“Grace?” Grace immediately recognized her brother’s voice. She shut her mouth, but before walking away, she shot Kilian a fearsome glare.
“Grace? Is that you? What’s going on?” Mark appeared around the corner, his eyes wide with surprise upon seeing Grace and Kilian together. “Hey, what’s going on here? Am I interrupting something?”
“Not at all,” Kilian replied with a slow grin, “Just having a chat with Grace here.”
“I was just leaving anyway,” Grace spoke over him, her eyes narrowing in disgust. “Let’s go. I’ll explain later.”
“Oh,” Mark said flatly, as if reluctant to press the issue any further. “Well,” he paused, clearing his throat and nodding at Kilian. “Uh, your shirt is torn a bit there, you know.” He gestured vaguely at Kilian’s torn uniform, an eyebrow raising in suspicion.
“Ah, this? It’s nothing,” he replied, sneaking a furtive smirk at Grace. “Things get pretty crazy on the job sometimes. You two have a lovely night,” he continued patronizingly, his voice taking on a sickening mocking tone.
Grace rolled her eyes, walking down the alleyway alongside her brother. “Mark. Please,” she reasoned, silently pleading with him. “I just want to go home.” Her voice was small and reluctant. She glanced over her shoulder one last time at Kilian, but he was already gone.
As the two siblings turned the corner at the end of the alleyway, thankfully with Kilian well out of earshot, Mark spoke up. “So what was all that about? I swear, I’ll kick his ass if he was bothering you. I don’t give a shit if he’s a cop. Why did he look so damn smug, anyway?”
Shaking her head, Grace sighed exhaustedly. “It wasn’t anything serious. He says I’m trouble, but I got everything sorted out.”
“Hm,”Mark replied, clearly not satisfied with Grace’s response. He lowered his voice and began to mumble to himself. “Smug bastard. Good on you for ripping his stupid shirt, though.” He put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder as they strode down the sidewalk.
6
The restaurant doorswung open with a familiar jingle as Kilian stepped inside. The sound of his heavy, loud boots echoed through the quiet dining area; it was a slow night, to be sure, with most of the day’s customers long gone. A sink trickled in the background, water droplets occasionally punctuating the eerie silence.
He walked to the back of the restaurant, pushing through the double doors leading back to the break room and kitchen. Kilian was trying his best to forget about the encounter he’d just had with Grace and Mark, and the way her body had felt on top of his, but he was immediately reminded upon seeing his father pacing nervously, a shaken expression on his face.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” Kilian asked, clearing his throat. His tone suddenly became dutiful and cop-like as he approached the nervous old man.
His father took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Well…” He shook his head, as if lost in thought.
It was at this point Kilian noticed his family had gathered at the restaurant; his brothers were standing around, as if they were awaiting further instruction. Even Sophie was there, still clad in her waitress uniform. Kilian’s stomach churned anxiously as he looked to his tired-looking father for an explanation.
“What’s everyone doing here?” he asked, nervously breaking the tense, sullen silence that had fallen over the room. His brothers and Sophie looked over at their father, as if they were awaiting his directions.
Sophie eventually spoke up first, her voice quiet and hesitant. “Well, we’re here to discuss the fight,” she explained. “But…” She trailed off, looking down at the floor, refusing to continue. She anxiously cracked her knuckles before wiping her sweating hands on her skirt.
“What about it?” Kilian asked, thinking of Mark in the alley and wondering if he was a better fighter than his sister, and gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose that still ached.
“About that,” Kilian’s father finally said, still staring at the floor, his expression contorted from emotions that Kilian couldn’t understand.
“Come on, Dad, just tell us,” Liam urged and rested a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Whatever it is, you know that we will support you.”
Their father said nothing, merely pressed his mouth into a firm line and nodded slowly.
“Dad,” Sophie began.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” the old man replied dryly, his voice quiet and secretive. “About the book.”
“Oh?” Kilian replied, folding his arms and nodding thoughtfully. “And?”
His father sighed, pausing again, running his fingers through his brittle, graying hair. “I don’t think you’re going to like this very much, but...Peter Walsh has the book. I know he does. He has to have it somewhere, anyway.”
“Oh, I see,” Kilian replied after a moment of thoughtful silence, realization slowly creeping across his face. He folded his arms and tapped one boot against the floor, gazing pensively at the dingy checkered tile. “So... they stole the book all those years ago. And now that it’s here in town, we steal it back again. Is that the plan?”
His father nodded, “I think it would be smart if all of us went to the fight and acted like we’re just there as spectators.”
“Then what?” Kilian asked, somewhat bemused by the reckless scheme. “We all just go and distract the guy while we raid his office for the book? How is that going to work out?”
“Hopefully,only one of us will need to sneak away to his office, actually,” Sophie suggested, finally looking up from the floor and gazing meaningfully at Kilian. “The rest of us can keep watch and keep tabs on him and anyone else that he might have working there.”
