The Rules of the Red - 2014 Watty Award Winner |✓|

Chapter Eleven - Part One

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

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“The Leadership, I’m not worried about.” I told Adelle, the next evening, over dinner at the Maison. There was no leftover jetlag from my trip to New York, but I was still suffering from the nostalgia of it. I missed the colorful people, the crowded streets, and wall-to-wall traffic. But then again, I had also missed my best friend’s biting sarcasm even more.

“That I can handle.” I said, around a bite of my spaghetti. “It’s getting involved with Tidus and letting him take over my own plan that’s the intimidating part.”

“Then why do it?” Addy asked, taking a healthy sip of her Merlot. “Why not just tell Tidus to suck it? You can take care of Charles without his help.”

“True.” I agreed. “But Tidus has the Council on his side, and that can be used to my advantage – I can’t just ignore that.”

“So you really believe everything he told you about Sully and Caspian?”

I nodded.

“I do. And finding out about the Glamour and his blood – those can be good things too Addy. I’m sure of it –”

 A buzzing sound interrupted the conversation and I pulled my phone out of my purse, unlocking the screen to show a message from Claire. A handy little phone app allowed me to divert messages from a track phone I had, and re-route them to my personal cell. This way, I could keep in contact with those I didn’t know or trust, without giving away too much of my personal information.

“It’s Claire.” I said aloud, reading the message. “She wants to meet Saturday night at one. Well. There goes just relaxing this weekend.”

“I had almost forgotten about her.” Addy said eagerly. “Can I tag along? Pwease?”

“Of course.” I said, sending Claire a quick reply. “Addy, you know I could never break into Jeremy Franks’ office to look at confidential information that could get me thrown into jail without you. Never.”

“Mmm. And cheers to that, babe.” said Addy with a grin, as we clinked our glasses in a toast.

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We were just finishing our meals, and enjoying the last sips of our wine, when a familiar, but unfriendly figure decided to approach our table. Normally, I would have been glad to entertain more company, but hers was not a conversation that I had been looking forward to. I had been wondering how long it would take her to approach me.

Eve Arling stood above us in a short, but innocent-looking, yellow sundress that showed off her tanned legs. Her striking blonde hair was pulled back in a bouncy, curled ponytail, with her lips blotted in heavy pink. She was smiling, but her brown eyes had an animalistic quality to them as she stared down at us. She reminded me of hunted animals. The ones who were cornered, had given up, and were wild with their last-ditch (often bloody) attempt at freedom.