The Nine Lives of Chloe King (11 page)

“Holy crap,” Chloe whispered in horror. “She’s doing the ’Swan’ again? All thirteen verses?”

“Hey, a little support and positive thought might be welcome here,” Paul suggested.

Lo, my lover lies asleep
In a twin bed with black satin sheets
In the gable nook of our hallowed nest. …

Chloe clenched and unclenched her hands the entire time, her fingernails tingling. She looked over at Paul; he sat still—
trying
to look serious, she thought.

Call, call!
My night black swan!
Weep for the love that is lost
The scarlet threads of shame and shadow
That flow betwixt my breasts …

Thirteen verses and approximately fifteen minutes later it was over. There were still two more Amy “specials,” but the last one was new, so at least it was an unexpected horror. And there was a break just two poets later.

“Holy shit,” Chloe said as she and Paul went up to the bar afterward to reorder. “I think it gets harder every time.”

“Yeah, some of those poets were atrocious,” he agreed.

“And what about her new masterpiece? What gothic shit was she listening to when she wrote ’Daylight Incubus’?”

“You didn’t like it?”

Chloe turned to stare at her friend. “Um—hello? It
sucked,
Paul.”

“I don’t think it was that bad,” Paul demurred.

“If you mean that it wasn’t any better or worse than any of the other stuff she’s done, I agree.”

“Why did you bother coming if you’re just going to trash her?”

He didn’t say it nastily—it wasn’t a challenge. It almost sounded like a genuine question.

“Because that’s what we always do, Paul!” Chloe said, exasperated. “We keep on trying to get her to drop this shit and do the stuff she’s good at, she ignores us, we keep coming here to support her, she reads her poetry, and we—well, commiserate.”

“She’s my girlfriend, now, Chlo,” Paul said softly. Like it was supposed to shock her.

And it did.

“That doesn’t change everything. Or at least it’s not supposed to.” Chloe spun on her heels and walked away, ignoring the tea that was set in front of her.
Has everyone gone insane?
It seemed like she was just getting back into sync with Amy, and Paul suddenly went off the deep end, taking this whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing way too seriously. He had always been a harder person to get to know than Amy, sometimes difficult to read, but these dreadful readings used to be their bonding time. He used to relax.

“Hey, good job,” she said, kissing Amy on the cheek. “I gotta take off.”

“Oh! Thanks!” Amy grinned. “See you tomorrow!”

Chloe stormed out into the cold, hands balled up into fists in her pockets again. She didn’t feel like running; she felt an almost uncontrollable rage. Paul had always been kind of secretive and weird about his girlfriends before—but this was beyond beyond. His and Amy’s relationship was the worst thing that had happened to the three of them.

And it’s kind of your fault: they got together ’cause of the fall.

Chloe sighed, some of the steam going out of her. She unclenched her hands and realized she had been clutching a crumpled-up piece of paper in her pocket. She pulled it out and read it under a streetlight, assuming it was a permission slip or note or something. Her eyes widened when she realized what it actually said.

Chloe:

Your life is in danger. Be wary of the company you keep. Be prepared —and ready to run. The Order of the Tenth Blade knows who you are. …

A friend

Ten

Normal people called
the police. That was what normal people did in situations like this with weird notes and death threats and things like that.

Too bad I’m not normal.

It was probably just a joke. Right? Chloe had been terrified in fourth grade when she found a note in her cubby telling her that she’d better “watch out.” And that had turned out to be Laura Midlen’s idea of funny. But somehow this seemed less amusing than that incident.

My life is in danger?
Did that mean someone found out about Xavier? Maybe he was after her? That didn’t make sense, though: she hadn’t meant to hurt him, and it wasn’t worth killing her over. What was the company she kept? Paul? Amy? Nothing strange about them or dangerous … Whoever wrote the note probably meant her new friends: either Alyec or Brian. More likely Brian since Alyec was a known factor, a normal high school kid with roots in the community. She didn’t really know anything about Brian besides what he had told her. …

Then again, he could also be the “friend” who was warning her. But he hadn’t been in the café—in fact, Chloe didn’t really know anyone at the Black Rooster except by sight. When was the note slipped into her pocket? Maybe it wasn’t even meant for her.

