JENNIE
So, what did one wear to one's potential ruin?
I had only a few hours to decide.
I spent the first huddled in the bathtub, until the water turned ice cold and my skin pruned—but despite how long I lingered, I still didn't feel any cleaner.
Funny. No one had ever told me that shame couldn't be erased with soap.
In the end, I gave up and stood, sopping wet, to grab a clean robe from the cupboard. I tied the sash around my waist as I wandered into the hallway, too restless to stay in one place.
The dark walls of the old house enclosed me, speckled with portraits of obscure ancestors: there was James, the first Gray to set foot in the Americas, hanging beside William, his perpetually disapproving elder brother. Near my bedroom hung the visage of Great Aunt Agnes who looked as pleased to have been painted as Lisa had when we'd struck our bargain.
Apparently, smiling was a foreign concept in this family.
As I tiptoed farther down the hall, I tried to remember what it had been like growing up in the cold, oddly formal lap of luxury.
Lonely. Oppressive. Dull.
Was it sad that Lisa was the first person in years to wander these halls who hadn't been paid to do so?
With that thought in mind, I drifted through the corridors without a true goal. I didn't even realize which section of the house I was in until I finally slipped into the drawing room where a pair of bay windows spilled waning daylight at my feet.
It looked to be an hour or so until dusk. The sun had already begun its descent below a horizon obscured by violet clouds. I didn't know how long I stood there, dripping water onto the wooden floor—but when I finally turned away, the sky had darkened and I had less than an hour remaining until my deadline.
Six o'clock.
Heart pounding, I returned to my room and threw open the doors to my wardrobe.
The shadows were a captive audience, watching as I tugged at cotton, pinched wool, and tossed designer garments onto the floor one after the other.
Blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt. Black, gray, brown—I was sensing a rather depressing pattern. In fact, the most fashionable thing I owned was the robe I wore now which Rosé had bought me. The rest were all dour outfits hand-chosen by my mother.
Modest, was the word she had used to describe the color scheme. To her, anything brighter than maroon was gaudy—hence why Rosé had made it her mission since the age of fifteen to stock her closet with as many pastels as she could. I was almost tempted to creep into the other wing and raid my sister's closet …
In the end I lost the nerve and settled on a burgundy blouse and a brown tweed skirt.
Perhaps it was time to look at this whole situation another way? Business, Lisa had insisted again and again.
I didn't think she even got the irony.
So, she considered my torment 'business,' did she? Well, I would certainly dress the part. With a grim sense of determination, I pulled on the clothes and shuffled before the mirror.
The results weren't very astounding: the dark color scheme sucked all life from my skin, and my hair was an afterthought of messy curls. All in all, the only detail I had any confidence in were my plain black heels—the one item I cared enough to buy for myself.
I looked like a crypt-keeper, ready to commune with the dead. Minutes from consorting with a deranged stranger convinced she had magic blood, I certainly felt desperate enough to have sought out even a ghost for company. Someone to tell my strange story to: Well you see, this infuriating woman broke into my bedroom and I kind of sold her my soul—long story short, she wants to whore me out.
And you agreed to this, darling? My spiritual visitor would inquire, eyes wide.
Why yes. In fact, I insisted on it.
Darkness had fallen fully by the time I made my way into the foyer. Only a few lamps were lit, leaving swathes of shadow that loomed overhead. Once again, the house was empty—most of the staff went home after five anyway—though I still found it odd that no one had come to check on me in two days.
Because of her, a part of me suspected. Already, Lisa Manoban seemed to have some eerie hold over the entire manor. I could sense a darker aura settling there within the corners, and even the curtains seemed to whisper warnings against the floor as I walked past. Stupid girl!
Finally, I approached the door, where a peek through a window revealed that the driveway was empty.
This all could have just been a dream, Jennie, I thought hopefully, tapping my foot against the floor. Perhaps my illness had progressed to the final stages already? Brain hemorrhages could cause hallucinations …
The sound of tires crunching over stone evaporated that theory. Seconds later, a dark car wandered up the path stretching from the main gates. Elegant, but not one of ours.
