Invincible (A Centennial City Novel) - By Fionn Jameson Page 0,16
and the envelope hasn’t been opened yet. You understand?”
I did. I understood very well.
Mika did not bite me as I rubbed her chin, opting to purr, her beautiful amber eyes closed in supreme happiness in Mrs. Graham’s ample arms. “Thank you, Mrs. Graham. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“You see that you do,” she said and then added. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Don’t do anything foolish.
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll be back for Mika. I promise.”
She looked satisfied as she cradled the cat against her shoulders. “Promises are made to be kept, aren’t they?”
“Of course,” I said and felt a bit silly as I waved to the cat when she closed the door.
The hallway was quiet, and I was loathe to leave the relative safety of the only home I had known for the past five years.
I thought I would come back.
And it was that uncertainty that almost undid me.
Outside, a dark car with tinted windows waited for me. Courtesy of Jason Eldridge. The driver got out of the car, a tall, silent man with wraparound shades, and opened the back door for me before I could get there.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. May I take your bags?”
I didn’t carry much, only one duffel bag filled with suitable, comfortable clothes and the nylon bag containing my sword. Hardly worth the assistance. “No, thank you. I’ll ride with them in my lap.”
He nodded stiffly. “As you wish.”
I slid into the cool atmosphere, the dark giving me pause and the driver shut the door behind me. I felt that familiar sense of panic, of drowning in the perpetual darkness worse than anything else, but managed to find the switch for the window before I could hyperventilate. It was cold, but I would sacrifice warmth for the tiny ray of light.
A vampire hunter that feared the darkness.
Had anyone known, it would’ve been too shameful.
Father thought he beat that particular trait out of me, but he hadn’t.
A shame. It could have been helpful.
The drive was not long and when the driver pulled into the driveway of a three story brownstone, I stared up at the building that looked like every other building on the street.
I opened the door and got out before the driver could come around to my side. Perhaps his lips twitched with displeasure, but I had always done everything myself. I hated waiting for other people. Things always got done fast if I did it. Besides, I am not so privileged to have other people open doors for me. I still had hands, still had power enough to do it myself.
“Is he here?”
The street seemed deserted and the brownstones on either side had their blinds drawn. They, too, seemed empty.
“He is.”
I thought I saw a shadow move across one of the windows on the second floor of the building in front of me. “Is it just him?”
“I am not sure I can answer that, Miss.”
Miss. It was strange hearing me referred in such a way. “What do I do? Do I just walk in?”
I wished I could see the driver’s eyes as he shrugged. They say eyes are the window to a man’s soul…most of the time, they’re right. “I had very explicit directions regarding this, Miss. Mr. Eldridge made it extremely clear I was to lead you here. Whatever happens after, whatever happens now, is strictly your choice. If you were to walk down the street, I could not stop you. Were you to get back in the car and tell me to take you back to your home, I would do it. Your choice is your own.”
An interesting idea.
But one that was inherently flawed.
After all, I had been led here, hadn’t I?
My choice had been made for me.
A gilded cage. Pretty to look at, but still a cage, whichever way you look at it.
I adjusted the duffel bag on my shoulder, so it sat more comfortably. “Is the door unlocked?”
He shook his head wordlessly.
Right.
I walked up the seven steps to the front door and heard the car start up. By the time I tried the doorknob, the car was already halfway down the quiet street.
The door was locked, just like he said, and I spared a glance at the brass doorbell button next to mailbox slot.
I could ring it, or I could simply call out to the small figure I could see standing behind the stained glass insets of the burgundy cherrywood door. Probably not Jason. “Do you want me to ring the doorbell?”