JENNIE
For the first time in days, I awoke without being confronted with booze or a frown.
"Good morning, Miss," a smiling Harper greeted instead as I opened my eyes.
He sat on a chair beside the bed and seemed to be in the process of folding up a newspaper.
I had to blink a few times just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. After the past few days, his sweet, crooked grin was a godsend.
"Where have you been?" I croaked, rushing to sit up. "It's been days—"
"I've been here, Miss," he said calmly.
If it wasn't for how the inside of my arm stung from the after-effects of an injection I would have believed that. Before I could question him any further Harper spoke over me.
"How do you feel?"
"I feel …" Respect for the old man was the only thing that kept me from blurting out the truth; like hell. Dead, disgusting, run over and then scraped from the road. "Fine," I settled on eventually, though I could tell from the way his mouth wrinkled that he didn't believe me for a second.
"The doctor said you would be sore when you awoke," he remarked rather than argue. "Shall I have a bath drawn?"
"A bath sounds heavenly." I sank back beneath my sheets, allowing my eyes to drift shut. Then—as the rest of his words sank in like a punch—they flew open again. "D-Doctor?"
I scrambled out of bed and hit the floor on my hands and knees.
"Yes, doctor," I heard Harper repeat as he helped me to my feet. "In fact, she wanted to be notified the moment you woke up—"
"She's still here?" I could taste bile at the back of my throat as I scanned the shadows of my bedroom, searching for that familiar mocking face.
"Yes, Miss. She is in the upstairs solar—"
I didn't think.
I didn't even take the time to notice that what I currently wore was way more comfortable than an Armani suit jacket.
Instead, I barreled into the hallway, stumbling like a drunk in the direction of the solar.
It felt as though I had traveled a mile by the time I finally reached that room in the corner of the east wing—though it could have only been a few feet. Then, with fear stabbing my chest, I pushed open the door.
Inside the solar, my two worst nightmares became reality all at once.
The first was Lisa, crouched in the center of the room, wearing another deceptively white ensemble. The second, was the fact that she was stroking a cat, who maneuvered as well as he could—despite missing his hind legs—to get scratched in just the right spot.
My heart plummeted at the sight.
"No!" I threw myself forward without thinking. "Leave him alone!"
The cat hissed at my presence and tried to dart out of reach, but I snatched him up into my arms before he could. Claws dug into my chest. The wheels that he maneuvered on—instead of hind legs—spun uselessly in the air. Loud, angry meows blared through my eardrums, and all the while I glared at Lisa.
"Don't you ever touch him."
It didn't matter that Tinkles apparently didn't think he needed saving. He was the one creature in the world who couldn't hop onto a plane when the mood struck him, or disappear on me for days. He needed me and I'd be damned if I let Lisa Manoban taint him the same way she'd already tainted me.
"Ever," I spat, just to make myself clear.
Lisa stood back, watching me through narrowed eyes, but for once, there wasn't any hostility in them, just a faint amusement that caught me off guard.
"You're strangling him," she said, finally.
Sure enough, Mr. Tinkles' howling had taken on a decidedly desperate quality.
I winced as he delivered a particularly painful scratch to my chin, and let him go. The beast bolted from my arms—but rather than dart into the corner of the room that had been designated for his own personal use, he merely wheeled his way over to the feet of the enemy.
There, he glared at me while hissing: how dare you.
"I wasn't hurting him," Lisa insisted as my cat proceeded to rub its body against her legs.
It was a simple display of affection that Tinkles had never shown toward me. In fact, I don't think he ever let me touch him without attacking.
"Just leave him alone," I commanded weakly—not that Lisa seemed to be the one in need of hearing those words.
Impatient, my kitty had taken to batting an ivory pant leg with his paw, demanding attention until Lisa had no choice but to sink down on one knee and scratch behind his ears. I could only watch, oddly jealous. While the cat hated my guts, he certainly didn't seem to mind my tormentor all that much.
Go figure.
"How was he injured?" Lisa asked as she trailed a pale finger along the harness holding Tinkles' kitty-version of a wheelchair in place.
"A car accident."
Lisa accepted the information with a nod. "I must admit that I was surprised to find only one cat," she continued, eyes on Tinkles' gray backside. "I was sure that you would have had at least a dozen. Though, his name isn't too shocking; Gabriel," she read off the collar in disgust.
"His name is Tinkles," I corrected, a little more harshly than necessary. "He was rescued. Gabriel is the name his original owner gave him."
"Tinkles?" From her tone, I could guess what even Lisa had enough tact not to say out loud; no wonder he hates you.
