Page 104 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
Hours of warm comfort pass us by.
My eyes blink to a groggy open in the pitch-black dark of our bedroom. I don’t know what time it is, but it must be far into the night for it to be so silent and still. Sometime during our hours of rest, I’ve untangled myself from Caelian and drifted a few inches away. I roll over to return to my spot tucked into his side, then stop when I realize I’m not the only thing awake in the room.
We’re not alone.
A figure lurks in the dark. I blink several more times to parse out its shape.
“Mom?” I croak.
No one answers. But that doesn’t stop the figure from creeping closer. From emerging from the dark shadows and reaching out a hand for me…
THIRTY-FOUR
Caelian
“C, wake up,”Ms. Poitier says, giving me as hard a shake as she can given my size.
I have been a heavy sleeper since I was a child. With all the many medications I take on a regular basis, the moment I lay my head down on my pillow, I’m usually out for the foreseeable hours to come.
I grunt, fighting my way out of a groggy fog. The light creeping into the room reveals its morning time. The draft in the room tells me it’ll be another chilly winter day and we need to turn the heat up. My hand scrubs over my face as if to clear up my fuzzy vision.
The space next to me in the bed is empty. Has Nevaeh gotten up early and gone downstairs for breakfast?
Her mother is here. Perhaps they decided they wanted some bonding time alone over coffee.
“What time is it, Ms. P?”
“It’s minutes before seven. C, there’s something…” she shudders out a deep breath. “There’s something that happened last night.”
“Such as?”
Her shoulders slump, her expression flat and crestfallen.
It’s a look a wise woman who has been around the block a time or two like Ms. Poitier rarely wears. She seems lost for how to proceed, taking her time to choose what she says with great caution. I’ve never been a patient man, and that hasn’t changed in this moment.
“Ms. P,” I snarl. “Spit it out. What is it? Where is Nevi? Is she downstairs with her mother?”
Her lips stretch into a frown, and she shakes her head. “C, she’s… she’s gone.”
“What do you mean she’s gone? Gone where? Downstairs to the breakfast room? Outside in the courtyard? Her dance studio?”
I have no idea why I’m listing off these places around the estate as if there’s not a deepening sense of dread burrowing inside me. A vague understanding of where this is headed and what Ms. Poitier’s frown says before words ever could.
“She’s gone as in… she’s not here anymore. Her and her mother. She left this note for you.”
I snatch it from her and crumple it inside one of my fists. “She can’t be gone. She has to be here.”
“She’s not, C. They’ve disappeared.”
“Disappeared?!”
My loud roar makes a solid woman like Ms. Poitier flinch. She eases half a step back. Possibly to prepare herself for any other outbursts to come.
“There’s no way she could disappear. She’s on my property!” I shove aside the covers and charge through the room on a wave of instant fury. “Where’s security? Have them search the premises! Review the surveillance cameras! Check every room, every… every place she could be!”
“C, we have. What do you think we’ve been doing all morning? One of the sensors was activated, and that alerted the security team that something was amiss.”
“And you’re only just waking me now!” I boom in her face as she scurries to keep up with me.