The Dark Fable, page 1
This book is dedicated to you, my readers
We are La Fable Sombre, the Dark Fable.
We are spirits of revolution and revenge.
We are the thorn in your side, the bitter in your cup.
We are the ink spilled over the stories of tyrants.
Beginning
It’s not a memory anymore. It might be a nightmare. Because how could it be real?
I am eight years old. I’m standing in my room streaked with rain shadows, listening to my dad arguing with my mom. Thunder crashes.
I peer through the half-open door. I see the monster. I see the bones twisting in a crown from its head, its white skin scarred with symbols that make me want to cry, to hide. Only its eyes are beautiful, a burning blue. When it comes to kill me, it wears my dad’s face.
It doesn’t take me. I don’t let it. (It isn’t my dad.)
It moves toward my little brother and sister instead. (It isn’t my dad.)
I can’t protect them. I can’t save them.
I’ve been living with that nightmare ever since.
PART I
Amusement et Jeux
CHAPTER ONE
Initiation
Evie’s favorite color was black. Black was as comforting as shadows, as night, and, like an ink spill or a fall of darkness, it changed the rules. It was the color of magic and elegance. Of alchemical transformation. Of the mysterious spaces in the universe before stars or stories were born.
Gazing at her galaxy of black clothes, she reached into her closet for her uniform. She slid the white dress and the pinafore on over her slip; the catering company preferred their employees to look as though they’d stepped out of a silent film. She glimpsed her pale face in a darkened mirror. The bruises beneath her eyes were tragic.
Shrugging into a jacket, she hurried from the attic of the apartment building in which she’d been illegally squatting for over a year. It was raining, but the Plaza La Mer, the hotel where she was working tonight, wasn’t far, so she ran through the neighborhood, past pawnshops and raggedy palm trees.
The hotel—ebony and chartreuse, all Art Nouveau decadence—stood at the end of the boardwalk. She pushed through the employee entrance. As she wound through the kitchen dense with the aromas of salty preserved meats and ancient cheeses, she spotted her supervisor, Tyrone, a lanky figure in white, wrapping an apron around his waist. He was eighteen like her, majoring in physics, and holding down two part-time jobs.
“Evie. You’re late.” Tyrone pointed to the trays scattered with appetizers. “We can’t let these rich folks wait.” Lifting two platters to shoulder height, he glided past her, the light gleaming pink on his black braids. “Good luck.” He pushed through the doors, into the party, a gala for the Silver Cove Museum, where the California elite pretended to care about art, fossils, and dead civilizations.
Evie swept the snaky tendrils of her short, dark hair into a clip and lifted the appetizer platter, the antique rings she wore on each finger clinking against the silver. She followed two other servers into the huge ballroom gleaming with satin cocktail dresses and silk ties. She offered appetizers to people who didn’t even look at her. One woman, arms banded with gold bracelets, flicked her fingers, shooing Evie away.
Another woman straight out of French Vogue stepped onto the dais. She wore a jet-black sheath dress, her golden hair coiled. A gorgeous necklace snaked across her cleavage, all gold and black opals studded with sapphires—a cobra, its head resting above her heart. She began to speak, her words revealing a faint accent. “Welcome, all of you. I am Lila Pearce. My husband loved the museum we are here to support. Thank you for coming, and for your generosity. Our first piece for auction is the Queen Cobra.” She touched her necklace. “Once worn by the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra, and donated anonymously . . .”
Evie turned and collided with someone. Pink champagne splashed over her pinafore.
She met the amused gaze of a young white guy in a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark brown hair swept up like a 1960s idol’s. His silvery eyes looked her up and down. He set his empty glass on the tray without a word to her and continued walking.
As Evie stood there, fuming, champagne dripping from her skirt, she imagined chucking a wine bottle at the back of his head. Her temper was a problem—last month, a man had flung a hundred-dollar bill to her as a tip, and she’d ripped it to pieces in front of him. She’d spent an hour taping it back together later that night and cursing herself for her careless anger.