She checked the locks on the doors several times before going to sleep—or
trying
to go to sleep. She felt pretty sure she could handle a daytime attack by a street thug, but a nighttime ambush would be another story.

The next Monday at school Chloe was even grumpier and sleepier than usual. She kept looking up suddenly, jumping at noises, and seeing things out of the corners of her eyes. All for what was probably just a prank. As soon as she got a free period, she went to the newspaper office.

“Hey, Paul,” she said, making straight for the couch.

“Chloe,” he answered uneasily. He was sitting at the computer, playing some bright-colored and contraband video game.

“I’m wiped. Do you mind?” She threw herself into the couch.

“No. Go ahead.” He stood up and played with a pencil for a minute. “I … might have overreacted Friday night. … Are we cool?” he finally asked.

Even through her sleep-thick haze, Chloe smiled. Paul actually cared if she was angry at him! Then again, she had a complete right to be.

She raised her arm to give him a thumbs-up.

“Cool.” He threw his bag over his shoulder. “Just close the door on your way out, okay? It’s already locked.”

But Chloe was already asleep.

She woke up perfectly, precisely forty-five minutes later,
almost
in time for phys ed. Which was really odd because usually once Chloe was out, she was
flat
out until someone woke her up. The second, warning bell rang and dozens of classroom doors slammed shut, students trapped inside, being forced to learn.

She stretched and yawned and scratched herself, rolling her head and shaking the stiffness out of her shoulders—she hadn’t moved from the position she’d fallen down in, and it wasn’t really the most comfortable of couches.

She slumped out of the room, pausing to pick up the obituary sections of the local newspapers lying around and remembering to make sure the door was closed like Paul had said. She started down the hall toward gym, possibly her most-hated class.
Although,
she considered,
maybe I could surprise them with a thing or two.
But probably not. The one thing every TV show, book, and comic book had ever suggested about people with special powers was to never reveal them to the outside world. At the worst she could be kidnapped and dissected by the government. At best Mr. Parmalee would insist she go for a drug test.

“Chloe King!”

Alyec was coming down the empty hall. She smiled.

“What are
you
doing at this end of the school?”

“I am going for my flute lesson,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. He held up a small black case. “I have always wanted to learn it, but there was no money or opportunity in Russia.”

“Funny, I would have picked you for a boner,” she said.

His eyes widened.

“
Trom
boner? You know? That and trumpet are what all of the popular guys play.”

“Well, I am not a normal popular guy. And anyway, if I am so popular, how come you haven’t asked to see me since the sea lions?” There was a sexy little smile that he was just hiding. Chloe felt a shiver run through her body. “How’s
Brian?”

“He’s great.”
Except for that whole lack-of-kissing-and-phone-calls thing.

“Oh yeah? You really like him, huh? I think you’re just playing hard to get.”

“Awww, what’s the matter? Keira not enough for you?”

“Nope,” he answered, grinning. Then he leaned over and kissed her. “She is just a stupid little girl,” he whispered into her ear, brushing it with his lips.

Although such things had been placed far, far from her mind since—well, since her period began, Chloe felt the desire she had felt with Xavier rise up through her again. She turned her head so they were cheek to cheek, her lips against his jaw.

“We should go somewhere,” he whispered, kissing the tops of her cheeks over and over again.

“Janitor’s closet,” Chloe breathed, pointing.

They both broke for it. Unlike on TV, this one was filled with actual janitorial stuff—mops and buckets and bottles of cleanser—and there was no real room to stand. They looked at it, then at each other.

