Neko Kuroban and Sister Grimm Erin (sistergrimm2) would like to gratefully acknowledge the following readers for their reviews: storm-brain, Kelsey4794, ChocolateRain813, Colette Irving, and MyPenIsSharperThanYourSword. Thank you!
With the Light in Our Eyes
by Neko Kuroban and Sister Grimm Erin
Chapter Two:
Into an Anxious and Unsettling World
"Live on the edge. You'll take up too much room in the middle."
Don't trust this guy, Thalia told herself firmly as she stole a sidelong glance at the blonde boy walking beside her. Don't turn into your mother.
He would be out of her life soon enough. He was just a way for her to occupy her time while she sorted out her feelings. Her flight was not scheduled to leave for another eight hours. She was not even certain she could bring herself to board it. She genuinely believed that leaving was the right thing to do, but such an impulsive action seemed nearly childish in scope — wasn't she too practical to run away? Doing so made it look as if she only needed time to cool down, as if she was admitting that she was wrong when she knew that she was in the right.
A distraction. That was all that this strange blonde boy beside her was. So what if he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen? So what if his sapphire eyes were broken and he smiled as if something pained him? So what if he moved with languid, easy grace, but, when at rest, looked like she did — tense, coiled energy, poised to strike? Just a distraction.
"So you just happen to know Rodeo Drive jewelers who would be open at this hour?"
Thirty minutes on the bus ("Come on," she had teased him. "Los Angeles County public transportation at night. You'll get an education, I promise.") had brought them through different worlds. Closest to the airport were the disheartening concrete corridors of Ladera Heights and Inglewood, both of which she had wanted to avoid. She was a street-smart girl who knew how to avoid attracting attention, but that did not mean that she was stupid enough to wander into neighborhoods that girls of her upbringing had always been cautioned to avoid. They entered the city proper, where the districts began to rapidly and dramatically improve once the vehicle began to gain in altitude. The bus spit them out near the Avalon Hotel in Beverly Hills. (Thalia had meant to get off sooner, but, engrossed in conversation with her companion, she had missed her intended stop. When Luke asked, she claimed that she knew a shortcut, which she did, but closer to the truth was that the Avalon was simply a landmark she recognized.) From there, she led the way to Rodeo Drive.
"What can I say?" She half-lowered her eyelashes in a mockery of flirtation. "I am a girl of many faces."
As they approached a shopfront — the soft golden lights were still on, visible through the lightly frosted glass, though they had been dimmed — he mumbled something under his breath, thinking it would be too low for her to hear, but she caught it all the same: "I'm beginning to realize."
She put her back to him, ostensibly to ring the buzzer, but mostly to hide her grin.
There was no response.
She had expected this (there was probably a reason for the engraved brass placard that announced closed hanging above the one that announced entry by appointment only), but she was hardly dissuaded. Instead, she pressed the intercom button. "Jeremy," she began, using a voice an octaves higher than she usually would. "It's Thalia. I was hoping we could talk."
There was a groan from the other end. "It's the middle of Channukah and Christmas is in two days, little girl. I'm swamped. Don't you have dolls you can play with?"
"You might be interested to know that I have a friend," she began.
"Wow, T," he drawled, cutting her off. "Congratufuckinglations. Good for you. Take that, middle school guidance counselor. What appeal does that have for me?"
"He's looking to sell way below market value."
"Is he with you right now?"
"Yes."
No reply.
She waited.
Finally, he huffed a sigh. She knew the reluctance was a mere act to conceal his inherent greed. If it all genuine, it was his disgust for speaking without his usual pretensions. "All right. I'll go disable the alarms and meet you and your little friend in the front in two minutes."
He met her in forty seconds.
The man Thalia had called Jeremy opened the frosted glass door and offered a smile that made the word oily jump, unbidden, to her mind. Her blue eyes flickered down to his wing-tipped Prada shoes before looking up at his face. He was not an unattractive man — far from it, actually — but he radiated the unimpressive aura of a man who cared far too much and far too deeply about what others thought of him.
He wore black linen slacks juxtaposed against a wine-colored silk button-down, his narrow black tie loosened at the throat. His layered hair, longer on one side than on the other, was artfully sculpted with product, and his red square-framed glasses were just ironically nerdy enough to be fashionable. It was one of the first times she had ever seen him without a blazer or a vintage velvet smoking jacket; instead, he wore a leather jeweler's apron around his waist as if to protect his clothing.
This, like so much about him, was just another front.
"Thalia, darling, sweetheart!" the man greeted her, purely for Luke's benefit. She was sure he had withered once he realized he had said something as crass as congratufuckinglations in front of a potential customer. He looked as if he might attempt to kiss her cheek in a bid at atonement.
Do not come near me, Thalia reprimanded him silently, radiating ice and disapproval. She folded her arms over her chest.
Her wordless hostility might have worked, because he merely gave her a dark look and turned away to face the boy at her side. With his best attempt at a smile (it came out as a flimsy, insincere gesture, and she knew that it was), he spun to face Luke, holding out a soft hand. "Sage Gupta. Charmé. And you are...?"
"Don't be fooled. His real name is Jeremy Smith," Thalia stage-whispered to Luke, just loud enough that she knew the man had heard her. "I've seen his driver's license."
Luke pointedly ignored the proffered hand, and the man let it fall, his shrewd eyes becoming even sharper. "What have you got for me?" he asked, voice cold and assessing.
