Page 9 of Magdalene Nox

Magdalene tried to shake the feeling of being undressed by all those eyes with every step she took. She must be really tired, since it had been over twenty years since anyone’s attention had bothered her or even managed to get to her in any way, shape, or form, and yet she felt assaulted by it.

She perched on the barstool in the farthest corner, away from the other patrons, and motioned for the bartender. They instantly complied with her silent demand and placed the liquor menu in her outstretched hand. Wine was absolutely not an option, short of her grabbing an entire bottle and going back to her hotel to drink it. If she was to remain in this cesspool, she’d need something much stronger.

Her phone rang, a withheld number yet again, just as jarring, even if she should have been used to it by now. She’d pick up, the caller would remain silent, and she’d hear a decidedly disgusting mouth-breathing at the other end of the line. Then she'd either curse the person out or simply hang up. But either way it seemed like no matter how she reacted, she would lose and give whomever had been terrorizing her for years exactly what they wanted.

This time, Magdalene swiped away the call, something she’d been doing more and more recently, and tried very hard to put it out of her mind despite the haunting sensation crawling up her spine.

It happened then. She’d tuned out the dirty stares and inappropriate leers. And yet, among the many still lingering on her skin, a certain heat teased her more than pricked. Like a gentle feather. Tentative, careful.

Behind the menu, Magdalene closed her eyes and focused on the sensation for a moment. In the sea of nobodies, among their irreverent and irrelevant glances, this set of eyes on her skin was electric.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze above the edge of the menu, and ran headlong into the darkness of those eyes. Fire, desire burned in them, but above everything, they held honesty.

The stranger looked at her with so much earnest sincerity, Magdalene couldn’t help but smile. And although her face was still mostly hidden, she knew the woman could tell, because the answering grin, slightly rusty, was just as open as that initial gaze had been.

The transformation was quite dazzling. Magdalene caught herself leisurely perusing the woman’s face, cataloging the features that seemed to be so surprised to be noticed, it was touching, really.

A thin face, framed by light-blonde, flyaway hair, pulled back into an honest-to-god braid–something that should appear provincial and gauche in the middle of Manhattan, yet managed to be charming instead. Refreshing.

The cutting cheekbones, stubborn jaw, and a mouth that looked like something Magdalene very much wanted to spend a considerable amount of time on, created an illusion of duality. Naiveté and danger.

Magdalene inwardly laughed at her own characterization of the girl. Because surely this twenty-something year-old was no threat to her at all. And on top of the honesty, the lack of pretense, and the openness of those immense gray pools, thiswasbut a girl. A girl who was motioning for the bartender, and within mere moments, a glass of whiskey appeared in front of Magdalene.

So perhaps she truly wasn’t quite gauche, because the hesitance of the gaze was coupled with total control over her gestures toward other people and the task at hand, and that gave Magdalene a little thrill.

Just enough of one to have her lift the glass and silently toast the girl–a gesture that seemed to suffice for the stranger to stand up, take several steps in her direction, and sit down on the stool next to hers.

Magdalene frowned. If she had expected to be asked permission, she’d been mistaken. Because what followed was not something she was accustomed to. Shewasaccustomed to people kowtowing to her, asking her, so the gesture—or lack thereof—took her slightly aback. Bold.

And yet, when the stranger spoke, she stumbled over the very first sentence, and that little hitch of breath, coupled with those chiseled high cheekbones catching fire, was so endearing amidst the boldness and bravado, it enchanted Magdalene instantly.

A beat, another, and they both reached for their drinks at the same time, their hands brushing. And if this were a romance novel, Magdalene would have been hard-pressed not to admit that she felt an electric current pass between them. As it stood, she decided that static electricity must be at fault for whatever jolt she’d felt. So she just lifted her tumbler again and smiled from behind it.

The woman—because upon closer inspection, Magdalene came to realize this was very much a woman and not the girl she’d believed her to be from across the room—was surprisingly silent, appearing to be content with the nearness and the shared intimacy of a drink.

And itfeltintimate. Magdalene had the somewhat fanciful sensation of being enshrouded in a cocoon of comfort and silence. She closed her eyes for a second to savor it along with the whiskey, the smoky taste lingering on her tongue.

When she re-opened them, their gray counterparts were hooded, focused yet not demanding. What a talent it was to give someone your full attention and make it warm instead of piercing.

When the stranger finally spoke, it was like a combination of punches.

“I feel I should apologize.” At Magdalene’s raised eyebrow, the corners of the unsmiling mouth lifted slightly. “I confess I sent you the drink because I was gawking. And that makes me no better than the rest of the people in this bar.”

A left hook in the form of a slightly tremulous low voice, and a right jab disguised as a very unexpected opening, that honesty again.

“Are you going to say that, unlike the rest of them, you strive for individuality? Hence the direct approach?”

The woman’s mouth stretched wider, revealing an even set of white teeth, before the tantalizing lower lip was sucked in and released again in slow motion.

“If I were to, as you put it, ‘strive for individuality,’ I’d have opened with poetry.”

Magdalene’s hand itched to tug on one of the flyaways framing the thin face. She told herself it was because she wanted to know what that burnished gold felt like on her skin and not because it would bring that face closer.

“Most definitely poetry. Something to state my interest, yet assure you that this is exactly what you want it to be.”

Bold. So very bold.

“And whatdoI want this to be?” It took all her training and all her willpower not to let her voice betray her need.

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