Chapter One
Clarke slotted another quarter in the vending machine on auto-pilot. Her eyes were fixed on the tall, broad-shouldered man reflected in its scuffed glass surface. He rose from his perch on the brown leather bar stool with a friendly nod to his fellow diners. His dark hair fell about his face carelessly and his lips quirked up in thanks to the starry-eyed woman serving him. He was as cool as a breeze, natural and self-assured in a way most people would envy. It was probably a cop thing.
Why the small town's most popular diner had an alcove of vending machines in the neighbouring courtyard, complete with an outdoor foosball table and sheltered retro arcade games, she hadn't figured out, but it made for a good excuse to loiter in full view of the occupants. She imagined it was probably a popular place with the local high schools whopping four hundred and fourteen students.
Deputy Blake left The Sound Byte with a styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and a brown paper bag clutched in the other. A blueberry muffin, she knew, from watching the server take it from the pretty blueberry covered, hand-painted - she assumed - glass topped cake dish just moments ago. There was a whole line of those dishes dancing along the bar, like a fruit salad parade. Mentally logging his preference for baked goods was research, she told herself, and not stalker-like at all.
Clarke shifted on her feet, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down her back. It was more from anxiety than the growing June heat, and she absently fed the vending machine one quarter after another so as not to look suspicious. As he hooked his mirrored aviators over his dark eyes and surveyed the street, she imagined his gaze was broody and cynical, impossible to see as it was. Following Deputy Blake for the past two and a half days had made her hyper-aware of the deep sadness buried beneath his ready smiles. Perhaps she was a bit of a sensitive – that artistic streak in her was programmed to notice the wild and the wonderful, but also the human.
He returned to his squad car, that dark uniform a vacuum in the bright spring colours, and interrupted his partner's snooze with a sharp rap on the passenger side window, quickly followed by a laugh. As he cranked the engine, she dropped another quarter in the machine and let out a wavering sigh. The dull plonk hardly registered in her distraction.
"I'm pretty sure that's enough quarters to keep the entire football team supplied with M&Ms." Clarke jolted, dropping her remaining quarters, and turned to face the stranger with wide eyes. The tinkling sound as the coins rolled in swirly patterns along the tarmac accompanied the fast beating of her heart.
Grey overalls tucked into black, steel toe-capped boots and tied at the waist to reveal a white, grease-stained muscle shirt. The woman should have looked decidedly masculine; instead, she was a poster girl for women that worked with their hands. Pun fully intended.
Her sleek mahogany hair held back in a long ponytail revealed high cheekbones, smooth olive skin and pretty brown eyes exotically turned up at the corners. They were currently alight with mirth.
Clarke slid her own puzzled blue eyes to the flashing digits displaying the total sum of $16.25 and felt her cheeks burn. She had taken to keeping a cache of quarters in her car for emergency laundromat cycles and vending machines - this had pretty much wiped her supply out and it looked as suspicious as all get out.
"I'm just really hungry…and thirsty."
The woman smirked and fanned herself with a bundle of colourful fliers she had clutched in her hand. "Bellamy Blake can do that to a woman."
Shoot. Clarke quickly looked away and pushed the red button to return her money. It made a cacophony as it regurgitated them all into the little coin slot. She hid behind her newly shorn hair, cursing it's lack of proper length as she bent down to retrieve her money before it could continue to spill all over the asphalt.
She thought she'd been so covert in her surveillance of the town's favourite deputy, but evidently not. She could deny he was the object of her scrutiny, she thought, as she stuffed her pocket full of change, but a flash of insight told her she could work with this. She could definitely work with this. Happy to play off her non-stalking as animal attraction, Clarke shrugged nonchalantly and aimed a rueful grin at the stranger. "Who doesn't like a man in uniform?"
"Thieves, murderers, rapists, terrorists, gangsters, arsonists…" The woman tapped her lip thoughtfully. "Politicians, lawyers…"
"Pretty sure 'villains' would have covered all of the above nicely." Clarke interrupted on a surprised laugh.
"My kind of woman." The stranger surprised her by hooking her arm through Clarke's and leading her past the glass siding of the diner. She went willingly, glad to have an excuse to move away without a crate of soda.