Lisa. I shivered as her voice echoed in my thoughts. Don't be late by even a second …
It was all bravado, of course—it had to be. She wouldn't dare hurt me. Not if she didn't want to be sued dearly for a single scratch. Confident of this fact, I was tempted to call her bluff and push my luck by dawdling until six o' one …
But I already had the door open before any thought of rebellion could really take hold.
It was the middle of January and freezing out. I half expected snow to come pelting down as I staggered across the stoop in my heels. My bare legs trembled, kissed by the chill while my gaze honed in on the strange car.
It definitely wasn't the usual Rolls Royce that Harper drove, but a newer, foreign model built solely for speed. My faithful driver wasn't the one to emerge from the front seat and circle around the car, either. Instead, an unfamiliar man wearing a black suit held open the door and faced me with an unreadable expression.
"Good evening, Miss Kim."
I couldn't seem to voice a greeting in return, even as I took a hesitant step forward, then another. The short walk down the front path might as well have lasted an eternity. By the time I finally settled onto the leather backseat of the car I couldn't smother the tremors that rippled down my spine. Once the door closed behind me—trapping me inside—it took every last ounce of control I had to keep from panicking.
Easy does it, Jennie, I coached myself as the driver returned to the front seat and took the wheel. Just breathe.
That alone seemed laughable when it came to Lisa. I should have called the police rather than humor her. I shouldn't have given in to her sick little game. I should have found Harper.
What had I done instead?
Bargain. Contract. Soul.
It all had the makings of a sordid nightmare that I desperately wanted to wake up from.
Or perhaps I didn't.
As the car slipped through the gates, I was struck by the realization that this was the first time in years I'd left the house for a destination other than the hospital, or a boarding school, or a stuffy gala. Some sick, curious part of me was intrigued as to where this car might take me.
A secluded penthouse in the business district?
A parceled-off manor on a hill?
My mind spun, wild with imagination, but in all my little fantasies, a chic, brick building in the heart of downtown would have been the least likely of Lisa potential lairs.
For all intents and purposes it looked like a regular club—albeit the exclusive kind that you could enter only if your name was on a list. I couldn't make out much through the darkness, just sleek lines and a few windows cut like long, rectangular slits into the building's side. Above a set of glass doors hung a sign displaying the venue's name in blood-red script. Anemia.
Going off Lisa's apparent affinity for blood, I figured that she thought the name was a clever joke.
But, that's not it, a part of me argued. You know the real reason …
A light rap on my window was the only warning before the door was opened from the outside. The driver stood there, offering a hand and I took it, allowing him to help me out onto the curb.
This early in the evening, there was no crowd clamoring to enter the club and the streets ran sluggish with rush-hour traffic. Minus the oblivious drivers in their cars, there was no one there to witness me approach the sleek glass doors of Anemia.
Surprisingly, they were locked. I tugged on the handles until my shoulder ached and eventually, the driver spoke up from behind me.
"Perhaps try the back way, Miss?"
I glanced in the direction he indicated. Apparently 'the back way' was through a narrow alley that separated this building from another. In the waning light, it seemed about as appealing as traipsing into the mouth of a giant monster.
But, Lisa's threat kept echoing through my mind. Six o'clock.
I held my breath as I took a few hesitant steps forward and was instantly plunged into shadow. For an alley, it seemed clean, at least. Not one speck of litter dotted the ground, and I got the sense that it was traveled often. Perhaps an indirect route used only by those in the know?
It wasn't long before I came to a metal door at the very back of the building. Curling a fist, I sucked in a deep breath and knocked once. A second later the door opened and ruby light spilled from the inside, casting my skin in a bloody glow.
"Jennie Kim?"
Shadow obscured the speaker's face, but in a dance of beckoning fingers, he invited me inside.
Run! A voice screamed from the back of my mind. Alarm and danger warred with the parts of me too stubborn to move.
