The Glass Ballerina Who Danced On Knives

Just one more game

I push the door open and run through the lawn, ignoring the holes my heels cause in the manicured grass.

Grayson slithers into the helicopter as I reach the doors.

"Room for one more?" There clearly isn't, but I can figure something out.

"It appears all the seats have been filled." Grayson's icy voice speaks up.

I don't even want to look at him.

Not after what he did.

Not after what he didn't do.

"I could fly. I have my private pilot licence."

"Afraid not Trinity," Oren has a headset on already. "I must protect Ms Grambs at all times."

"Ms Grambs could sit in Jamie's lap."

"And wrinkle my suit? I think not Tulip." Jameson smirks, clearly not minding the thought of having his Heiress sitting in his lap.

I bite my lip, trying to keep myself from crying. "I suppose I'll see you when you get back."

No one replies.

My heels dig into the grass as I make my way back to the House. What am I supposed to do now? I was going to help them. Help that they brushed away like mosquitoes or lint on a coat.

"You know, you could always open up that letter that your grandfather left you." Nan stands in the hall with a glass of whiskey in one hand and her cane in the other.

"How do you know I haven't opened it yet?" I look up from my purse, but Nan's gone.

With a sigh, I sit down on a step and pull out the thick envelope I've carried with me for the past three weeks.

My fingers dance on the fold of the seal, the calligraphy of my name.

These might be the last words of his I'll ever read.

My dearest Trinity,
Monsters are real. And they look like people. You can burn it all down, shatter and shake the world at your fingertips. No one expects an Angel to set the world on fire. Be brave, my beautiful Angel.
With love,
Your Grandfather, Tobias Tattersall Hawthorne

Tears roll down my face. Tears from his words, tears from the earlier events, tears from the grief.

Salty drops of water run down my face.

And then they stop.

Because this means one more game.

This is one more mystery.

And I'm going to make him proud.

<3

Wondering where I should start, voices cut through the air. I guess they found the missing number.

"November eighth," Avery's voice can now clearly be heard. "August eleventh. January eighteenth."

A pause.

"Ten-eighteen—October eighteenth." I see her take a breath as she comes into my line of view."That's my birthday."

"No." Jameson drops her hands.

Yes. The day I made my biggest regret.

"Yes," Avery pushes on "I was born on October eighteenth. And my mother—"

"This isn't about your mother." Jameson balls his fingers into fists and stepped back.

"Jameson?" Avery's face lights up, her eyes shining with the thrill of a new discovery. "This could be it. Maybe his path crossed my mom's while she was in labor? Maybe she did something for him while she was pregnant with me?"

"Stop." The word cracks like a whip. Jameson looked at Avery like she was unnatural, like she was broken, like the sight of me could turn stomachs, including and especially his and I can only imagine how he would have looked at me if he had been by the pool.

"What are you—"

"The numbers are not a date."

"Yes," she says fiercely. "They are."

"This can't be the answer," he spits.

She steps forward, but he jerks back.

Grayson. As gentle as his touch is, I get the distinct sense that he's holding her back.

Confusion became scribbled all over her face.

"Emily died," Grayson tells her, his voice tight, "on October eighteenth, a year ago."

"That sick son of a bitch," Jameson curses. "All of this—the clues, the will, her—all of it for this? He just found a random person born on that day to send a message? This message?"

"Jamie—"

"Don't talk to me." Jameson swung his gaze from Grayson to Avery. "Screw this. I'm done."

"Jameson!" I make my presence known. "Do you have any idea of the amount of things that happen every single day? Not everything's about that- that girl! And Avery's birthday sure as hell isn't Granddad playing some sick games on you. It means something. It always does."

He turns around. "Say her name. Say her damn name so everyone can see what a mess we've made. Can't you say it? Tiptoeing around it ain't going to make anything better?" His accent bleeds into his voice like it always does when he gets angry.

"Emily!" I shout. "And don't you dare talk to me about tiptoeing around things! You've been doing it for a whole damn year and it's just made things worse."

"I will not be haunted every single day by Emily! I refuse to let The Old Man dig up those memories. You should know better than anyone that those are private."

I laugh.  "They can't damn well be private if we experienced them too, can they?"

"God, look at you, laughing like some sick psycho over all this! What would The Old Man say? What would Em say?"

"I don't give a damn what Em would say. She's DEAD Jameson. Get it in your head!"

He doesn't reply and stalks into the night, as Avery calls out. "Where are you going?"

"Congratulations, Heiress," Jameson calls back, his voice dripping with everything but felicitations. "I guess you had the good fortune of being born on the right day. Mystery solved."

A.N.: Ooooooh it's juicy now. She also opened the letter and I'm so excited to write about the adventures it takes her on. As always, ilysm and have an amazing week!
<3!
Sky(lar)