"It's the sound he makes," I tried to explain, though I damn well shouldn't have felt the need to. "When his wheels roll across the ground …"
Both Lisa and feline shared a look that made me flush crimson. Women!
I had the strangest, childish urge to stomp my foot; it seemed to be the only course of action I could take without screaming.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded instead, fighting to keep my tone level. "We had an agreement. I thought I was to have this day to myself?"
Though, from what I could tell from the window, the 'day' had already passed. Darkness stretched across the sky, black and endless.
"We did, but I wanted to make sure you woke up on schedule. Your body seems to be acting irregularly to the 'cure.'"
God, she made me sound like a robot that needed fine tuning.
"Well, I'm awake now."
I stuck my arm out and wiggled my fingers for emphasis. Only then did I fully realize that, during my unconsciousness, someone had dressed me in one of my old nightgowns. This one was plain, with long-sleeves and frilly lace on the hems.
It was something my mother had bought; a garment too modest even for me, which had been politely shoved to the back of my closet, hidden from any maid's view. I doubted that either of them would have dressed me in it, and I had a sinking suspicion of just who had…
With the hideous white cotton hanging down to my ankles, I probably resembled something out of 19th century Victorian England. Though, I had to admit that the fabric did give me sufficient coverage for once.
I continued to assess the rest of my body, taking mental stock of every bruise and ache. I didn't feel much of anything, oddly enough—even the places where she had pinched me weren't sore. Neither were my hips or any other place that should have been hurting. Perhaps rapid healing was a benefit of her so called 'cure?'
In fact, the only injuries I seemed to possess were the recent results of Tinkles' claws. I flinched as a cool hand brushed my shoulder and the scratches decided to sting at full force.
"I'm fine," I choked out before I happened to glance up, and remembered that Lisa wasn't someone who might be concerned for my welfare.
"They're deep," she concluded just by looking at the jagged marks. As she spoke, she withdrew something from her pocket; another handkerchief. "I hope that one of his claws didn't break off in the wounds. That can be very traumatic for cats."
Traumatic for cats. I wanted to be annoyed that she seemed to be more concerned for an animal than for me, but I couldn't disguise a hitch of fear in my voice. "You don't think? Should I call a vet?"
She gave me an odd look. "He seems to be fine."
When she offered the handkerchief to me, I obediently pressed it to the side of my neck. By the time I lifted it again, I was surprised by just how much scarlet had seeped into the white cotton.
From beside me, I sensed Lisa stiffen. Rummaging through what little I knew about vampires—the movie versions anyway—I wondered if the sight of fresh blood affected her much like an alcoholic having the world's best brandy shoved right under her nose.
"Does this bother you?" I asked.
"No." Though when I peered into her eyes, they had taken on a dangerous, silver sheen. "But you smearing it all over the damn place won't help either of us."
She snatched the handkerchief from me, folded it and pressed it to the worst of the wounds. I wanted to be annoyed, but her chill smothered the pain for a brief moment and I lost the urge. To her credit, Lisa dabbed at the blood with the precision of a surgeon, taking care to make sure that not even a drop touched her skin.
Perhaps she was taking her role as 'doctor' a little too seriously? I nearly asked, but one look at those eyes and I kept my mouth shut.
She could have been rough, but even I had to admit that her touch this time was oddly …gentle. When the bleeding stopped, Lisa withdrew the cloth, folded it again and turned her attention to the marks on my chin.
"Do you like experiencing pain?" she asked suddenly while mopping up a drizzle of blood. "Or do you just like surrounding yourself with beings that are inclined to cause it?"
We both turned to stare at Mr. Tinkles, who promptly hissed as if to prove that he wasn't the least bit sorry for hurting me.
"I like being in my house, alone with no one there to judge me," I replied, surprised by just how hollow the words sounded. I had meant for it to be some snarky quip and it came out more like the morose declaration of a future spinster.
Lisa chuckled low under her breath—the sound was chilling.
"Oh, I don't know about that." She dabbed at another bead of fresh blood with the cloth. "Your staff seem to judge you plenty."
"M-My staff?"
"Jennie Kim: so quiet, so mousy, so sweet." She frowned as if all of those adjectives were the dirtiest of insults. "'She's so sheltered. So fragile.' I think they've started a betting pool on when you'll hang yourself in the foyer."
It was such a harsh assessment that I had to force down a swallow as the back of my throat tightened.
