puzzled. “But … I have seen no evidence of toxic shock or anything even
like
that.
Yet
. It’s kind of odd. … I’ll keep an eye out andprepare some ephedrine.” The doctor stomped out, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
And now, to my doom.
As Chloe made her way upstairs, she played a mental game with herself, trying to decide what she would rather do than meet with Sergei. Pull a hangnail, definitely. Deal with a yeast infection, possibly. Clean her room, almost certainly. Work a midnight sale at Pateena’s, absolutely. Spend the afternoon at Aunt Isabel’s? Maybe. That was a close one.
Working at Pateena’s, much less working midnight sales, weren’t really an option anymore, though. Since the owner of the vintage clothing store had told Chloe to not bother coming back at all if she didn’t show up on that Wednesday weeks ago, Chloe had given up her job as a complete loss.
She tried to slip past the cheaply dressed receptionist who sat alone at her island of mahogany and dark wood in the middle of the lobby. The only thing keeping her company was a giant vase of expensive flowers.
“He’s waiting for you in his office,” she said without looking up. “Honored One”
Was there the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice?
Chloe sighed and slunk over to Sergei’s door and knocked. The door seemed to open of its own accord, and Olga let her in. Her dark eyes lit up a little when she saw Chloe—but she also looked worried.
“Chloe! Honored One! Come in!” She gave Chloe asqueeze on the shoulder, not quite a hug. Sergei’s right hand was a direct, uncomplicated, and genuine woman; Chloe was pretty sure she knew where she stood with her at all times.
Sergei stood up from behind his desk and gave Chloe a very proper, angular bow. It should have been amusing, considering how short and square he was, but with his heels together and his perfectly trimmed beard he gave the impression of a foreign dignitary. The door clicked shut behind her.
Well, here we go,
Chloe thought, sinking into a chair next to Olga.
If I really am the One, why don’t I feel like it?
“Chloe,” Sergei said, sitting back in his chair, “let me begin by saying how glad we are to see you again. We missed you while you were away.”
“While I was
home
” Chloe found herself correcting him. She wished she hadn’t. The Fine Art of Making Friends and Influencing People.,
not by Chloe King
.
“Yes, while you were home,” Sergei said easily, as if it wasn’t a concern. “So I take it you’re not back for the long haul, as it were?”
There it was.
Wheeeeeeeeee
plop! Like a lit firecracker half dud that lay unexploded between your feet.
Do you pick it up or run?
“I don’t know what my eventual plans are,” Chloe said carefully.
Jesus Christ, I’m a sixteen-year-old kid! I shouldn’t be having to make decisions about the rest of my life or speak so carefully—politically—to someone three timesmy age and ten times better at it! I should be dating, fighting with my mom, popping zits in front of the mirror
. “For now. I’m going to live with my mom.”
“You gave us a bit of a surprise at the Presidio, leaving with your friends like that,” the older man said, eyes flicking briefly to the ground and back up to her as if it were a painful memory. “It really …
hurt
me,” he added softly.
Chloe felt like vomiting. Right there and then. Was he the greatest actor in the world and
completely
evil—which she sort of preferred at this point—or just a man who had thought he’d found a daughter figure and whose heart had been broken?
“I—I’m sorry. I just …”
“It was difficult for you, we understand,” Olga said, reaching out to pat her hand. “All the violence must have been a shock.”
“But we were there for you, Chloe. You know that, right?” Sergei sort-of pleaded.
There
. A little tiny spark of anger.
Grab it, Chlo; follow it down to the source
. It was the only “power” she
like
that.
Yet
. It’s kind of odd. … I’ll keep an eye out andprepare some ephedrine.” The doctor stomped out, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
And now, to my doom.
As Chloe made her way upstairs, she played a mental game with herself, trying to decide what she would rather do than meet with Sergei. Pull a hangnail, definitely. Deal with a yeast infection, possibly. Clean her room, almost certainly. Work a midnight sale at Pateena’s, absolutely. Spend the afternoon at Aunt Isabel’s? Maybe. That was a close one.
Working at Pateena’s, much less working midnight sales, weren’t really an option anymore, though. Since the owner of the vintage clothing store had told Chloe to not bother coming back at all if she didn’t show up on that Wednesday weeks ago, Chloe had given up her job as a complete loss.
She tried to slip past the cheaply dressed receptionist who sat alone at her island of mahogany and dark wood in the middle of the lobby. The only thing keeping her company was a giant vase of expensive flowers.
“He’s waiting for you in his office,” she said without looking up. “Honored One”
Was there the slightest bit of sarcasm in her voice?
Chloe sighed and slunk over to Sergei’s door and knocked. The door seemed to open of its own accord, and Olga let her in. Her dark eyes lit up a little when she saw Chloe—but she also looked worried.
“Chloe! Honored One! Come in!” She gave Chloe asqueeze on the shoulder, not quite a hug. Sergei’s right hand was a direct, uncomplicated, and genuine woman; Chloe was pretty sure she knew where she stood with her at all times.
Sergei stood up from behind his desk and gave Chloe a very proper, angular bow. It should have been amusing, considering how short and square he was, but with his heels together and his perfectly trimmed beard he gave the impression of a foreign dignitary. The door clicked shut behind her.
Well, here we go,
Chloe thought, sinking into a chair next to Olga.
If I really am the One, why don’t I feel like it?
“Chloe,” Sergei said, sitting back in his chair, “let me begin by saying how glad we are to see you again. We missed you while you were away.”
“While I was
home
” Chloe found herself correcting him. She wished she hadn’t. The Fine Art of Making Friends and Influencing People.,
not by Chloe King
.
“Yes, while you were home,” Sergei said easily, as if it wasn’t a concern. “So I take it you’re not back for the long haul, as it were?”
There it was.
Wheeeeeeeeee
plop! Like a lit firecracker half dud that lay unexploded between your feet.
Do you pick it up or run?
“I don’t know what my eventual plans are,” Chloe said carefully.
Jesus Christ, I’m a sixteen-year-old kid! I shouldn’t be having to make decisions about the rest of my life or speak so carefully—politically—to someone three timesmy age and ten times better at it! I should be dating, fighting with my mom, popping zits in front of the mirror
. “For now. I’m going to live with my mom.”
“You gave us a bit of a surprise at the Presidio, leaving with your friends like that,” the older man said, eyes flicking briefly to the ground and back up to her as if it were a painful memory. “It really …
hurt
me,” he added softly.
Chloe felt like vomiting. Right there and then. Was he the greatest actor in the world and
completely
evil—which she sort of preferred at this point—or just a man who had thought he’d found a daughter figure and whose heart had been broken?
“I—I’m sorry. I just …”
“It was difficult for you, we understand,” Olga said, reaching out to pat her hand. “All the violence must have been a shock.”
“But we were there for you, Chloe. You know that, right?” Sergei sort-of pleaded.
There
. A little tiny spark of anger.
Grab it, Chlo; follow it down to the source
. It was the only “power” she
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