Prologue: War of Nerves
The music was too loud. He'd thought the decades-spanning selection of pop songs that had studded the d.j.'s output was rather charming at first. It put him in mind of the karaoke nights he and Abbie had so enjoyed in recent months. But that impression had been from when they had first arrived at the party. Abbie had been by his side, the epitome of beauty and quiet strength as always, but tonight there was some strange, nervous undercurrent to her aura. Now he feared he understood it, and watching as Abigail Mills was spun around the dance floor by Daniel Reynolds, Ichabod Crane thought the music was not only too loud, but also obnoxious, overbearing, and bothersome. Almost nauseating.
Abbie giggled as Reynolds twirled her outwards and back in, swinging her hands back around his neck as though the motion was as easy as breathing. Had she been excited to come here tonight, to see him?
The song changed from a trite bubblegum romp to a silky slow ballad, but a tap on Reynolds' shoulder alerted him to a new interruption. Carefully cloaking his true feelings in a way that had become aggravatingly, absurdly difficult recently, Crane asked in his usual cordial tone, "Pardon me, but may I step in?"
Abbie's expression was clouded with confusion, but Reynolds gave a laugh, and said "Of course!," so confident that the next slow dance would be his, and strode off with a clap on Crane's back.
The tension in Abbie's body seemed to originate from her spine; she stood as stiff as she had formerly been relaxed. And as Crane slid one hand into hers and another around her waist, she frowned up at him, analyzing his face, which remained perfectly composed in an expression of complacent enjoyment of the evening's activities.
"What?" She finally blurted, seeming unable to hold the words back. "What is it, Crane? Why did you—" He knew how the sentence ended. Why had he stepped in and ruined her lovely romantic interlude with the ex-boyfriend to whom she'd grown closer of late?
"Lieutenant," Crane murmured in her ear, "Do you remember me telling you that if I ever felt jealousy, you would know it?"
Abbie did what she herself would have termed a "double-take." "What are you talking about?" She asked, looking almost numb with surprise and anxiety, though of course she knew to which past conversation of theirs he referred.
"Meet me inside," Crane said simply, and walked away. Abbie stood staring after him. But only for a moment.