Then again, perhaps I don’t know the true whims of your heart. I was wrong once. Maybe Parrish is simply not enough motivation? We’ll see, come Sunday.
My blood chills as I put the phone down.
“Anything?” Chasm asks, voice strangely hopeful. I pass the phone over to him and then take a seat at Maxx’s computer. This key is our best shot right now.
I grab my lime-green headset from one of the desk drawers and connect the Bluetooth to the laptop. Shaking my hair out, I plaster a smile on my face and start another live video.
“So, who likes to play with antiques?” I ask.
Several hours later, I wake up sprawled across my bed. My phone—the one that Tess isn’t supposed to know about—is clutched in my hand, and I curse myself for my carelessness. I don’t remember falling asleep, sometime between making that video, and following several good leads to information about the key.
The mark on the side of it is, apparently, a maker’s mark.
Our particular key is labelled with the word Avant. It’s apparently a pretty famous manufacturer from the early 1900s. A few of my followers pointed out the fact that the key itself is a bit uneven, likely meaning that it was made by hand rather than created in a factory. That helps date it a little.
In short, the key is old as fuck.
I cross-referenced the homes we found in Medina that had wine cellars to see if any of them were built prior to 1940.
Not a single fucking one was.
Eventually, I made it over to my bed and collapsed, intending on doing more research on my phone. I must’ve fallen asleep. Chasm seems to be gone, and neither of us saw hide nor hair of Maxx since he disappeared earlier.
The room is dark, but I can see the city sparkling on the opposite side of the lake.
I force myself up, heading into the bathroom to deal with my period. When it comes time to decide what sort of feminine product I want to use, I select a menstrual cup, acting like I don’t notice or care that it advertises the opportunity for mess-free intercourse on the package.
Once I’m all cleaned up, I head back into my room to find that I’m not alone.
Chas is sitting on my bed, staring down at his lap. He looks up at me as I come in, his pretty golden eyes catching what little light leaks in from outside.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, and even though he looks pained as hell, he stands up and moves over to me. He puts his hands on either side of the doorjamb and leans down toward me, mimicking his pose from the bathroom earlier.
“Do you know why I was here that day?” he asks, and I don’t need to clarify. I know exactly what day he’s referring to: the day that I slept with Parrish. “Why I brought those stupid fucking sunflowers?”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, feeling myself begin to tremble. I know what we have to do. It’s quite clear that our adversary is an intelligent and perceptive man. He’s also fucking crazy. It seems absurd that he’d actually ask me to do something like this, that he’d actually care. But trying to decipher the man’s motivations will not save Parrish; following his orders is what’s saving Parrish.
“I came here to tell you what I was feeling. I knew you were crushing on Parrish; he fucking told me that he was crushing on you. Still, I had to see. I wanted to try.”
“Kwang-seon,” I start, and then he’s grabbing my chin and tilting my head up. His mouth meets mine and all of that fire from the maze comes raging back through me, lighting my blood on fire and making me react like I’m roiling in an inferno.
He wraps an arm around me and yanks me close, sliding his left hand down to rest against my lower back. Our mouths work against one another, tongues tangling, heat blazing. Chas licks my lower lip and draws back a bit.
“Even though I knew what you were doing, I stayed. Just in case. In case maybe you changed your mind. In case he did. I waited there until I couldn’t take it anymore, then I went downstairs and jumped in the pool with all my clothes on.”
A small sound escapes me, but I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob.
What he’s saying is … it’s heartbreaking. At the same time, it’s miraculous. I’m drowning in it. I want more, even as I know that every sip I allow myself to have of Kwang-seon McKenna will poison me from the inside out.
“Why did you have all of those condoms on you?” I whisper, and he lets out a small, caustic little laugh.
