Eva never expected to hear from Raphael. He was a grouch that tolerated her that night for reasons still unknown. After Eva and Izzy left The Nightfall, they bar-hopped until midnight and then headed home. Izzy said Eva was like Cinderella— she always had to be home by midnight.
The following weekend, Eva was thankfully excused from New York City's nightlife. Izzy was out on a date with a mundane she met at one of the bars last week, and with Jace and Alec on standard patrol that night and Max with Robert in Idris, Eva decided to keep Hodge company in the library. If it wasn't for him, she would've never grown to love fiction and she would've never discovered Tolkien, one of her favorite authors, or the magical world of C.S. Lewis or the thrillers of Dan Brown.
Tonight she had a Dickens novel in her hands, A Tale of Two Cities, occasionally stopping to ask what a certain historical reference meant, or to define a Victorian-era word that flew over her head. It was nights like this that Eva wondered why Hodge wasn't married with children of his own; he seemed like such a natural family man. They were both sitting on different armchairs right in front of the fireplace, but were close enough that Eva could slouch and swing her legs over Hodge's armrest. He sat properly with his back straight and legs crossed at the knees as he always did, and used her shins as a bookrest.
"Why is Sydney like this?" Eva groaned in frustration. "What made him so self-loathing?"
"He probably has many regrets," Hodge said, his eyes still running over the book 100 Ways to Cure Burns and Skin Lesions. "Things he could've done differently in the past that now affects those he loves."
"I guess," Eva shrugged. "But he doesn't have to be so depressing about it."
"People handle things differently," Hodge said simply. "Some people drown in their sorrows and whither away, others cast the memories aside like they never happened, others become delusional, others move forward but never forget, some turn to the bottle like Sydney—"
"Which one are you?" Eva asked. When he looked up wide-eyed behind his scholarly glasses, she grinned, "It obviously can't be the bottle, since you're a lightweight."
Eva's phone chirped with a message, liberating Hodge from providing her with a response. Closing her novel around her forefinger, she reached over to the nearby table for the phone. It was probably Izzy telling her the guy was either a great kisser or an asshole.
It was an unknown number. Frowning, Eva opened the message.
The Nightfall. 9 PM. Tonight.
"Is it Isabelle?" Hodge asked.
"Yes," Eva sprung out of the armchair, placing A Tale of Two Cities where her phone was just a moment ago. "I have to go meet up with her."
"Is everything alright?"
"Everything's fine!" Eva dashed out of the library before he could question her further.
Eva went to her room to change into a pair of dark jeans, a knitted sweater, and boots. She put on her glamoured chakrams as hoop earrings and threw on some mascara and light pink lipstick. Making sure there wasn't a curl out of place, she grabbed her purse and left the Institute. It was fifteen minutes past ten when she entered The Nightfall and saw Raphael sitting on the same barstool the day she first met him.
"You're late," he greeted.
"Geez, if I knew you were a stickler for time, I would've come earlier," Eva said. The moment she settled, the bartender came around and refilled Raphael's snifter with warm blood and placed an Arnold Palmer in front of her. Eva was pleasantly surprised. "Now I feel really bad I kept you waiting."
Raphael simply shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "You didn't come with your friend."
"Oh, so you were expecting Izzy?" Eva pouted playfully. "How rude."
"You seem attached at the hip."
"She's off an a date, you know how it is—or maybe not," Eva stirred her drink with the bendy straw. "What are you doing here again? I thought you'd rather be out sunbathing than here."
"The fledglings told everyone how great this nightclub was, and now half of the clan is here."
"Wow, your clan leader must be a doormat."
"I am the clan leader."
"A very expensive, Turkish doormat that wiped Queen Victoria's feet," Eva grinned meekly. "You're from Queen Victoria's time, right?"
"More Queen Elizabeth."
"The first?"
"The second."
"So is everyone and their mother," Eva scoffed. "Be more specific."
"Fine, I'm Pedro Infante old."
"Who?"
"What are you, an owl?" Raphael looked both amused and annoyed, if that were possible. "Pedro Infante was a Mexican singer; my mother was a diehard fan."
"Ah," she nodded slowly. "Still doesn't help."
"Fine, I'm sure you know Elvis."
