Page 89 of Resurrection
“As last meals go, you did well, my friend.”
“What are you talking about, April?” His shoulders snap back, all teasing gone.
“You didn’t hear it? The conversation …” I trail off when he glowers at me. I guess he picked up on my unease and didn’t hear what I was listening to after all.
“I think I’m about to die,” I tell him nonchalantly, offering him a cheerful smile.
Chapter Eighty-One
APRIL
The next hour we sit in silence, occasionally exchanging words, but it’s more like Marcus drilling me with “Do you hear the voice anywhere in the restaurant now?” or “Please be silent I’m trying to listen.” I can’t be mad at Marcus for acting like a jerk when it’s my fault we are here in the first place. I have to admit, if only to myself, that having the two Guardians here was not helping us stay under the radar, either. None of the Guardians knew how not to look intimidating.
In my defense, I expected to be alone with them so I could force them to sit at my table and look to all the world like a group of people just out to eat. Not wanting to give Sebastian an aneurism, I felt relief when Marcus decided to join me, but now I wanted to kick myself for bringing him here. I’m fond of the two lumps at the next table too, and I don’t want them to die for protecting me.
Gnawing on my lower lip, I cringe when my fangs rip the tender skin, so I snatch the napkin from my lap, dabbing the trickling blood before everyone sees it. Through my lashes, I watch Marcus attack the meat on his plate like a barbarian, pulverizing the juicy steak and turning it into minced meat. Notthat he notices what he is doing. All of his attention is on the people in this restaurant. I bet not a word is spoken that he doesn’t hear. I, on the other hand, feel detached as I push the caviar around the plate with a fork. No doubt some fancy person is turning in their grave for my offense against the damn fish eggs.
Still, I don’t hear the same voice again the entire time. Slowly but surely my shoulders relax, and I slump back in the chair, wiping my sweaty palms off the bloody napkin. I wonder if they use black cloth here so no one can see the bloodstains. Shaking my head to get rid of my stupid thoughts, I turn to Marcus with a sigh. My mouth opens, but I don’t get a chance to tell him I could’ve been wrong.
The air around us shifts, the temperature dropping several degrees, and my arms are covered in goosebumps. Marcus stiffens across from me, and my own spine snaps to attention. The sweet cloying stench of magic saturates the oxygen filling my lungs, and it takes everything in me not to look over my shoulder to see who has entered the restaurant. I keep my eyes locked on Marcus and watch the muscle twitching under his left eye.
As if on cue, the dark clouds that followed us here when we arrived open the sky with a clap so loud that I feel it vibrating in my chest before a torrent of rain unleashes over the city. Streaks of lightning fork across the shadowy puffs above, the electric blue slashing over our faces as the lights in the restaurant flicker. Everything in me tells me to jump up and face whoever it is on my feet, but my friend’s intent gaze grounds me, keeping me rooted to the chair.
“How do you like your food?” If not with me and unaware of the shit storm about to go down, I may think Marcus doesn’t have a care in the world by the tone of his voice.
“I absolutely love it,” I gush, taking a play from his book. “We should come here more often.” Proud that my voice doesn’t sound strained, I turn to watch the droplets of rain trickling into rivulets down the floor-to-ceiling windows. Another loud clap of thunder makes me jerk in my chair, and my lips press in a thin line.
Stupid weather.
“Indeed we should, bella.” Marcus smiles, reaching for my hand, which is strangling the cloth napkin on the table. “Dovremmo farla diventare una tradizione,” he adds, his Italian loud enough for most of the restaurant to hear.
His words suck the breath from everyone in the room.
A hush falls over us as soon as his deep voice carries across the tables, the silent air pressing like a mountain over my shoulders.
“You want to make it a tradition?” I play along as if Marcus didn’t just make it clear to everyone in the room that he is one of the Italian bogeymen hunting their nightmares. “Huh, why not. It sounds like a wonderful plan.”
Lightning streaks the sky over the city like a punishment from the long-forgotten gods, and the thunder quakes the foundation of the building we are in. The window next to us rattles peculiarly, and I snatch the glass of vodka before it falls and spills all over the tablecloth when the table jiggles. Without looking over my shoulder, I know someone is approaching when the two Guardians materialize next to me. I swallow my urge to snap at them. Marcus doesn’t take his gaze off mine, and it’s as if we are the only people here. It must be an insult to the person visiting our table because I can feel their eyes drilling a hole in the back of my head.
“Would you like to join us?” Keeping my eyes steady on Marcus, I address the person at my back. “The fish eggs are out of this world.”
“We finally meet as we should’ve long ago, April.” A quiet voice speaks, and it sounds familiar, but I can’t place it for the life of me. While I’m trying, Marcus finally graces him with his unimpressed stare over my head. “I would love to join you, if you don’t mind.”
I take my time answering, waiting to see if there is any recognition on Marcus’s face, but the ass doesn’t give anything away. His features are expressionless, as if I’m staring at a stone statue and not at my friend. Schooling my own face, I refuse to turn in my chair, so I wave my free hand at the surrounding tables like I don’t give a shit what the person does.
“Grab a chair, by all means.” Hopefully he doesn’t notice that my fingers tighten on the glass before I force them not to clench.
“Thank you,” the person mumbles, and I hear a chair being moved to our table. “Would you call off your dogs? I can’t pass through people, unfortunately.” The amusement in his tone is unmistakable.
My nod is enough for the Guardians to step aside and allow whoever it is to drag the chair to our table, the legs scraping the marble with a sound that makes me grind my teeth. From the corner of my eye, he lowers himself, folding one leg over his knee as he leans back in the chair and crosses his arms over his narrow chest. Numbness spreads through my body, cold sweat trickling down my spine. Not because I can see who he is, but like a premonition telling me I know the person and I won’t like it when I finally see his identity. With great effort, I wrench my eyes from Marcus’s face and smack my flat stare at the person.
He looks exactly as I’ve known him, maybe a year older, max, but that would be pushing it. There is still something off about him, like I’m missing something. His cheeks are fuller than I’m used to, and his clean hair is brushed away from his face. His body is no longer gangly, and his skin has a healthy glow to it that would’ve made me cry from joy if I’d seen it a while ago.Right now, though, watching him healthy and smiling at me like we are the best of friends brings bile to the back of my throat. I have to push it down with great effort before I can speak, but he beats me to it.
“You are surprised,” he tells me with a tilt of his head.
“Eddie.” Saying his name is like a hot poker stabbing me repeatedly in the chest. Like this, he looks so much like Sara that I have to fight the rage pushing me to rip his throat out. “I see you recovered well.”
“When I don’t have to suppress my magic anymore, I don’t have to suffer.” The fucker smiles at me brightly as if I should be happy for him. “That damn binding that was done to me to hide my magic nearly killed me, to tell you the truth,” Sara’s brother tells me conversationally, sounding a lot older than he is. “You are a stubborn woman; I almost thought I’d have to kill you myself in those nasty tunnels if you kept avoiding your fate.”