If they found my body on tomorrow's evening news—stuffed underneath some underpass—I would deserve it. Twenty-six years of obscurity warned me to just go back, tuck myself in my warm bed and hire twenty more bodyguards to thwart Lisa.
"Miss Kim?" Dark eyes watched me curiously from over the edge of the door. "It's cold out."
The polite display of concern startled me so much that I staggered inside.
"Th-thank you."
The door closed behind me, plunging me into darkness. Someone reached for my coat and their fingers brushed my wrist by accident. I gasped—whoever the doorman was, he seemed just as abnormally cold as Lisa. Glacial.
"She's upstairs," that crisp tone informed me as I stood there, trembling and coat-less in the dark. "This way. The stairs are on your left."
Another door opened, pulled by an unseen hand, and orange light flooded in.
I stumbled over the threshold. However, when I turned to get a good look at the mysterious door-opener, they had already shifted deeper into the shadows. I only managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of pale skin before the door closed in my face.
I glanced around, taking stock of my surroundings. I seemed to be in a narrow hallway with gray walls and dark, tiled floors. There were no windows and, other than the door I had come from, the only way out seemed to be a metal staircase leading to an upper level.
Wobbling in my heels, I took a step forward …and then another when nothing seemed liable to rush from the corners to attack me.
I couldn't hear so much as a murmur of conversation drifting from above. Or anything for that matter—just the sound of my own shallow breathing playing an ominous lullaby; in and out, in and out, in and out.
I felt seconds away from snapping. The silence here was more oppressive than the hush in Kim Manor—but at least my home was fully heated. The air in here seemed more frigid than outside. I swore my breath painted the air in tiny clouds of white.
No wonder Lisa seemed so cold if this was where she spent most of her time.
I clutched my purse tighter at the thought of her, nails digging into the leather. Then, with another glance at the closed door, I continued my slow trek toward those metal stairs. It seemed to take an eternity before my heel finally connected with the bottom step.
You can do this, I urged, forcing myself to climb another.
It's just a game.
Another step.
Nothing she said can be legally enforced anyway.
Two steps.
The lawyers …
I managed to brace one unsteady heel against the top step just as a familiar voice lashed out like a whip.
"Get out."
My foot slipped, sending me down hard to one knee, and I barely managed to hook my hand around the guardrail—preventing me from plunging down the stairs altogether. I gaped through the shadows, expecting to find a certain blond female glaring down from the top step.
Instead, I only saw the mouth of a hallway hidden in shadow.
"Oh, don't be so cruel, Lisa." The second voice was a woman's low, playful purr—but I couldn't see who it belonged to. Both she and Lisa sounded muffled, as if they were in another room. "I only asked one teensy little question. After all, it's not just anyone that could have Ms. 'I'm the cold, emotionless contractor' even more brooding than usual. Do tell; is she pretty at least?"
"No—" Lisa's reply was so cold that I wiggled my toes just to make sure they weren't frostbitten by the chill. "And you won't be very appealing either, if you don't get out of my sight."
"Oh, touché!" The woman giggled. "But I must admit that I am most intrigued by this new morsel. One simple contract and you're glowering like the Devil. Are you going to tell her?"
"Tell her what?"
"Oh let's not beat around the bush." The word was punctuated by another husky laugh. "The truth, of course! That she's just a pawn. This poor, pathetic—"
"Jennie Kim."
After glancing around in hopes that another woman—coincidentally named 'Jennie'—had crept up the stairs after me, I realized that there was only one unlucky fool the speaker could be referring to.
"You can come out," Lisa added, still unseen from my position in the stairwell.
Clutching my purse to my chest like a shield, I stood and gracelessly staggered up the remaining step.
The staircase opened onto a corridor that branched off into two directions. One led into a wide open room with black paneled walls and numerous closed doors. The other into what seemed to be a lounge, complete with sleek, black furniture. There, Lisa glowered from a leather chaise, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit.
I gulped and just stood there, mesmerized by those eyes. They seemed to pierce through me even from several feet away. It was a good minute before I even noticed the beautiful woman standing beside her.