Chloe giggled. Unlike the time with Xavier, this was playful and fun. Alyec threw himself against the back of the closet so he would bear the brunt of their weight and pulled her in after him as she closed the door.

Everything was very close and warm. She could smell all the disparate aspects of Alyec: his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes, his toothpaste, the shampoo or gel in his hair, his skin and his breath.

Also Lysol and Mr. Clean, but she tried not to think about that.

He put his hands around her face and kissed her full on the lips, the way she had been aching for Brian to do the other night. He didn’t stop, not even to breathe, feeling every comer and surface of her mouth with his own.

The way a girl
should
be kissed,
was Chloe’s last coherent thought.

When they stumbled out into the bright light of the hallway later, it was, fortunately, still empty. Alyec had to clap his hand over her mouth once or twice when they were in the closet because she was giggling and making him giggle, too. But no one had come by. She pulled and adjusted her shirt.

“You are one sexy girl, Chloe King,” Alyec said, kissing her one last time on the cheek. “That was powerful stuff in there.”

She
felt
pretty sexy. But …

“Well, and now you can tell all your friends that. How you finally cornered Chloe King and you had the time of your life.” She smiled weakly.

Alyec frowned. “Do you really think I’m like that? Chloe, I was serious about Keira. She means
nothing
to me. And I’m
not
a complete dick.”

Chloe nodded. She hoped, of course. In nice-guy competitions Brian had him definitely beat. She reshouldered her bag and then realized Alyec was empty-handed.

“Where’s your flute?” she asked.

They looked back into the closet and saw the black case sticking out of a bucket.

Getting out of gym was easy—as soon as she and Alyec parted, she ran for the nurse’s office and made a big deal about how she was
bleeding
and this was her
first period ever
and she was cramping and had spent the whole time in the bathroom. The nurse was brusquely sympathetic and promised to speak to Mr. Parmalee before it was officially filed as a cut. She also recommended that Chloe get her gyn exam ASAP. Chloe agreed and left, limping a little as if she was still in pain.

She had texted Amy earlier about meeting for lunch—in the corner of the cafeteria near the pay phones. It wasn’t a desirable area, but at least they would be left alone. She planned on showing her the note. Maybe even telling her the truth about …
Well, about what?
Running really fast? Kissing Alyec in the closet? Whatever. Anyway, Amy loved mysteries—she had gone through a whole
Harriet the Spy/Nancy Drew
/Agatha Christie stage that had lasted a lot longer than those of most little boys and girls who were interested in being detectives. Even if she had no idea what to make of the note, at least it would be entertaining. After all, maybe the note wasn’t even meant for her. Maybe it was a mistake.

Chloe looked up and around the cafeteria, then at her watch. They only had twenty minutes for lunch today, and five of them were already gone. Amy hadn’t texted her back, but that didn’t mean anything. One of them always said “meet me here” and the other one just showed up. It had always been like that. Unless there was a problem—that was the only reason for a response, if one of them couldn’t make it.

She checked her phone. No messages.

At 12:35 she finally gave up, realizing Amy wasn’t going to show.

•  •  •

She had the whole evening to herself, sort of a nice change from recent events. And sort of not. Chloe did some desultory straightening of her room and read a little of
The Scarlet Letter
for class. She went to the computer and surfed for a while, downloading MP3s and seeing what her favorite celebrities were up to. Then on a whim she searched on AIM for Alyec Ilychovich … and there he was. Under Alyec Ilychovich.
He sure does have a lot to learn about hiding your real identity and other American things.
Chloe smiled and added him to her buddy list. His account was private—
such a popular guy!
—so she sent him an invite from oldclothesKing, one of her more common aliases. Then she went on surfing.

There was an e-mail from Brian on her Hotmail account:

Chloe,

I really enjoyed our playdate the other night. But I never gave you the pattern!

Do you like ska? Downtime hosts Kabaret Saturdays, no cover. No penguins, but it should be a cool night otherwise. If not, maybe you have an idea … ?