"I'm Raven Reyes – I work over at The Chop Shop. You're new around here, right?"
"What gave it away?" She tentatively held her free hand out and awkwardly shook Raven's. "I'm Clarke Griffin."
Raven nudged her chin in the direction of the neatly uniformed row of parked cars along the street. "It was the car that did it for me. Don't know anybody in town with your kind of taste and the money to feed it, and I've gotten to know everyone's cars pretty well. Working in downtown's only garage and all."
Clarke looked away in fleeting embarrassment. Her shiny red convertible had been an impulsive gift to herself. A sort of nod to who she used to be. Now she was concerned she'd somehow given a part of herself away by that momentary indulgence. "Did you say The Chop Shop?"
"Pretty nifty, huh?" Raven grinned, her eyes dancing. "I figure – Latino woman, Spanish rap full blast on the stereo, taco truck outside, running a garage in a nowhere town, in nowheresville, Virginia – why not stick it to the man?"
Clarke raised her brows. "Nifty."
"Listen – you had breakfast yet?" Raven rubbed her trim stomach dramatically. "No, of course you haven't. Its barely 8am. I'm starving, and Monty makes the best French toast this side of the Mississippi – trust me."
"No. I mean, sure, why not." Clarke felt a little like a bobble head with all the nodding she was doing. "I could eat."
Raven let her go, pivoted with all the grace of a ballerina, turned the corner and swept open the door to the diner. She called out several greetings to the patrons when the bell signalled their entrance. She laid her flyers down on the edge of the counter and Clarke realised they were advertising a local band called The Grounders. When was the last time she'd thought about something as simple as live music? Too long ago.
Warm, cinnamon and bacon scented air and the sound of gentle chatter drifted around Clarke like a welcome caress. She felt the corners of her lips tip up involuntarily. It had been ages since she'd enjoyed a warm cooked meal, never mind shared a meal with someone else. Usually she ate whatever she could on the go, but she was aware her diet consisted mainly of jerky, apples and coke cans. It didn't take her doctor to tell her she should have been taking better care of herself. Maybe, now she was here, she finally could.
She followed her new friend to the vacant corner booth situated at the front of the diner, in full view of the shops on main street and any passers-by. The place was typical Americana with an internet café twist – a long, stained walnut bar lined with stools took up one length, covered in those pretty glass dishes, snug booths in black and white striped leather lined the walls in an L shape, and a stack of laptops for hire were set on a rack with magazines and books at the end of the counter. The wall behind the counter advertised the daily specials – along with drink and Wi-Fi prices.
Halogen lights shined off the scrubbed linoleum floor and lit up the framed photos that lined the wall. Celebrities, maybe? She didn't readily recognise any of them, but she'd also never had a head for famous people. A mix of blues and country thrummed out of the speakers. Clarke half expected to find the staff whizzing about on roller skates, rocking their hips as they waited on tables – or maybe in cowboy boots crushing nut shells with every step.
A waitress with a sour expression and bottle blond hair teased into huge curls bore down on them to take their order. She wasn't wearing roller skates. A butterfly tattoo was nestled across her cleavage, exposed due to the precariously buttoned shirt of her classic red and white dolly uniform.
"What'll it be?" Clarke imagined drawing her with her hip cocked, her foot tapping and a string of bubble gum being teased out of her crimson painted mouth with one manicured finger.
"Two of my usual, thanks, Harper." Raven boomed. For such a little person she had a big voice. "And keep the coffee coming. I've got a corvette that needs a complete engine overhaul and I don't need to be falling asleep at the wheel, so to speak."
"Coffee for you too?" Harper turned her gaze to Clarke. It was both curious and resentful at once, which was a pretty mean feat. Like she was dying to ask Clarke who she was, but annoyed she didn't already know the answer.
"Yes, please." Clarke pushed her glasses further up her nose with one finger and smiled, but that only seemed to make Harper's eyes narrow in suspicion.
Raven turned to Clarke while Harper sauntered off with her nose in the air. "Don't you just love that? My usual! Love it."