"Well, since my baby left me!" Eva began in her best Elvis Presley impression. She didn't know the words and mumbled out of tune before getting to the chorus, "Heartbreak Hotel!"
"I'm starting to regret calling you here," Raphael shook his head in exasperation. Eva burst into laughter.
"Stop sulking! I'm flattered you remembered my phone number," she teased. "It means I made a good impression."
He gave no reply and instead, took a hearty sip of warm blood. When he licked his lips, Eva caught a glimpse of his needle-like fangs. She didn't know what came over her, but the words just spilled out like an open carton of milk over a table, "If you could eat normal food, what would you have?"
He looked startled by the question. So much so, his eyes darted from side to side almost as if considering the question but realizing the answer might be stupid. "Why?"
Eva shrugged her shoulders.
He paused, almost as if to weigh her intentions behind the seemingly innocent question, but replied without hesitation. Eva sadly realized he must think about the prospect quite a lot. "Enchiladas con mole with a side of arroz rojo and refritos."
"Never had it, but it sounds delicious."
"You've never had Mexican food at all?" he looked genuinely shocked. With his eyebrows high on his forehead and widened eyes, he looked even younger.
"I've had tacos—"
"Were they hard-shelled?"
"Yes."
"Que asco," he grimaced. He swigged the rest of his snifter of blood in one gulp and placed it back on the shiny wooden counter with a clank. "Wait here."
He disappeared into the crowd of dancing vampires, leaving Eva with her half-full highball of Arnold Palmer. He returned in no less than a minute, but didn't sit down when he approached. "Come with me."
Her Nephilim senses didn't flare up, and while the emotions floating around him weren't too clear, she saw no red flags. She grabbed her purse and followed him outside and around the corner of 10th Avenue. Glamoured to avoid illegal parking tickets—not that Raphael looked like the type to pay them anyway—were about ten motorcycles stationed next to one another on the side of the road. Eva had seen them before: they ran on demonic energy and were, quite notably, not the most legal thing to own under the Law. Nevertheless, they were stunning to look at with their shiny gears and leather handlebars.
The moment Raphael neared the entirely black one at the very end, it roared to life as if it sensed its owner. He swung a leg over it and pushed the kickstand back with the heel of his expensive leather boot. He was slipping on a pair of gloves when he met her eyes from where she stood on the sidewalk. "Are you coming, or do you prefer to walk all the way to Queens?"
Eva wasn't afraid of heights—she was drilled enough on performing somersaults and flips that Cirque du Soleil would be envious. However, there was something about flying over the East River in the dead of night with its dangerous churning waters underneath that made her stomach flutter. She felt her cheeks heat up every time she tightened her arms around Raphael's midsection, but it was the only thing that made her feel grounded as the East River was left behind to be replaced by the neighborhoods of Sunnyside Gardens. In all her studies, they always said vampires had no scent, but the smell of expensive cologne clinged to him like a soothing aura.
"What cologne is that?" she asked. She really needed to install a filter in her mouth.
"Bleu de Chanel," he replied. She felt the hum of his voice against her forearms. "And yours is…?"
"I'm not wearing any," she said. "It's just my hair."
Raphael descended his motorcycle into a quiet neighborhood in Jackson Heights and parked right in front of a small and simple building with a sign decorated with a red dahlia flower: Doña Flor.
No one would know it was a family-owned late-night restaurant unless they walked inside. A few tables covered in white cloth overlooked a countertop lined with stools. The walls were decorated with artisanal Mexican knick knacks like colorful skeleton figurines and animal sculptures Eva recognized as alebrijes. Frames of black and white photographs were on the walls depicting mustached men on horses dressed in wide-brimmed hats and ammunition belts across their chests while others were of women in traditional Mexican blouses and skirts dancing or cooking for their families.
"Buenas noches," Raphael greeted no one in particular. There were a few men at the bar and a family of four at one of the tables. They all greeted him kindly and went back to their meals.
"This place has been here since 1941," Raphael sat across from her at a linen covered table. It was decorated with a canister of napkins and a little pot with a blooming cactus. "They make the best horchata in Queens."
"I don't know what that is either."
"Dios mio," he rolled his eyes.
