How would Luca have known about that, though? Any of it? The thought of them comparing notes, trading them like cards, was not hard to imagine, although the idea of it left her feeling sick. The family that slays together, she thought, gasping. Oh God.

  Maybe he’s alive.

  The thought came to her unbidden, zapping her with familiar dread.

  She had that thought so many times, over and over. Every time she saw a gray-eyed man who looked at her a bit too closely. Every time something horrible and inexplicable happened. Every time she had one of those dreams that left her breathless and made her feel hunted as she touched herself in the dark.

  But no, she had killed him. She must have killed him. Because if she somehow hadn’t, the consequences would have been severe. For her betrayal at the pool, he had organized a sick game of psychological torment. She could still remember the look of anger in his eyes, the one that burned too hotly to be mere violence.

  If he were alive…

  She picked up the chess pieces, weighing them in her hand. They were cheap plastic, the kind you could get in any children’s set. Gavin’s had been much nicer,

  No nail this time, though, she thought, running her thumb along the black pawn’s short stem. Her mouth tightened, which elicited another dull ache.

  Someone—Luca—was trying to fuck with her.

  No scary notes this time? She closed her fist around the pieces, clenching until it hurt. I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder if you want to beat the grandmaster. Not knowing what to do with them, she dumped them into the pocket of her coat. Fuck you, Luca.

  But then, she already had.

  Val’s face darkened. She folded her arms, looking around the grimy bathroom. The trashcan was empty. There were no traces. It was like Luca was never even there.

  I wonder…

  Slowly, as if in a fugue, Val walked to the shower and turned the water on, cranking the faucet until it was hot and the metal burned her hand. She let it gush until steam filled the bathroom in thick, billowing clouds.

  The mirror fogged, becoming opaque. Except for where a finger had traced a single word in jagged, angry letters.

  Checkmate.

  Val shut off the tap and stared at the letters. Stared until they grew blurry before her eyes and drops of water began to bleed from them in running rivulets down the glass.

  Then she fell to the toilet and vomited until all she could taste was acid.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Citing a stolen phone—it was easier than explaining hers didn’t have internet—Val asked the front desk assistant for directions. It was the same man as the night before, the one who’d watched her enter with Luca. In a voice stiff with disapproval, he told her that they were in North Beach. Miles from where she lived.

  “Thanks,” Val said flatly, letting her misery pour through the word. The walk had felt like hours because it had been hours, and now another one awaited her.

  Sick to her stomach, legs aching, Val trudged up the hilly roads with her coat wrapped tightly around her. Soon she was covered in a light, misty sweat and panting. Each breath brought with it the sour taste of bile. Checkmate, she thought.

  Even though she was over budget for the month, Val boarded one of the Muni trains. Across the aisle, an old woman wrapped in a flannel blanket stared at her suspiciously as she paid the toll. Val turned the full force of her tired, furious gaze on the woman until she looked away. That’s right. Look away.

  She settled herself near the back of the bus. It smelled, but only a little. It looks like it’s going to rain, she thought, turning back to look out the smeary windows. But then, it always looks like it’s going to rain here. The clouds might burn off by the afternoon, but they always came back, like clockwork, carried in by the tide.

  Val got off at the Mission stop closest to her house. It was the one just down the street from Noisebridge. She thought several passengers might have actually turned their heads to watch her leave. Seeing that slow pivot of their necks, like birds of prey, creeped her out. She raced off the bus and didn’t breathe again until it pulled away with a high-pitched squeal as the metal poles on the roof knocked against the electric cables overhead.

  She began walking to her apartment. The tall palm trees bowed against the wind, leaves blowing down the street with a sound like hollow bones. Where did the leaves come from? There were no trees. She shivered, and it seemed like the chess pieces in her pocket grew heavier, as if they each weighed five pounds apiece.

  She slid her hand into her pocket to touch them, knocking the king and the pawn together with small clicks. She was fidgeting more than one of those meth addicts clustered around the station but couldn’t seem to stop herself. The pieces were cool, real. Around her tattooed wrist, several of the bracelets were missing. Picked until they snapped? Sometimes she found traces of the plastic beneath her nails, although they were clean now.

