An image of the small pink notebook Eloise left behind last week flashes in my mind, and I race back into the shop to retrieve it, a spark of hope lighting my chest. I thumb through the pages, finding nothing but notes from our lessons and random little doodles. But there, right on the last page, is exactly what I’ve been looking for.
If lost, please return to 555 Coral Road in Saltbloom.
“Fuck yes.” I commit the address to memory and race to my motorcycle, not bothering to lock up the store in my hurry. If Eloise is out there in pain, I’m not wasting another moment getting to her.
Hold on, Eloise. I’m coming.
The address in the notebook takes me to the northernmost tip of Saltbloom, a small stretch of private beach surrounded by multimillion-dollar mansions. The residences serve as vacationhomes for the Neon Valley elite, though several wealthy families still prefer the peace and quiet of Saltbloom to the bustle of the city.
I park my motorcycle in front of one such mansion, squinting against the sun bouncing off the sheer white walls of the exterior. It’s absolutely massive, and I have an incredibly hard time believing Eloise lives here. Something this gaudy just doesn’t seem like her taste. It’s… wasteful.
Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps the address on the notebook belongs to someone else.
Maybe I should walk up, knock on the door, and check.
I sigh, dismounting my bike. I ascend the curved marble steps and walk up to the door, raising my fist to knock. Before it makes contact, the door is yanked open, and I come face-to-face with a very surly-looking man.
He’s at least six-five, with cropped black hair and shoulders the size of watermelons. His thick neck is covered with intricate, swirling black designs, with a blacked-out spider sitting at the center of his throat. The most striking thing, though, is the iris of his left eye—so light blue it’s practically white. It contrasts greatly with the dark green of the other, and though it moves like a normal eye should, I realize the pupil is lying dead in the center, unseeing.
The burly man looks me up and down, scowling. His good eye fixes on me, and in the next blink, his expression morphs into one of recognition.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice impossibly deep. “You’re Riot Arden.”
“Uh, yeah.”And you are… her boyfriend? Is that why she’s been staying away? Because she’s already taken?Now I’m the one scowling. “Is Eloise home?”
He looks at me like I’ve just asked what time the Martians land. “She is…”
A wave of relief crashes over my shoulders, only to be replaced with irritation in the next second as the surly man starts sizing me up like I’m a threat. “Why are you looking for Eloise?”
Why the fuck does it matter so much to you?I want to ask. Instead, I hold up her pretty pink notebook. “She left this at Hightide last week, and I wanted to make sure to get it back to her.”
Because that sounds a whole lot less creepy than “I’m obsessed with her and need to look at her and make sure she’s okay.”
The man just stares at me. “Hightide? The guitar shop?”
“Yes.”
“Eloise was at Hightide last week?”
I grit my teeth, growing frustrated with the wall. “Yes, she was. Just like the eight weeks before that.”
His eyes widen at my statement. “Really? For what?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “For fucking salsa lessons—what do you think? Look, man, can I just give Eloise her notebook? I promise I'll get out of your hair after.”Right after I make sure she’s safe.
The man tilts his head, his brows raising in surprise as all the dots finally connect. “You’regiving Eloiseguitarlessons?”
Hallelujah.“Yes. And I’d really like to give her back her notebook sometime this year, if that’s okay with you.”
The man holds out his hand, and I grasp it firmly, giving him one hard shake. “Name’s Forest,” he says. “Forest Night.” He drops my hand and steps to the side, allowing me passage to the inside of the house. “Eloise is upstairs in her room practicing. Just follow the classical music, and you’ll find her.”
I nod, thanking him silently. I pass through the foyer and down a long hallway toward the large staircase located at the back of the mansion. The music grows louder the closer I get.
I ascend quickly, sensing the eyes of the guard on my back the whole way up. This place makes me uneasy—like something’s just not quite right—and though I’m desperate to see Eloise, I’ll be glad when I get to leave. A stifling sadness hangs in the air, stale and heavy, and it causes the hairs on my forearms to creep to attention. The louder the music grows, so does the nagging worry that I’m not supposed to be here—that my very presence is unwelcome and wrong in this environment.
I push the thought away, stopping in front of the room where the song is emanating. Slowly, I wrap my palm around the handle and turn, expecting resistance and finding none. As soon as the door opens, a wave of sound smacks into me, crashing over my skin and into my mind, a melody that makes my heart sing and has unexpected tears welling in my eyes.
I thought Eloise was beautiful on stage, but watching her here, in the comfort and privacy of her room, is something else entirely. All the emotions she normally keeps hidden away are fully on display, rolling off her shoulders in waves and filling the space with a charged stillness.
