."

Something in my voice must have worried Colin, because he reached over and ruffled my hair gently. "Hang in there a little longer, kid."

I closed my eyes, remembering our first meeting. "Don't call me kid," I said, too exhausted to put any real force into it. "What do you do when you're not here?"

"I've got some side projects."

"Bodyguard projects?"

"Woodworking."

"You're a carpenter," I said, breathing in the scent of pine shavings, remembering the nicks on his hands.

"Yeah. Nothing big right now, though. A coffee table, a mirror."

I touched the spot on my cheek where Luc had healed me. "It sounds nice."

The truck slowed, shuddered to a stop. "Ready?"

A moment later, he opened my door. The unexpected courtesy jolted me from my stupor, put me on alert. If Colin was being kind, something bad was about to happen.

We entered the bar, and I flashed back to the Dauphine, my heart pounding. Here, though, no one marked our arrival. The weeknight regulars weren't looking to socialize, and neither of us was unfamiliar here.

The two plasma TVs at either end of the bar were showing the highlights of the Sox game. Charlie grimaced at a replay of the Twins scoring yet again. "Won't be seeing much ball come October," he said.

There was a strained note to Colin's laugh. "Can we go back?"

"Sure. He's waiting."

"Mo," cried my uncle as I approached his booth, Colin at my back. "It's good to see you, darling girl! Colin says you've been busy. Poor thing, you look dead on your feet."

"Long day," I said, sitting down.

"Indeed. Your mother and I have been discussing your school plans."

Not surprising. My mother didn't want me to go to New York, and who better to help her in her quest to keep me home than Uncle Billy, who'd always promised to help with tuition?

"My college plans are the same as they've always been." I folded my hands on the table in front of me, met his eyes. If he'd called me here to push my mom's college agenda, I was going to shatter like the bottle I'd broken over Gla.s.ses Guy's head.

"We can discuss it later," he said affably. "In truth, Mo, I called you here for another reason. The police are closing in on some suspects in Verity's case."

"Suspects?" It had to be a mistake.

"Yes. And there's every chance you'll be called in to identify them. I wanted you to be prepared. Do you remember the description you gave the police?"

"I don't think it was very useful." That was putting it mildly-a Darkling wasn't going to show up in any book of mug shots.

Uncle Billy unfolded a piece of paper on the table. Elsa's strong, slanted handwriting was unmistakable, even upside down. "You described them as tall, with black sweatshirts or jackets covering their faces."

"I couldn't really see them."

"And you couldn't understand what they were saying?"

I shook my head.

"Could it have been Russian? You've not heard it spoken much, I'll wager."

"I don't think it was Russian." Unless the Darklings had arrived via Moscow, which seemed unlikely.

"But it could have been," he pressed. "It would make sense. If they brought out several big Russian fellows and asked you to identify them, it wouldn't be a stretch to say yes."

"Except I didn't really see them," I said again, stubborn for reasons I couldn't name. My instincts, which I'd never paid much attention to, hummed a warning. I could feel it from my spine to my fingertips. How much of my family's history was true? It all seemed suspect now, impossible to tell the solid parts from the illusions, just like my friendship with Verity. It was so disorienting, and exhausting, and without anything real to go on, the only thing left was my instincts. I touched the chain around my neck as Uncle Billy tapped his fingertips on the scarred tabletop.

"The men you'll be asked to identify are very dangerous individuals. They're exactly the sort that would have hunted down Verity."

"They didn't do it!"

He stilled for a moment, then wagged a finger at me. "If you didn't see them, you can't be sure."

"You want me to identify these people even if I don't recognize them? Accuse them of murder?"

He stared at me hard, the storm clouds gathering on his face, but his voice still held a cajoling note. "I want you to make allowance for the time of night, your state of mind, the good you could do by taking these men off the street."

"How would I do that?"

"One has a scar on his right forearm. The other has a flower tattooed on his chest. Easy to overlook at the time, but now you've had a chance to reflect. They might stand out a bit more."

I glanced up at Colin, who had developed a sudden interest in his shoes. He looked tense, the strong, square line of his jaw set, stubble glinting in the dim light of the bar.

"I have to go." I slipped out of the booth.

"You just got here!" There was no outrage in his voice, only shock, but that wouldn't last long.

"School night. You know how Mom gets." I strode toward the front, not bothering to see if Colin followed.

"Talk some sense into her," I heard my uncle growl.

Colin caught up to me at the truck.

"He wants me to lie. You know that, right?" I slammed the door so hard the window rattled.

"It was kind of hard to miss."

"Those guys? The Russians? They didn't kill Verity."

He started the engine and let it idle for a moment. "Probably not. Doesn't mean they haven't killed somebody else."

"And that makes it okay?"

"I didn't say that." He pulled into traffic.

"If I identify these guys, the police will stop looking for the real killers." Which wasn't terrible, actually. They'd never be able to arrest the Darklings or the people behind them. It would get Kowalski off my case. Another lie, though. Like there weren't enough already.

"Your uncle won't stop. You might like his results better." Colin's voice was emotionless, but I knew what he meant. The problem was, Uncle Billy was no more equipped to handle Darklings than the police department. Whatever brand of street justice he was prepared to mete out didn't involve magic.

A thought struck me. "What would happen to you? If I did ID these guys?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" He raised one eyebrow. "I'm here until Billy thinks you're safe."

"He said having these guys arrested would make the neighborhood safer."

"I think your uncle has a different standard for your safety than for the neighborhood as a whole. Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry.

"So I should expect Kowalski tomorrow?"

"You've got a little time."

"What would you do?"

"If I were you? I'd figure out what girls talk about when they all go to the bathroom together."

I shoved him, strangely grateful for the lame attempt at humor. "I'm serious!"

He considered. "It depends on what you want, Mo."

"Justice," I said instantly.

He jerked a shoulder. "After that."

"What do you mean?"

"The rest of your life can't be about grieving for your friend. However this plays out, you're going to reach a point where you have to live for yourself, not her. Billy's not kidding when he says it'd be better if these guys went away, for a lot of reasons. But you don't have to be the one to make it happen. It's a path. . . ." He paused. "It's a road that doesn't have a lot of off-ramps, you know? You choose it, or you let it choose you, and it might be hard to turn around later. It might be smart to keep your options open for a while."

"You don't believe in fate?" I dug my fingers into the door handle, waiting for his answer.

His mouth hardened. "People make their own fate."

I didn't say anything, and after a long moment, he continued. "Once you start choosing, you set things in motion a certain way. Things can settle in pretty firm, before you realize what's happened. It doesn't mean you shouldn't decide, but you have to see the consequences."

I wondered if that was how Colin had ended up working for Billy, and if he regretted it now. The question hung between us, full and tempting, and I nearly asked. Then it struck me that, from the beginning, Colin had always deferred to my uncle. He'd made it clear he was working for Uncle Billy, not me, and what I wanted took a backseat to my uncle's wishes.