"Somi," Lisa said, waving a hand dismissively in her direction. "You may leave."
Somi was a vision of red in an elegant cocktail dress. Her thick hair, in a matching shade of scarlet, had been scraped back into a ponytail so long it reached the small of her back. Blazing, amber eyes stared from a beautiful face that was almost as angular as a fox's. She lingered for a second in a way that I suspected was deliberate, rebellious. Then with a slow, ripe smile, she turned on her heel.
"Oh, Lisa," I thought I heard her murmur before she disappeared down another hallway. "She's perfect."
The way she drew the word out—puuuuurfect—gave me the feeling that she didn't mean the term as a compliment. Either way, Lisa's expression certainly reinforced the fact that I was anything but perfection. She stood and took in my rumpled appearance with one sweep of her gaze.
"God, Jennie. You look like you're on your way to a funeral."
I fidgeted, annoyed that she had picked up my own rather grim analogy. My blouse had some color—however dull—so I couldn't look that dreadful, could I?
Apparently so. Lisa surged forward before I could cringe out of reach. Like a disapproving parent, he tugged on my collar and fingered a wayward curl. When he finally took a step back, her frown had deepened.
"Should I take your outfit choice as proof that you've decided to rethink you agreement?"
She sounded like a stern father offering a naughty child a reprieve. You've been a bad girl, but I don't have to punish you if you apologize.
I felt my mouth open, but no words came out.
Tell her yes, a part of me hissed. Write her a check for whatever she wants and go home.
"I—"
"Is this her?" The voice drifted from the back of the lounge.
Where there had been no one a second before, a man now leaned against the wall, the picture of poise. His eyes were an odd shade of brown that glittered like gold—hawk-like. Coifed, ebony hair was cropped close to his scalp, and he too wore a perfectly tailored suit. In fact, he could have been a darker-haired clone of Lisa, if it wasn't for the simple piece of jewelry hanging around his neck.
The chain itself almost seemed feminine, formed of small, interlocking links of silver—however, the pendant dangling from the center of it was anything but delicate: it was the image of a falcon in mid-flight, talons drawn to seize prey.
"Mikhail," Lisa acknowledged without even turning around.
"Rumor has it that you've taken on a new contract," Mikhail murmured. A subtle accent toyed with his pronunciation. English? "Though, I'm surprised you've brought her here. Our client's tastes have changed some since the last time you 'visited.' Pity. Had she looked more like the other one, I might have offered to take her off your hands ..."
Lisa stiffened and from where I was standing, I had no trouble seeing his expression: icy gaze and chilling frown. "Unfortunately," he intoned. "But unless the laws have changed in the last fifty years, then they state that only she can decide on the terms of her repayment. This is her choice."
My choice. Lisa's tone explained everything without her having to spell it out: I was the imbecile foolish enough to insist on my own 'self-worth.'
"Did she now? Interesting, the pawn actually set itself into play." I couldn't resist the urge to take a step back as Mikhail withdrew from the wall. He impassively eyed the way my curls threatened to burst from their bun before turning his attention to the rest of my dour ensemble. "You better pray that Jisoo can do something with her," he advised. "Otherwise …"
At the unspoken threat, Lisa's gaze shifted to a color unlike any I had ever seen; a hot, molten silver. Without allowing Mikhail to leave first, she reached back and grabbed for my wrist.
"Come on."
I had no choice but to follow her down a narrow hall illuminated by a silver sconce in the form of a serpent. The walls were black paired with an industrial tile floor and the whole layout seemed clean and crisply modern.
After a few feet, Lisa stopped before a seemingly random doorway and shoved me inside. The room was large with scarlet walls and black carpeting. It almost reminded me of my mother's dressing room. There wasn't much furniture other than a long table, a mirror, and a metal wardrobe in the opposite corner.
My heels sank into the flooring, threatening to trip me as Lisa forced me in farther, hands on my shoulders.
"Fix this," she snarled to someone I couldn't see.