She made her way to Tyrone, who was leaning against a wall, arms folded as he supervised.
“Hey, boss.” She set down the empty platter.
“Look at these people. You can see the old money, over there. Near the window, those are the self-made bastards. The ones circulating barely got in and are trying to make nice with the popular kids. And the people not mingling, but just observing? They’re trying to figure out who’s going to be the most useful. Social engineering is like chaos theory. You can control something if you figure out its patterns. I’m figuring out which ones’ll tip.”
“And her?” Evie nodded to the blonde woman wearing the snake necklace. She was speaking to a man with a silver beard. They stood out, all stylish arrogance, in the mosaic of Rolexes and old pearls.
“Lila Pearce. She owns a lot of resorts around the world. This is her shindig.”
“I hate everyone here, Ty. It’s my break time.”
“Enjoy it. Please come back.”
Evie began to work back through the party as a brunette in a white gown and a fancy rabbit mask produced several small spheres of pink paper and tossed them into the air. The pink paper unraveled, and glitter shimmered down. Another person, in an expensive suit and tiger mask, tossed other paper spheres into the air. More glitter misted over the crowd. People laughed in surprise. There was a delicate round of applause.
Evie narrowly evaded the shower of glitter as she headed for the powder room. Inside, she dabbed at the champagne stain with paper towels and heaved in a breath. She wanted to scream. She always wanted to scream.
A girl in a silver cocktail dress and a cropped jacket of pink feathers entered. Her blonde hair, streaked with pink, glittered with diamond pins. As she began applying lip gloss in front of the mirror, she slid her black-rimmed gaze to Evie and said, “What big eyes you have.”
“Thanks?” Evie thought the other girl had eyes like a wolf.
The girl snapped the lip gloss shut. She turned and leaned against the counter, flicked a glance over Evie’s uniform. “You look like Little Bo-Peep in that getup.” She leaned close, confidential, her wolf eyes sly. “I can see you’re having a rough time.”
“I’m kind of working, so yeah.”
“I’m sorry. No one deserves that.”
Evie stared at her. “Deserves what?”
“Indentured servitude.” The girl tilted her head. “I’m Mad.”
That was her name, Evie realized. “Evie.” She wondered why a rich girl was bothering to speak to her. She wanted to retort that she actually liked this job.
“Here.” The girl—Mad—slipped off the little jacket. “Take it. It’ll cover that stain.”
Evie reluctantly accepted the jacket. The designer on the label made her eyes widen. “You sure—”
“I’ve got lots. So, you do anything besides this?”
The girl must be bored. “I’ve got two other jobs.” Evie suddenly felt ashamed. She shrugged. “I paint.”
“You do?” Mad’s uninterested expression faded into delight. “Do you know your art stuff? Go to school for it?”
Evie’s throat tightened. “No school.” Fiercely, she added, “But I do know my art stuff.”
“That’s perfect. The Pre-Raphaelites and the Surrealists are my favorites. There are some amazing films the Surrealists created.” Mad checked a fancy watch on her wrist. She looked up. “Want me to smuggle you in a fancy drink and some goose liver pâté?”
“No, thank you.” Evie laughed. In this baroque powder room, she didn’t feel like the clockwork creature she became at most of her jobs. She checked her tousled hair in the mirror, her smudgy eyeliner. “I’d better get back.”
“Suit yourself, pretty elf.” The wolf-eyed girl glided from the powder room. She paused in the doorway and said, without looking back, “Tall, Dark, and Handsome is going to wonder where his wallet went. I hope you took the cash and ditched the crocodile skin.” The door swung shut behind her.
Evie went still. She had ditched the wallet she’d lifted from the gorgeous jerk who’d spilled the champagne over her. The bills were tucked into her bra.
A text pinged on her phone: Ready for fun?
She squinted at the unknown number.
“Wrong number, weirdo.” She set the phone on the counter and stared into the mirror. The thought of returning to that pack of entitled effers made her stomach clench.
She slipped back into the kitchen. It was empty. Where was everyone? She stepped into the catering area and lifted a platter. As she moved down the corridor, she heard a ruckus beyond the swinging doors to the ballroom. She slipped through.
