“Get them off, Dorian! Gently. I don’t want to hurt them.”
He tries to wave them away, but finally he has to resort to flicking them off, one by one. More try to land on me while he’s shooing the others, and I crowd backward against the glass door, waiting until he finally gets them all off me and we can rush inside.
He slides the door shut, and I gasp, shivering again at the thought of those little crawly feet. Moths cluster against the glass, wandering in circular paths, midnight wings quivering.
“This isn’t just the universe burping or farting or whatever Lloyd-Henry said.” I look up at Dorian, my heart pounding. “Something strange is going on. And I—this is going to sound really self-centered, but—I think it’s connected to me.”
He nods. “The skriken was after you that night.”
“And the moths seem drawn to me now.”
“So they’re interested in your powers, your energy. Which means Lloyd’s story about an ancient magical relic might be true.” Dorian swipes a hand over his face. “The question is how are you connected to it?”
“I don’t know! I have this ability, this ancestry. Maybe it’s like the One Ring inThe Lord of the Rings. This thing can tell I’m nearby, and it wants to be found. And maybe our proximity to each other has something to do with it. You don’t have an ability like mine, but you definitely have supernatural connections.”
“Somehow I don’t think the skriken plan to take you there safely,” Dorian mutters. “They’ll tear you apart on the way. Or there’s no relic at all, and they’re simply determined to swallow your energy.”
His logic is good, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to this than manifestations of cosmic energy looking to drink me dry or a relic itching to be unearthed. My whole body buzzes with a sudden memory—standing at the door of the abandoned Coast Guard building, pressing my hand to the door. Hearing that voice in my mind…Let me out.
“I think I did something,” I whisper. “Without meaning to. I think I woke something up or started to. And it wants me to come back and finish the job.”
Dorian hooks an eyebrow. “You know this sounds a little far-fetched, right?”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
“Let’s not jump to conclusions before we talk to Lloyd-Henry again. I’ll call him tonight. He’s had days to wrap up whatever business he had with Gatsby. I’m sure he can come back and help us figure this out.”
“Good, because I can’t worry about anything else right now.” I sink onto the couch.
“I’ll get you a drink.” Dorian heads for the bar.
“I could definitely use one.” I massage my temples, trying to stave off the building tension headache. “I have so much more to think about than the supernatural crap we’ve been dealing with—like filling a million orders and fielding commission requests. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that my art has been ‘discovered,’ but I didn’t realize how much work it would be. I’ve got two art shows coming up in the next several months, and people keep messaging me, informing me that my shop is sold out and wondering when I’ll have more pieces in stock.”
“Scarcity drives demand,” says Dorian, uncorking a glass decanter.
“Sure, but I’ve got to produce more art soon, or I’ll lose this momentum. But the pressure of needing tomakethe art is blocking all my ideas. Not to mention the fact that I’ve been too busy hanging out with you assholes.”
“Like that’s a bad thing.” He saunters over to me, carrying a glass with ice and three fingers of whiskey.
“God,” I murmur. “Can you put on a shirt?”
“Can you put on a potato sack?” he counters. “Never mind. That wouldn’t help.” As he bends to hand me the drink, his other hand trails up my thigh. I gasp, startled. A swift glow travels from his fingertips straight to my core.
Dorian smiles, his eyes sultry and hooded.
Sibyl and Vane tumble out of the elevator and into the penthouse at that moment, talking over each other about the inky pool and the cloud of black moths swirling above the grounds of the Chandler. Dorian quietly fixes more drinks while they hypothesize, but neither he nor I mention the whole “wakeful ancient relic” idea.
Far-fetched, my ass—it sounds downright insane.
15
Baz
Things calm down once everyone is thoroughly buzzed. I change into a pair of shorts and a tank top and reapply dark purple lipstick from my purse. Vane orders Chinese food and puts a dance movie on the TV. I half watch, munching an egg roll and trying not to think about the weird supernatural connection between me and whatever just happened.
If I’m stirring something up, maybe I need to leave Charleston, or at least this neighborhood. I don’t think I could bear to leave the city altogether, not when things have just started picking up for my career as an artist.
Maybe I’m imagining the connection. The only truly supernatural thing that has happened was the attack by the skriken, which Lloyd explained away as a random occurrence. After all, legend is full of “black dog” appearances, from the hound of the Baskervilles to the Irish púca, from hellhounds to the beast of Gévaudan in French folklore.
