I Am the Wild (The Night Firm #1)- Karpov Kinrade Page 0,10
but then I turn back, slowing my step to reassure my brain I didn't just see what I think I did.
My breathing quickens as I try to stay casual and totally normal. Inside the room, one woman stands apart from the rest, and no one seems to acknowledge her presence. It takes me a moment to register what I'm seeing. She has long silver hair down to her feet, styled into hundreds of tiny braids. Her skin is a deep black, dark as midnight, with freckles on her prominent cheekbones that glow silver like stars in the night sky. Her eyes are wide and large and are entirely silver. And on her forehead is a delicate silver horn.
I know the moment she sees me. The moment we see each other. Her presence washes over me like a waterfall on a warm day, inviting and cool and so refreshing. I hear the soft whisper of my name carried on the faintest drift of air, or maybe it's in my head, I can't tell. But as my name enters me, I feel peace even through the pain.
A tear rolls down my cheek and she smiles, revealing large white teeth, and in my mind's eye I see her in a brilliant emerald glade, prancing through the thick grass, but her body is not that of a woman, but a unicorn.
I walk as if in a daze, somehow finding the elevator and making my way to the first floor. The twins both stare as I walk out and hail a cab, my mind spinning with all that I saw, but my heart is full from that brief glimpse of the woman with silver eyes.
The Offer
I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
~ Sara Teasdale
I make a quick stop at the grocery store, tipping the cabbie generously with money I can ill afford to spend, so that she'll wait as I pick up the necessary supplies for my evening plan. It should be sleep, since it's almost two in the morning at this point, but this is New York, a city that's always awake. And I don't sleep much at any rate.
When the cab pulls up to my apartment, I tip once again, mentally counting down how much—or rather how little—money I have left. I slink into the building, hoping the manager isn't around. It was a nice place once upon a time, and the architecture is still breathtaking, but lack of care has worn it down. You can feel the spirit within has given up the fight. Even still, the rooms weren’t cheap to come by. New York is New York, no matter what neighborhood you live in.
At my old job the cost was no big deal. In fact, I had my sights set on something much grander once upon a time.
Now…
I'm just about to make it to the elevator when I hear his voice. "Miss Oliver, I was hoping to run into you. Can we talk privately in my office a moment?" he asks, while placing his hand at my elbow and giving me a pointed stare.
It's not a question, it's a command, and I resent him and myself for the fact that I feel like a misbehaving child as he leads me to his office and closes the door. He sits behind his desk, and I stand, giving me a good view of the balding spot on his head, the light bulb overhead flashing against pale skin. Roger Lemon's parents own this building, which is his only qualification for managing an apartment complex. He's got a skinny mustache across a thin lip that makes him look Hitleresque but without the gravitas to lead a country.
"Miss Oliver, your payments are now several months past due. You have gotten my notices, I trust?"
"Every single one of them," I say, through gritted teeth.
"Then you know this cannot be allowed to go on. We will have to take, dare I say it, drastic measures if you do not get your account in compliance."
Compliance. I've always hated that word.
"I should have the money to you soon. I had a job interview today that looks promising."
His thin lips pinch together, forming a crease between his eyebrows. "I sympathize with what you've been through, but I think we've been patient long enough."
"I'll get you your money," I say. "I just need a bit more time."