And halted.
Mayhem had erupted among the guests. One tuxedoed man punched another, while two women in gowns crashed against a table of desserts. Spilled champagne glistened like rosy blood on the white marble. It was as if old grudges had risen like an evil spell, the fancy clothes and civilized conversation forgotten. Evie ducked a thrown bottle, a swinging arm. Across the room, two girls in masks—the rabbit and an o
The gorgeous young man who’d spilled champagne on Evie earlier leaned against a sarcophagus on the dais, pouring himself a glass of bubbly as security cut through the crowds.
Evie stepped back, avoiding a flying cake. She watched the melee with a sort of horrified hilarity, flinching as one of her fellow servers clobbered a shouting man with a silver tray.
The gorgeous guy near the sarcophagus straightened, set aside his glass, and pulled a metal dragon mask down over his face. He moved to Lila Pearce, who was yelling at everyone, and discreetly unhooked the Cobra necklace from around her throat. His gaze sought someone behind Evie. She glanced over her shoulder, saw the brown-skinned man in the tiger mask raise one arm.
The unknown number pinged on Evie’s phone again. She glanced swiftly at the text: Success=Ur the best. Fail=U go to jail.
Dragon Mask tossed the necklace to Evie.
Evie, unthinkingly, instinctively, reached out and caught the necklace. It was heavier than she expected.
Lila Pearce shrieked, “The necklace!”
The four masked people had vanished into the fray.
Two fierce-looking young men in suits—security—pushed toward Evie through the mayhem. Evie panicked. She knew people like Lila Pearce—entitled, impatient folk who wouldn’t believe someone like Evie, who didn’t have the cleanest record anyway. She wondered how many years one could get for grand larceny. She thought, Don’t see me. Don’t see me.
Darkness ribboned around her like eels, as if an eclipse had come and hung over only her. She could see everyone around her, in monochrome, all color gone. She could hear sounds, but they were muted. And she was suddenly so cold . . . As the veils of shadow ebbed, she heard whispering she couldn’t understand. She stood in an uncanny stillness, as if she’d stepped out of the world. What was happening? Was she having a panic attack? A stroke?
The two militant young men stalked past her without a glance—and she still clutched the Cobra necklace.
The shadows and cold slid away from her like a caul. The noise returned full blast, in a dizzying wave.
She jammed the necklace into a pocket and ran. Avoiding a pair of men grappling with one another, she clambered onto a table, picking her way through pyramids of shrimp cocktails and towers of little cakes. She jumped down and dashed into the hall.
And collided with someone, a young Asian guy, his suit bespoke, his spiky hair blue, his smile vicious. “You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.”
She stepped back, instinctively knowing this stranger wasn’t security. He grabbed her arm. She twisted free—
The shadows coiled around her again—it was as if she were slipping deeper into a world beneath the skin of this one. Veiled in that cold and whispering darkness, bewildered, Evie fled.
In another hall, she slid behind a pillar, fighting to catch her breath, which misted in the freezing air. Opposite her was a mirrored wall.
She did not see herself in it. She stepped forward, raised one hand—
The blue-haired stranger appeared, slinking down the hall. Evie ducked back behind the pillar.
“I know you’re here,” he called. “I know you’re here.” He prowled closer. He said, “I get it. You’re new. I’ll walk you out of here before security gets you. I’ll keep you safe. And that’s something, ’cause people are usually running away from me—”
She broke from the pillar and raced down the hall. She heard a girl shout, “Knife, what are you doing?”
“Looking for that girl . . . ,” Knife replied.
Evie bashed through the kitchen doors and crouched behind a counter. She reached for her phone, groaned, and pressed her brow against her updrawn knees. She’d dropped it somewhere.
When she heard a door open, her head jerked up. Tyrone sauntered in, wrapping his apron back around his hips. She snapped up, grabbed him, and dragged him down behind the counter. “Where were you?”