A waitress came around that looked about Raphael's age, and took their orders. Raphael spoke with her in quick Spanish, reverting to English to ask Eva what she wanted.
"What you said—echi whatever it was," Eva grinned. Raphael ordered and the teenager left and came back moments later with two glasses of a milky white drink on ice and sprinkled with what smelled like cinnamon.
"This is horchata," Raphael brought it up to his lips and drank a sip. He grimaced slightly and put it back down. "I promise it tastes good, I just..."
"I know," Eva cut him off and drank a sizeable gulp. She hummed pleasurably. "This is amazing!"
When the food came, the waitress put a plate in front of Eva. It was an enormous portion, but Eva was wolfing it down eagerly and feared her eyes would roll back into her skull permanently. Raphael suggested to throw Tabasco sauce on the refried beans, and it only got better. She would look up occasionally from her food to see him watching her intently, the ghost of a smile clouding his lips. He nibbled on the complimentary tortilla chips the waitress had brought earlier, but did so more out of embarrassment for not ordering than actually desiring to eat them. Eva was sure he's trained himself to eat normal food and not wretch, but she figured he preferred to avoid it altogether.
"Satisfied?" he asked, the amusement obvious in his voice.
"I don't think I'll be able to eat again for the next three days," she leaned back in her chair. She ate the entire plate, scraping off the last bit of the enchilada's delicious salsa and the last grains of rice. She even drank the horchata he'd ordered. "That was absolutely delicious."
He didn't even let her reach for her purse; his vampire speed had him in front of the register at the front counter and paying before she could even blink. As they flew over Queens and the East River, the hum of the motorcycle and Raphael's intoxicating cologne was lulling her to sleep, and her full stomach wasn't helping her case.
He parked the motorcycle around the corner of the Institute, and looked up at her in mild amusement as Eva sluggishly pulled herself off the motorcycle, taking deep breaths from how full she was.
"Sleep it off," he told her. "You ate too much too fast."
"Can you blame me?" Eva wasn't sure if the enormous amount of food she ate was akin to being in a drunken state, but before she could register her own actions, she'd clasped a hand over Raphael's shoulder and leaned down. He didn't pull away when she kissed him but if he was going to return her kiss, he didn't get the chance to; she pulled away hastily. Her cheeks flushed, realizing she might've overstepped her boundaries. She couldn't help but to blame this on her parabatai connection; Izzy's influence was gushing into her like a fountain.
Raphael's eyes flickered over her, his face void of any clear emotion. His eyebrows raised to his hairline in subtle amusement, or perhaps shock. His tone; however, was laced with the former. "I'll let you get away with that."
His motorcycle roared and he disappeared into Manhattan's night sky just as Eva entered the Institute. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage, her skin buzzing with excitement and a warmth she felt in her cheeks and chest. His lips were cold against hers, but soft.
When the elevator doors opened on the desired floor, Eva's stomach dropped right back down to the ground floor. Arms crossed over his chest and a pinched frown on his face was Hodge.
"I don't appreciate lies," Hodge began firmly. Just by his tone, she could tell he was dead serious. He rarely got angry, and this happened to be one of the rare times he was. Eva stepped out of the elevator as he continued, "Where did you go?"
"Queens," she said, trying her best at Faerie half-truths. There was no getting past Hodge's silent rage, though.
"With whom?"
"A guy," she found no reason to lie to him. She was feeling the worry, the relief, the disappointment, the hurt that radiated from him like a blazing hearth. "I met him when I went out with Izzy last week."
"She came back three hours ago and wasn't with you," he eyed his watch. "In case you lost track of time, it's 2 A.M. and you're usually home by midnight."
2 A.M.? Holy shit!
"I was worried," Hodge's voice softened now. "Please don't lie to me, Eva; I've never given you any reason to do so."
"I know, I'm sorry," Eva looked down at her boots. "I just...I didn't know how you'd react."
"How do you think I would've reacted?"
Eva gave it thought and grinned stupidly at the thought. "You would've told me to be careful."
Hodge smiled. "Go to bed. You're waking up at the crack of dawn to do drills in the training room until noon."
"But— "
"You're in no position to argue with me," he told her firmly, but the corners of his mouth were tugged into a smirk. "Off to bed, Evangeline."