It wasn't until the figure moved that I realized why. The woman's dress was the exact same shade as the wall. Her long, dark hair didn't help differentiate her from the background any.
"So Somi wasn't lying," she murmured, eyes glinting through the shadows. They were green and unusually slanted, like a cat's.
"Just fix this," Lisa repeated. Her tone reminded me of a dissatisfied customer forced to make the best of a faulty purchase. At least cover up the broken bits!
She let me go, and footsteps marched in the opposite direction. A second later, a door slammed shut.
"Well, you've gotten her worked up." The woman stood a few paces back, watching me. Her green eyes glowed with amusement.
"So I keep hearing," I choked out in response.
The fact that I replied at all made her smile widen.
"Who can blame her?" she wondered. "After all, it's not every day that one signs herself up for this life."
She didn't elaborate—but she didn't have to. By now, I was well aware of the extent of my own stupidity.
"Let's see what we have to work with. Come."
Before I could wallow in shame, the woman beckoned me with a crooked finger and I forced myself to take a step forward, submitting myself to her inspection. Her expression was unreadable as her eyes darted from one plain feature to the next, though at least she wasn't frowning.
"You have good skin," she said at last, eyeing the buttoned-up collar guarding my throat. "And your hair …"
With the same uncanny grace as Lisa, she suddenly appeared in front of me and undid the knot of my bun.
"It's beautiful," she murmured as the thick curls tumbled down my shoulders. She curled one around her finger before letting her hand fall. "A little long, but still far too lovely to be tied back."
"T-Thank you," I stammered politely.
Obviously the light was too dim in the room, because I had never heard my hair described as anything other than unruly, stubborn and wild. It was the only part of me unwilling to stay neatly pinned in place.
"You're not the usual type," the woman went on, fingers propped beneath her chin. "Lisa usually brings the …" She paused, seeming to think of a fitting word. I waited, curious despite myself as to what kind of women Lisa found 'valuable' without money or some stuffy old ancestry. "Typical ones," she said finally.
"Ah."
Going off the way her eyes flickered over my mousy hair and shapeless body I could guess just what she meant.
Busty. Lusty. Blond.
It wasn't that hard to picture a smirking Lisa with some statuesque beauty on her arm, leading the way to a dastardly contract. Here, now sign away your soul to me—and do be dramatic about it. I am the Devil, you know.
"You're not a bad change," she added, "but you won't fit the clothes."
She gestured to a wardrobe in the corner, and I couldn't resist the strange impulse that had me creeping towards it, fearful of what could be inside. It was a sleek affair, formed of black metal and adorned with golden handles in the shape of two twisting serpents—the emblem de jour.
"I doubt we have anything in your size," the woman warned, almost apologetically, before I slowly eased the doors apart.
'Doubt' was an understatement. Nothing hanging neatly from the silver hangers seemed to "fit" me—both literally and figuratively.
Every article of clothing was made of the same silky material, cut into teeny strips more likely to cover Mr. Tinkles than any human. I shuddered, unable to keep a finger from tracing the hem of what looked to be a black, lacy bustier with blood red trim. If nothing else had made it sink in—not Lisa's grim insistence, or the mysterious atmosphere of the club—then the sight of the clothing did; this was not the place for me.
"Are you all right?"
The woman frowned as I swayed, searching for anything to keep me upright. Spotting a chair in the corner, I rushed over to it.
Breathe, Jennie, I scolded myself as I collapsed onto the cushion. Breathe!
With Lisa's words in my ears, I couldn't even remember which muscles made my lungs expand with air—let alone how to use them. From the corner of my eye, I saw the strange woman drift closer.
"You are not the usual type," she repeated, gently.
I could only nod.
Then, "Did Lisa force you into this?"
Heart sputtering with dread, I thought it over. Had she, at any time during that venom-laced tirade about why I should just be a 'good girl' and fall back to my fortune, insist that I do the opposite?
The answer horrified me. No.
I had done it. For some silly, intangible reason I would never fully understand, I had signed myself up for this.
