Page 20 of Black Castle

A thread of unease pulls tight in his gut. What exactly did the two of them talk about?

“You don’t remember, do you?” she asks, her head tilted as she watches him closely.

He studies her too, wondering how to answer that. He can lie. Or he can tell the truth.

“I don’t,” he admits, his voice even.

A flicker of something passes over her eyes. Unlike Zev, he isn’t very good at interpreting someone’s emotion. So he can’t tell if that thing in her eyes is disappointment. Maybe she is disappointed that he doesn’t remember her?

“Oh.” That’s all she utters.

A beat of silence stretches between them. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, her smile returning.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t a long interaction. You were sitting at the back. I walked up to you to ask if you had seen a book at your table when you arrived.”

Lucan’s mind works through the information.

A book. That was how it started. Zev had met her over a book.

Lucan hates that he isn’t the one to remember it. Hates that Zev has a memory of her and he doesn’t.

The feeling is strange. Foreign. Unsettling.

She shifts on her bench, as if her mind is sorting through something. Then she suddenly digs her hand through the peach cotton bag lying next to her on the bench. Her hand returns with her cell phone. A really unusual kind of Samsung.

Lucan can’t remember the last time he used a Samsung product. He basically sleeps on Apple’s website now, waiting for them to drop a new model of iPhone. He is sure he is always one of the first batch of people to grab a piece whenever a new one comes out. He just loves electronic devices. Especially Apple ones.

“Give me your phone?” she says, her hand thrusted in front of her.

His brow lifts. “Sorry?”

“I’ll save my number.” Her smile is easy, unguarded. “In case you ever feel like talking about books, especially Donna Copeland’s. Or, you know, panicking in crowded places.”

Then she chuckles.

For some reason, Lucan doesn’t argue, and doesn’t wonder if this is strange. He has never exchanged numbers with strangers before, unless it involved business. But somehow, he reaches into his pocket and brings out his phone, the metallic device cold against his palm. This version came out two days ago.

He hands her the phone. And in less than a minute, she enters her number and dials it. It rings. Her ringtone is a song in a foreign language. It isn’t Chinese, not Japanese. Maybe Korean? Her cotton bag has a picture of a Korean man. Maybe he is from a boy band. Maybe she likes the boy. He frowns at that thought, a thought that suddenly develops a flavor—a revolting, bitter taste on his tongue.

When she hands his phone back to him, there is a new contact on it. Vivienne, with a black heart emoji placed next to it.

He likes it.

A loud horn blares nearby just as he pockets his phone. Her eyes dart behind him, and a smile perfects itself on her lips.

“Well,” she breathes, throwing her tablet and her cell phone into her bag. She rises to her feet, swinging the bag over her shoulder. “See you around, Snow white.”

Snow white.

See you around.

He shouldn’t care for those words. But watching her get into the waiting Range Rover, a cascade of blonde hair glimpsing from the driver’s seat, he reflects on their conversation. See you around. He doesn’t know if that boy is really her friend or maybe something more.

But he wants to see her again.

And maybe again.

And again.

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