“Three weeks ago,” he said.
“For one of your reports?”
“It’s what I do,” he replied. He turned his head, and for a brief second the lights reflected on the planes of his face. “You haven’t missed much. The tricks haven’t improved, from what I can see. I’ve bought our tickets.”
“All right.” I looked at the dreary facade of the Gild Theatre, slick now with rain. “Let’s go see whether Ramona makes an appearance.”
The theater was small, the proscenium low, the chairs hard and crowded close together. There was no heat, and already my toes were cold and damp inside my high-heeled shoes. A small crowd trickled in alongside us: older women, draped in heavy fabrics and cheap, elaborate hats; young people, visibly drunk and rowdy; single men, most of them older than forty, wearing graying shirts under jackets worn at the elbows. One man slept softly in his chair, snoring; I was fairly certain he’d bought a ticket just to get out of the rain.
We took seats near the back, and I unbuttoned my coat despite the chill. James slid down in his seat and our knees touched. I leaned away from him and scanned the audience again, trying to catalog everyone in more detail under the watery electric light.
“Ellie.”
I turned to find James looking at me. He’d removed his hat, and under the light I could see that his jaw was tight, his eyes on me in an intense expression I couldn’t read.
“About yesterday,” he said.
I looked away again. “Stop,” I said, forcing the words out. “I cannot apologize enough for yesterday. It was inexcusable.” I blinked hard. “All I can say for myself is that I did not intend to be cruel.”
“You are not cruel,” he said softly after a long moment. “Look at me.”
I turned back again. There was pain on his face now, bleak and vicious. I did not have to touch him to know that he was thinking of that black forest, the trees, the cold, the screaming. Just as I was.
“I am going to tell you this once and once only. Do you understand?”
I nodded, mute.
“What you saw yesterday, I have never told to anyone. And I never will. What happened in those woods, what happened to Fenton—you’ve seen some of it now, so there’s no going back, but never ask me about it because I say now that I will never, ever tell you. Not ever. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” I said through numb lips. I watched him turn away from me, run a hand quickly through his dark blond hair, watched a drop of rain make its way down the lapel of his coat. “Do you remember the first time we met?” I asked, the words a surprise even to me as they came from my mouth.
He paused, then nodded. “The Stavros Club on Gerrard Street,” he said, but his expression calmed at the change of subject.
So he did remember. We had been drinking that night, Gloria and I. We’d been standing on the edge of the dance floor, mussed and a little sweaty, taking a breather while the orchestra members refreshed themselves at the bar. Gloria had bent to fix the buckle on her high heel, and when she went down I saw a man approaching us behind her, his hands in his coat pockets, striding fast through the crowd. His expression was angry and determined, but when he saw me—I was obviously a surprise—it changed. His gaze moved swiftly down me, taking everything in, sliding over my hips and my waist in a look so fiery I felt my skin flush hot under my clothes. When Gloria stood again he still stared at me, at my face and my mussed hair, my eyes. Finally he pulled his gaze from me and looked back to Gloria, getting angry again.
“Gloria,” he said, his voice rough. “Get out of here and go home.”
Gloria, laughing, had introduced him as James Hawley from the New Society, who was doing a top secret series of tests on her. Still not looking my way, James had reminded her that the stated tests were scheduled for eight o’clock the next morning, some seven hours away, and he’d appreciate it if his subject would sober up and get some rest. Gloria had told him to stop being a stick, and how had he found her, anyway?
I’d watched the entire exchange, speechless, my throat dry. I hadn’t imagined that look. My body still felt it. When Gloria finally introduced us, I’d only nodded blankly at James, tongue-tied. He nodded at me formally, his gaze under control now, but still I saw the flare in his eyes.
I was more than a little bit drunk and the room was spinning and the air was close, but James Hawley, with his blond hair and dark-lashed eyes and boxer’s shoulders, had hit me like a blow. He was the opposite of all of Gloria’s other male acquaintances, who were foppish and theatrical in comparison. When he’d told Gloria he was going to order us a taxi and we’d damned well better get in it, he gave me another glance, then disappeared into the crowd again. Gloria turned to me.
“He isn’t always like that,” she said. “He’s just being beastly at the moment. He can be rather nice.”
“Oh,” I said.
And suddenly Gloria was looking at me through the haze of all the gin she’d imbibed, her eyes narrowing. “Ellie, darling, you like him.”
“I didn’t even talk to him,” I said in a tone I thought was reasonable, my face going hot again.
“He’s good-looking enough. I’ll give you that,” Gloria said as if I hadn’t spoken. “He looks rather stunning when he takes his jacket off. But he’s a difficult one. Moody and a little obsessive, like a tangle of thorns. He’d probably be good for you, come to think of it. He disapproves of drinking entirely.”
“Oh,” I’d said stupidly again, thinking that he must have noticed I was drunk.
Gloria glanced at my face, then away again with an affected shrug. “To each her own, but he isn’t my type.”
“What is your type?” I asked.