His eyes widened. “In my car, studying. What is all that noise—”
She lifted a finger to his lips. She rose, saw the outside doors sweep open to admit three figures in masks—the dragon, the owl, and the tiger. The girl in the owl mask looked directly at Evie.
Evie crouched back behind the counter. She whispered, “I think we’re being robbed.”
“We need weapons,” Tyrone whispered back, frantically reaching for the knife drawer.
Evie smacked his hand away. “We’re not knife people.” She indicated the nearest cabinet. “Hide.”
They crammed themselves into the cabinet. As Evie closed the door and darkness folded over them, she heard a male voice speak in a Liverpool singsong. “How do we find her if we can’t see her?”
The second male’s voice was deep and velvety. “We don’t need to find her yet. Just make sure Nara crew doesn’t get her.”
“This rivalry with Nara and Fenrir. It really needs to stop.” The male with the Liverpool accent sounded irritated.
“Silence and Night say it keeps us on our toes.” The girl’s voice—Evie recognized it. Mad. The blonde girl whose jacket she wore.
“The Deer and the Wolves’ll never beat us.” Liverpool’s voice was so close. “We cheat.”
The cabinet doors flew open. Evie grabbed Tyrone’s hand as the thief in the tiger mask peered in. Her skin iced. There was a weird buzzing in her ears. Her scalp prickled. Her vision blurred and a coppery taste filled her mouth.
The thief’s gaze passed over them. Evie held her breath until he withdrew and shut the cabinet doors. “Nothing here.”
She felt Tyrone’s hand in hers tighten. She waited, her stomach churning, for the cruel punchline. Surely, the crook was just playing games. Any moment, the doors would open and they’d be dragged out . . .
The voices faded as the trio left.
Evie, opposite Tyrone, saw the gleam of his eyes in the dark. She didn’t know how long they waited, scarcely breathing, wondering if they were going to die.
Then she heard the sirens, faint at first, growing closer. She breathed out. Tyrone finally exhaled.
They pushed open the cabinet doors. Blue and red lights swirled on the ceiling from the parking lot. The police had arrived.
Evie’s encounter with the Silver Cove Police Department was a blur of procedure and authority, two things Evie passionately disliked. But she had become a master of evasion. When asked about her parents, she replied, “They’re dead.” The female officer interviewing her seemed startled, then genuinely sympathetic, which only irritated Evie further.
“What happened?” Evie needed to know exactly what had transpired tonight. “Everyone went wild.”
The officer glanced around at the police swarming the kitchen. Tyrone sat at the opposite end speaking with another cop. “Something in the champagne, they think. Won’t be identified until the evidence goes through forensics.”
No. It wasn’t the champagne. Evie remembered the dark-haired girl in red tossing paper balls into the air, the glitter that had fallen. Her breath shook. The blonde girl—Mad—had distracted Evie while the pandemonium unfolded. It was an unnerving realization.
There had been four of them. And, for some reason, they had selected Evie. Even before the necklace was tossed right at her. And the strange texts on her phone . . . they had targeted her, made her an accessory.
The idea was terrifying. Like playing with a Ouija board for fun, then realizing one had actually summoned something hella dangerous.
Evie clutched at her seat with both hands as the officer sauntered away to speak with another colleague. Evie was still wondering why people hadn’t been able to see her. It had been bothering her for hours. She couldn’t figure out what had happened. How those security guards and then Knife and Tiger Mask had failed to see her. And that moment of terror when her reflection had been missing in the mirror . . . From childhood, she’d had a tricky relationship with mirrors . . . and with the shadow girl she sometimes glimpsed behind her while brushing her hair or her teeth. An imaginary friend that had faded as she’d grown older.
But . . . tonight . . . had it been the necklace? Had the Queen Cobra affected her in some way?
She hadn’t become invisible.
Had she?
She spotted a young man speaking with the officer who had questioned her. The officer pointed to Evie, who frowned as the stranger walked toward her. His cashmere coat and shoes looked expensive. He moved with athletic grace and there was a formidable intelligence in his dark eyes. His name badge, on a lanyard, read “Jason Ra.”