Thalia noticed the way the blonde's back almost imperceptibly stiffened. "Some high-end things," he answered after a moment. "Like she said, I am willing to go way below market value."
A new light entered Sage's eyes, and Thalia resisted the urge to roll her own. No wonder my mother dumped you. You're an emotionless gold-digger.
"Perfect," he replied. "Let me take a look. Did you bring any documentation?"
"I have the proof of insurance certificates for most of them." Luke set his bag down on the polished counter top. "Not the gemstone certification."
"I could do a grading report if you're willing to wait until after the holida—"
"I'm not," Luke interrupted. He opened the zippered side compartment, all business, and removed seven black velvet cases, each emblazoned with curling script spelling out initials in gold: TVC. He placed them in a row along the counter, but Thalia, standing at his side, noticed that he left two simpler white boxes in his bag.
She wondered why — maybe I can ask him later — and then rebuked herself sharply. Don't get attached. There's bound to be something about him I won't like, she reminded herself, cynical to a fault. I'll just sit back and wait to be disillusioned.
The jeweler scrutinized each piece in turn; it was an obvious struggle for him to keep his features smooth and disinterested. Even beneath the mask, it was apparent that he was thrilled by what he saw laid out before him. "Five thousand," he said at last, voice dismissive.
Luke raised one eyebrow. "That's something like four percent of what this lot is actually worth."
"Don't try and get me over a barrel here, kid. Consider my offer to be in exchange for not making a few phone calls. I'm certain that..." Sage spared a glance to the insurance documents. "Geoffrey Castellan would be interested to know why registered jewelry is being sold under the table at this time of night. Five thousand — or you and your little girlfriend can get out. I have work to do that's far more important than baby-sitting."
Thalia leaned against the glass counter, playing at a casualness she did not feel. "You know perfectly well that's not even close. Your eyes tell the truth, Jeremy." Knowing her words would be a twist of the knife, she added, "Even my mother knew that. Didn't she?"
Thalia had to give him credit where credit was due: he only nearly flinched.
Luke seized the opportunity provided by the sudden tension. "Twenty thousand."
Sage snorted. "And here I thought you were interested in low-balling. Seven."
"Ten," Luke countered.
"Ninety-five hundred," Sage drawled, but something beneath the confidence in his voice faltered: he was desperate to make the sale. "And that's my final offer."
"You know what?" Luke allowed himself to smirk. "I'm willing to negotiate. We can go down to nine thousand if you give me the contact information for the P.I. next door. I'll give you my number in case it turns out to be a false lead."
Thalia glanced over at the blonde boy beside her, surprised. Although she was familiar with the area, she had barely registered the tinted windows and austere front of the private investigator's office next door. She had not thought he had noticed, much less remember, the darkened office for S. & J. Investigations. What was there to remember about it?
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the momentary hesitation written into Sage's features. With a sudden scowl that was much more sullen than menacing, he pulled out his keys and bent to unlock a drawer set into the smooth white marble base of the counter. Pulling it out revealed the fastidiously organized contents: office supplies, a few small tools and folded cleaning cloths, and a small wooden box. From the tiny box, he pulled a dramatic red and black business card.
"I'd recommend talking to Jacobs rather than Smithson," Sage said as he slid it to Luke. He withdrew from his leather apron one of his own business cards, as well as a small pad of stationary and a heavy-barreled Montblanc pen, setting each in turn on the glass surface. "Write your contact information there. I'll be right back. I need to cut you a check."
"Cash," Thalia corrected.
Sage's face was far from happy, but she knew his irritation was tempered by his own greed. Typical have, she thought disdainfully. Never satisfied, no matter how rich he is.
"Fine," he ground out with forced pleasantness, and she manufactured a smile. He whirled on his heel and disappeared into the back, leaving Thalia alone with Luke.
Luke offered her a languid, indolent grin, and she felt something in her chest constrict. "Thanks," he murmured after a moment, keeping his light voice hushed.
"You're welcome." Was she blushing? Surely, she must have been. Why else would she feel so warm? To distract herself, she took the pen Sage had left and scrawled a string of seven numbers on the creamy paper: 919-376-9503. "Use this as your contact number. It—"
They were interrupted by Sage's return. "Here." He placed the money on the counter in a piecemeal fashion: nine piles, each consisting of ten one hundred dollar bills.
As Thalia watched the man count it out, she stole the occasional glance at Luke. There was a curious hardness in his dark blue eyes, which had seemed so much softer when he had been alone with her before. At last, he nodded, an almost imperceptible gesture, and thanked him (referring to Sage as Mr. Smith, she noticed, amused) stacking the bills and wrapping the provided rubber band around them. The bundle disappeared into his bag.
"Pleasure doing business," Thalia said wryly. She paused, just for a heartbeat, before adding impishly, "Jeremy."
Thalia and Luke were not hand in hand when they left the shop or even walking in step with one another — but, this time, when she looked over at him to check his expression, he smiled.
Life may be a map, but there are no points of reference, no mile markers, no landmarks you can go by. There is nothing to say: this person will become vital to you — cherish them, love them, hold them fast. Commit what they say to memory for one day it will be lost. Cling to them while you can, but you might as well try to hold the wind. Nothing is eternal, and nothing is yours.
Perhaps there should be.
(Even the stars themselves burn out, Thalia Grace.)