Clarke grinned. Raven was turning out to be a great distraction. Maybe this was an omen? A good one. She was engaging with an actual human being for the first time since…well, best not to think of that.
"I don't think I ever had a usual at any place like this." She admitted. "Where I come from there are too many people for the over-worked staff to be remembering just the one."
"Snap!" Raven exclaimed. "I was raised in Brooklyn. They call it the village, but it ain't like any village I've ever seen, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Where you from anyhow?"
Clarke squirmed a little. It wasn't like the details of her life had been made public knowledge – she'd been protected from that. But the information was still out there, if someone wanted to do their homework. Especially a man with access to police resources. It felt risky, but at the same time, where was the harm? "Boston. But I went to school in England."
Raven snapped her fingers. "That explains the accent. You're like a cross between that heiress on Downton Abbey and the people from Cheers."
Clarke cocked a brow. "You watch Downton Abbey?"
"They have great costumes." Raven said. "And so much drama, it could put Jeremy Kyle out of business."
"Amen to that, sister." She joked.
The warm and snuggly Harper returned with two mugs hooked through her fingers, her coffee jug, and an even sourer expression, if that was possible. She looked put out when they both stopped talking until she'd left to return to the counter as another order was announced by the sprightly little counter bell.
"So what brought you to the Virginia?" asked Clarke.
"A guy." Raven rolled her eyes. "What else?"
"I take it the guy's history?"
"Ancient." Raven nodded. "But the town stuck with me, you know?"
"Not really." Clarke smiled a little sadly.
Harper returned with two plates piled high with French toast, fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Clarke's stomach chose that opportune moment to rumble at the enticing smells.
Once Harper had given up loitering at the next table over in a conspicuous attempt to eavesdrop, Clarke sent Raven a puzzled look. I mean, how much sugar did she think those shakers needed? "I take it you don't get a lot of tourists around here?"
"Not so much. But that's not it." Raven looked surprised. "You know I keep forgetting you're not from around here. I feel like I've known you for more than…" she glanced at her watch and grinned. "Twenty four minutes."
"I have that effect." Clarke agreed with a smile.
"She's jealous." Raven shrugged. "She probably saw Blake checking you out earlier and she's dying to dig up some dirt to discredit you before you get any romantic inclinations towards her latest beau."
Clarke wrinkled her nose. "She's dating him?"
"She wishes she was dating him."
"Ah." Clarke said. "I see."
And she really did see. To anyone else, Bellamy Blake was the ultimate catch. Town hero, upstanding brother and all-round good citizen - and a handsome son of a bitch to boot. To anyone else – but her.
They tucked into their food with enthusiasm. Clarke couldn't help the muffled moan at the sensations licking along her taste buds. Damn, Raven was right, it was amazing.
"Told you, didn't I." Raven chuckled between bites. "If there's one thing I don't joke about, it's food."
Clarke merely nodded and grinned around a mouthful of sugary, cinnamon goodness. She devoured the entire plate in minutes. Sure, she'd have indigestion later, but she pleaded temporary insanity.
"So, what brings you to Arkadia?" Raven sat back in her seat, sipping from her coffee mug as she watched Clarke over the brim.
Clarke fiddled with a sugar packet and shrugged. "I've been travelling a while now, and it seemed like as good a place to stop as any."
She ripped the sugar packet open and added it to her coffee. She avoided the creamer – if she couldn't have milk, she'd have it black. One of the many quirks she'd picked up from her schooling days.
"It sure is a beautiful place." Raven said. "But not a lot happens around here. If you're looking for a bit of excitement you'd be better off up in Polis, or even DC."
"I've just come from DC." Clarke said. "Neither place was it for me."
It wasn't strictly a lie – she had driven through them on her way to this little town set in the shadow of Mount Weather. Driven through them with a purpose, sure, and in an attempt to stall the inevitable.
"Actually, I think I might stick around a while. Maybe even find some work…" she smiled as the idea sprouted wings in her mind and flew away from her.
"Excuse me for interrupting, but I couldn't help but overhear you girls."
Clarke turned around and surveyed the older woman with surprise, and just a little suspicion. The latter was a new habit she was trying to break, but the woman must have had ninja levels of sneakiness.