As if her voice came from miles away, I heard the woman add, "If you were forced into this, she broke the rules, you know. Only the signer of the contract can determine the nature of the task necessary to fulfill the terms. You have a choice."
"A ...choice?"
She nodded.
No wonder Lisa had been so insistent on money. Apparently, I would have to foist my checkbook over myself—she couldn't just take it. Suddenly, my vision cleared. I could breathe again. Everything seemed sharper and with a sense of grim determination, I stood.
"Are you all right?"
Cool fingers fell over my shoulder, but I politely shrugged the woman off and made my way toward that intimidating wardrobe once again. I tried to be detached and clinical as I eyed a teeny strip of black fabric that was apparently meant to be worn …somewhere.
You're back in the hospital, I told myself, and this is just some degrading gown.
Fingers shaking, I grabbed a hanger at random and observed my selection in the dim lighting. It didn't seem so bad …
If I squinted, I could almost pretend that the garment was a scarf—though I had no idea how this 'scarf' was supposed to cover my 'vital' parts.
Holding the garment to my chest, I crept before the mirror and watched my wide-eyed reflection play over the surface. Lisa's words echoed through my mind; intelligence, cunning, beauty. Only this time my subconscious added what even he had been too tactful to say out loud: none of which you possess.
For the first time in her life, little Jennie Kim was outside of the comfort and seclusion of luxury. I had never really thought as to what that might feel like—but this ...strange sense of calm wouldn't have been it.
I cleared my throat, addressing the woman. "Should I …change now?"
She laughed. I got the sense that she found me wonderfully amusing but, unlike Lisa's, her reaction didn't make me feel ashamed.
"Yes," she said while gingerly prying the hanger from my hands. "But not into that."
She stood back and observed me once again, only this time her emerald gaze cut me right to the bone.
"You are very different," she said finally. "Still beautiful …just not in the obvious way."
I stared, enthralled, despite the logical part of me that wanted to scoff. Jennie, beautiful? Ha! Something in her tone made me suspect that she wasn't trying to be funny.
"Then, how?"
"Innocence," she said simply. "It shines from you—very subtle, yes—but no less enrapturing than physical beauty ...more so even." For a moment she drifted off, eyes staring into the distance. "Innocence is irresistible to those who have lost their own. Even a moth is drawn to the light, and we creatures of the dark are no different."
Creatures of the dark. The words affected me deeply, conjuring the memory of a dangerous question. What am I, Jennie?
It was nearly a minute before the woman spoke again.
"Many of the girls who come here are one and the same," she went on. "For any of them, that clothing would be suitable, but for you? For you …I will do something different."
I stared as she fingered the hem of her red dress. Then, all at once, she pulled it over her head and turned the garment inside-out.
"I'm Jisoo, by the way," she explained, while running a hand along the dress' cream lining.
With a violent motion, she began to tear the two fabrics apart.
"I am the stylist."
In one hand she held a lone piece of silk that had made up the lining. The red remains of the actual dress, she merely allowed to fall to the floor. It didn't seem to bother her that she was left wearing only a plain black bra and underwear in front of a complete stranger. Unconcerned, she just hurried past me to spread the silky material out over a long table.
The light reflected off her eyes as she pulled open a drawer and withdrew a small case—a sewing kit, I saw, once she flipped it open. Her nimble fingers danced over spools of thread before settling over a neat line of glittering needles. Seemingly at random, she withdrew one and tested its sharpness over the pad of her thumb.
"Whether you are here by Lisa's will or yours—" As her eyes sought out mine from over her shoulder, I suspected that she knew damn well why I was here. "I will make the best of it. You will be just as tempting as any lovely face to those lurkers of the shadows, Jennie," she promised. "You can bet on that."
Lurkers of the shadows …
"What is this place?" I croaked as Jisoo set to work on the fabric. "W-What … What will happen tonight?"
She shrugged, though I couldn't help thinking that the motion seemed more ominous than even Lisa's warnings.
"You'll find out soon enough."