The Search for Juno

Chapter VIII

Quite frankly, if he thought about it, Conny had no reason to feel sorry for her.

Juno Evangeline Nohl was more specter than girl, after all. She hadn't always been that way—Conny could still recall the day she had arrived in their dusty Vegas suburb with stunning clarity—but she was now. The memories between when she'd arrived and when she'd left again were washed out, faded, like an old shirt gone through the wash one too many times. As he and Alex stepped out of the sedan and onto the pavement, Conny tried to recall what he'd even liked about her. On what grounds had their brief friendship been founded?

He couldn't...

He couldn't remember.

Alex knocked a fist against Conny's temple. "You in there?"

Conny sighed, glancing sideways at him. His brother was certainly dressed like he was going to a party, but, Conny supposed, that wasn't at all rare for Alex. Alex's rolled khaki shorts and only half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt made Conny, beside him, look like some demure gentleman out of an eerie and depressing Victorian painting.

He was counting more and more reasons to turn around, give Artemis the boot, and forget about all of this.

But Alex had already started up the house's driveway—the house was modern chic, sharp angles and a motley of triangles for a roof and more glass than walls—adjusting the small white-gray ponytail at the crown of his head and whistling.

Conny touched the pistol at his belt, as if making sure it was still there. Then he swept his trench coat over it and jogged after Alex.

They reached the front stoop, Alex clearing it in two steps, Conny hop-stepping up to the welcome mat. Conny could hear the faint, thundering bass of a popular pop song through the walls. Turning, he asked, "Will you recognize her when you see her?"

"Duh," said Alex, ceasing his whistling. He searched for a doorbell, but didn't find one, and delivered three sharp knocks instead. "Juno has one of those faces that is very hard to forget."

"Why?" said Conny, frowning. His automatic response was: "Because she's weird-looking?"

"No, asshole. Because she herself is very hard to forget."

Conny wasn't entirely sure he knew what Alex meant by that, and he was still pondering it in an awkward bout of silence when the door swung open. With it came a rush of booze-scented air and music loud enough to make Conny's ears bleed.

There was a small blond college girl standing in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes at them for a moment before her face lit up in recognition. "Alex?" she said, practically shouting over the cacophony going on behind her. "Alex Morganthau?"

Conny's eyebrow whipped up at his brother, who was smiling meekly. "Hey, Emily," said Alex. "I had no idea this was your house!"

"Oh, it's my parents'. They're gone for the week, though," she said, but there was no suspicion in her voice, only pleasant surprise. "I...don't remember inviting you, exactly."

Alex dispatched a quick lie, no hesitation or even the slightest of hitches in his breath. "Someone texted me the address. Said it would be wild and that I just couldn't miss it."

It was the right thing to say. Of course it was the right thing to say, thought Conny, because Alex had said it. "Fair enough!" said Emily, gesturing them inside. As she reached past Alex to shut the door, her eyes fell on Conny. "Is this your boyfriend?"

Despite himself, Conny flushed. "No. I'm his twin brother."

"Oh! Twins!" Emily exclaimed, and though he could tell she was trying to disguise it, her disbelief was obvious. Her gaze kept switching between Conny and Alex, likely searching for a resemblance that wasn't exactly visible to the outside eye. "So who's older?"