Berry tinged hair surrounded a surprisingly youthful face, though Clarke gaged her to be late 40s – in fact, everything about her was tinged towards purple, from her flowing maxi dress to the dangling beads at her ears and sparkling violet of her nails.
"Clarke, meet Cece." Raven's tone was brimming with warmth. "She's our resident woo woo lady."
Clarke looked from one to the other when Cece seemed to delight in Raven's words. "Woo woo?"
"What Raven means, darlin', is that I'm the go-to lady for herbal tinctures and I run the local yoga and meditation classes." Cece shrugged her sturdy shoulders. "Around here, that counts as woo woo."
"She also runs the most successful lavender farm in the county and is my personal hero." Raven rose up half out of her seat and kissed Cece on the cheek. "Care to join us?"
"No can do, sweetheart." Cece smiled at Raven, then turned a surprisingly powerful gaze on Clarke. Her eyes seemed purple then too – an unnatural violet that made Clarke shrink back into her seat. "I heard you say you were looking for work."
"Oh…" Clarke fumbled with a napkin. "I think…maybe…I'd only just decided really."
"Well, now that you have decided, you ought to know there's a job going at the sheriff's station."
"The sheriff's station?!" Clarke nearly choked on the words. "I don't think I'm police material, no offense. Thank you for the offer…"
"None taken, darlin'." Cece's laugh was like the sweet tea to the South in her accent. "But the job is for a dispatcher-come receptionist-come coffee girl. And you can draw too can't you?"
"How could you tell?" Clarke looked down at herself in disconcertment.
Cece reached over and gently took Clarke's hands in her own. Lavender drifted towards Clarke with the movement. "The hands never lie."
Clarke stared at her own palms as though she didn't recognise them. It was the charcoal she realised. It always stained her fingers unless she scrubbed them for a good long time. With motel soap? Make that a good ten minutes.
"Why does she need to draw?" Raven watched them both over the rim of her coffee mug.
"To be a sketch artist of course." Cece said. "You never know when we might need one, and none of those boys can draw worth a lick."
Raven slammed her mug down and laughed uproariously. "Sketch artist! Cece, this is Arkadia, not Polis!"
Cece smiled indulgently. "It's always better to be prepared."
Clarke watched her rummage in a big amethyst straw bag she'd seemingly produced from nowhere and pull out a business card to press into her hand. Her first thought registered shock that the card was green – that's how purple tinted her gaze had become – but she managed a private smile at the lavender stalks edging the border.
"This is for when you get tired of staying at the motel." Clarke's gaze darted to meet Cece's. "How did I know you were staying at the motel?" Clarke only gave her a bemused nod. "You're a visitor ain't you? Only one place worth staying around here and that's The Drop Ship, but my farm will be better."
Clarke watched her start for the door and finally remembered her manners. "Thanks." She called out.
"You're welcome, darlin'." Cece smiled over her shoulder. "Tell Marcus I sent you when you go get that job."
Clarke turned baffled eyes on Raven after watching Cece disappear down the street, a vision in violet, lilac and just a touch of mauve. If she painted her, she'd turn her skirts into lavender fronds and her hair into swirls of candy floss, and her eyes – her eyes would be pure rose-tinted light.
"I'm not entirely sure what I've just agreed to." Clarke carefully placed the business card in her pocket.
Raven rolled her eyes. "Technically you didn't agree to anything. Cece is a stranger to you – you wanna get in your car and roll right out of town, nobody's going to stop you."
Clarke looked back out the window at the neat little town, with it's carefully painted store fronts, shiny row of middle income cars and hanging baskets full of cheap and cheerful flowers. "It just feels like I did agree to something, even if I really didn't."
"Cece has that effect." Raven rose. "Come on, I'll show you to the station house…that is, if you've decided to stay?"
Clarke hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then joined Raven on her feet. "Yeah, what's the harm in trying, huh?"
"That's the spirit."
Before they could reach the door, Harper appeared at their side, chittering like an angry squirrel. "You haven't paid what's owed."
"Add it to my tab." Raven shook her head. "That's what I always do – Monty and I have a deal, or have you suddenly had your memory wiped?"