"My father had a 'heart attack,'" I said, once I found my voice again. "Which is Kim code for: he blew his brains out in the downstairs study. Mother had an 'aneurysm,' which meant that she really took sleeping pills, a bottle of valium and a glass of wine before bed. So you really can't blame them."
I certainly wouldn't fault anyone for betting on when I might 'off myself,' for lack of a better term. Hell, Rosé seemed to be the only well-adjusted one in this family and she was off beach-hopping in South America with a man she probably met in the airport parking lot.
I had always been considered the smart, 'responsible' one, yet I was going to die in the same house I'd been born in. My fate taunted me and I could only stand there until the icy fingers at my chin finally withdrew.
"Doesn't it bother you how easily the world writes you off?" Her tone wasn't mocking this time.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"I would bet the terms of your contract that some tabloid editor somewhere already has the article with your suicide byline saved to his desktop."
She watched me, seeming to expect a more dramatic reaction. I merely shrugged.
"That wouldn't be a very fair bet. I mean everyone dies one day." I'd been contemplating my own mortality since age thirteen and hadn't batted an eyelash when presented with a fatal diagnosis.
"Do they now?" Her tone was the only indication that I had crossed some invisible line—only I had no idea what it was.
"You look well enough," she said abruptly, taking me in with one sweep of those eyes. Something told me that she didn't mean the words as a compliment. "Your body seems to have finally adjusted to the doses."
I nodded, even though I didn't feel very adjusted. More ...naked. Unbearably vulnerable. I shivered and crossed my arms, once I realized that I wasn't exactly wearing anything else beneath my nightgown. She was too close, and my stupid, traitorous body knew it all too well.
"Tomorrow you will accompany me on a business arrangement. Understood?"
I blinked, startled by the sudden change in subject.
Was she asking for agreement? I wondered. Or did she just want me to nod my head like a good little puppet dutifully accepting her orders?
I settled for both. "I understand."
"And," she added, her gaze holding mine, as frigid as winter, "I will expect nothing less from you than I would from—"
"'Any other girl.' I know, I know," I blurted. "I am to be obedient and subservient to you, oh Master." Her eyes narrowed in warning, but she didn't correct my overly dramatic tirade, oddly enough. I gulped, more unnerved than relieved by that fact. "May I ask just what this 'arrangement' is for?"
What on earth could she want that her dark brand of charm and intimidation couldn't get for her?
"No," Lisa said. "However, I expect for you to be ready and waiting at ten o'clock. I want you dressed appropriately." She stressed the word. "I'll even have suitable clothing sent over, so there should be no excuse."
I cringed at the thought of the kind of clothing she might find 'suitable.' A leash and gag to drill home whatever controlling urge she seemed to have over me?
Sadly, with every second that passed, the prospect seemed less fantasy and more likely.
"I wish you hadn't let Jisoo cut your hair."
I jumped as she reached out and caught a loose curl between her thumb and forefinger. HEr expression darkened as she tucked it neatly behind my ear.
"You were so much easier to overlook with it down to your waist, falling in your eyes ..."
The words were spoken so softly that I didn't think she meant for me to hear them—but I took offense anyway.
"Well, I liked you better in white," I countered—only to realize that, lo and behold, she happened to be wearing that particular color now.
God, Jennie. I shook my head and forced myself to walk to the opposite end of the solar, putting as much distance between us as physically possible. A burst of artificial heat rushed to replace her lingering chill, but I was still shivering. Those gray eyes were steel, pinning me in place, no matter how hard I tried to ignore them.
"Before I knew about your fetish for blood," I clarified.
"Fetish …" Her tongue toyed with the word and somehow that seemed worse than any insult. "I've never heard it put quite like that before."
Suddenly, it became impossible to maintain eye contact. I glanced down to find that Tinkles had returned to his side and was rubbing against her leg, in search of attention.
"Ten o'clock," she told me, before reaching down to give the cat another scratch behind the ears. "I would suggest that you not be late."
"I won't." I didn't like the warning in her tone; don't be late, or else. "Ten o' clock."
"Oh …I almost forgot." She paused near the doorway and nodded towards a chair in the corner. I recognized the shape of my purse resting on top of it. "You left that the other day."
At her 'lair,' I remembered. The fact that she had brought it over shouldn't have been so surprising—but coming from her? I was shocked.
Without another word she was gone. Some minutes later I seemed to feel her finally leave the manor once and for all. It was as if a black cloud over my head had lifted, but instead of relieved I just felt …cold in anticipation of the next storm.
Ten o'clock was tomorrow's deadline, and only God knew what she had in store for me then.