"What about her?" Harper narrowed her eyes at Clarke. "She hasn't got a deal."
Raven looked ready to read the blonde the riot act until Clarke hastily intervened by shoving a twenty into Harper's tightly fisted hand. "Keep the change."
Harper narrowed her eyes slightly, but slipped the twenty into her apron pocket and disappeared as fast as she'd appeared.
Clarke followed Raven through the door and took a deep breath of the fresh mountain air. "I've got to ask, are all the town's people like the ones I've met so far? I feel like I'm getting whiplash."
"For a small town, people sure move in on you at a fast pace, huh?" Raven pulled sunglasses out of her pocket and surveyed the street. "They're just friendly…and curious. We don't get so many visitors, never mind ones who say they might want to stay. You know, I think I might be one of the newest ones, and I've been here going on five years."
"And you?" Clarke asked. "Friendly or curious? Or both?"
"Neither." Raven started strolling down the street with Clarke. "I'm just nosy."
Clarke laughed, then jumped slightly when a grumbling, rusty blue car pulled up beside them and honked. The driver leaned out of the window – a young, attractive man with shaggy brown hair and a cheeky grin – who coincidently only had eyes for her companion. "Yo Chica, you wanna take a ride on the wild side?"
He purposely leered at Raven's overalls like she was sauntering the high street in a bikini. Those artfully pointed brows lifted above her glasses and she tipped her pointy chin at him. Clarke couldn't see her eyes to know if she was merely bemused or annoyed. She liked to be able to read people's eyes.
"You want me to call for help?" Clarke eyed him dubiously. He was kind of muscly…and sweaty…and she thought her basic self-defence training only went so far.
"That's sweet, but the kind of help Wick needs is beyond our simple capabilities." Raven smirked. "On second thoughts, maybe you should report him at the sheriff's station – think of it as your first act of civic duty."
"Aww, Raven." The guy, Wick, gave an outstanding impression of a kicked puppy. "You can't be serious."
"I tell you what I am serious about – breakfast. Why are you disturbing my morning?"
"Old man Wallace called in over the radio – he's busted his tractor again, and you know he's got no patience for me." Wick smiled and it was tinged with chagrin. "He's cursing up a storm about getting his day started, and I don't wanna be responsible for what happens next."
"Chicken." Raven scoffed. She rounded the car and sent an apologetic look to Clarke. "Sheriff's station is another five blocks down – big white building with the fountain, you can't miss it."
"It's okay." Clarke said. "I know where it is." Prior stalking habits notwithstanding, she'd done her research.
"Then you won't have any trouble handing in an application." Raven winked as she slung herself into the passenger seat of the beat up car. Surely mechanics drove better heaps of junk than that. "Jordan's Brews, 9pm, tonight. If you're late, I'll come looking."
Wick stuck his head back out the window and sent Clarke a silly look. "You don't want that to happen, trust me. I still haven't healed the burns from last time I missed a date."
Raven slapped him on the arm and he pressed down on the gas, chuckling as they drove away.
Well, Clarke thought, her day had been spun around like a washer cycle. It had only been an hour, surely, since she stood aimlessly in the courtyard. She looked back in that direction – then at her car, parked at the curb. Resolve settled itself on her shoulders and she started on foot down the street in the direction she knew the Sheriff's station to be.
It had to be a sign, if she was to believe in such things. She'd been handed a golden ticket and all she had to do was cash it in. Speaking of signs. Clarke paused at the stop sign three blocks down and narrowed her eyes behind her when she heard a snuffling sound.
There was an alley, settled thinly between two robust buildings advertising competing craft wares – marbleised ceramics and paint your own pottery. Imagine the dilemma.
On the surprisingly clean-looking floor – did this town clean up their alleys until they sparkled or something - a large fluffy cat sat resting against the ladder of a fire escape. Except, the cat was a tiger. And the tiger was a costume – the head of which had rolled dejectedly to one side and lay staring up at Clarke in pity. The rest of the tiger costume was filled by a red faced teenage girl who was crying pitifully.
There were moments when fate threw you a bone, and moments you just couldn't ignore another human being. This would turn out to be both.