  I should throw them out, she thought, knowing that she probably wouldn’t. She hoped the bracelets hadn’t fallen off in that cheap motel. The idea of leaving part of herself behind in that place was alarming. She tugged them in place and a pink one snapped.

  Val let it fall to the ground, where it rolled into the gutter. She was just outside her apartment now. With a low sigh of relief, she dug into her purse and had yet another surprise. Her key to the apartment, like the bracelets, was missing, too.

  No! She thought, disbelieving. Where is it? She rifled through her purse, hoping for that familiar glint, but it was a small bag. Did I drop it? She wondered, thinking in despair of that long, grueling walk. But no, she would have heard the jangle of it, surely.

  Actually—she couldn’t even remember putting the key in her bag in the first place. She’d been on her third glass of wine when she went out with Jackie and Meredith. After a fourth, plus whatever Luca had put in her water, she hardly remembered anything.

  Maybe it’s still in my room. Oh God, I hope it’s still in my room.

  Because the other alternative—that she had dropped it, or that someone had taken it—was too horrific to even think about right now.

  Val pulled out her phone with a shaking hand and texted both her roommates. Can one of you let me in? Forgot to bring key.

  She waited there, shaking in the cold, for about five minutes. Then Val heard the door open and Jackie walked down the stairs to the gate dressed in sweatpants and an old graphic tee. Her eyes flew open in surprise when she glimpsed Val.

  “What happened to you?”

  Oh, right. She looked like shit. “Nothing,” Val mumbled, covering her mouth with her hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  But Jackie was clearly worried about it. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Jackie bit her lip, pale and unconvinced. She said nothing else as Val followed her back to their apartment. It was almost warm inside. Meredith was at the stove, cooking, and the smell of cooking meat and spices filled the entire room.

  “Hey, babe,” Meredith said, “Did Bunny get ba—oh my God. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Val gritted her teeth, a wave of hot and irrational anger coursing through her. For months, the two of them had been content to ignore her. Now this? “I’m fine,” she added. “It’s nothing.” And then, defensively: “Leave me alone.”

  “That,” Meredith said, “does not look like nothing.”

  “I thought you said you were leaving with a guy you knew,” said Jackie. “Did he do that to you?”

  That hit a little too close to the truth and maybe Meredith saw that from the look on Val’s face, because something in her own hardened. “You need to call the police.”

  “And tell them what?” Val snapped. “That I got fucked a little too hard? That it was too much for me and made me cry?”

  Jackie blinked rapidly. “What?”

  “I asked for this.” Val grabbed herself by the chin. “I like it rough.”

  Meredith shook her head. “Wait,” she said, “let me get this straight—”

  “I want people to hurt me when they fuck me,” Val said, with enough savagery to make even Meredith blink. “Thanks a lot for your concern but spare me the interrogation, If you really cared about me, you should have said something last night when it mattered.”

  “Excuse me?” Meredith said coldly. “What’s that supposed to mean, Bunny?”

  “You were eager to see me gone.” She felt tears in her eyes. “I get it. I was the third wheel on your little date. I wasn’t wanted. But you—neither of you—told me to call you when I got home or asked me for his name.” Val sucked in a breath. “And why? Because you didn’t really care. So please, spare me your concern—if that’s what this even is.”

  “If you said you knew him, why would we doubt you?” Jackie looked close to tears herself. “You seemed perfectly willing to go with him.”

  Because it’s the people who know you who can hurt you the most.

  “Jackie, don’t,” Meredith said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “No,” Val said, sounding a little wild. “It’s mine. I asked for it.”

  “That isn’t what she meant,” Jackie said. “That isn’t what either of us meant. We were really worried!”

  Meredith took Jackie’s hand and gave it a squeeze. To Val, she said, “What is wrong with you? You’ve been acting really weird lately. If we knew you were like this—”

  You never would have let me move in? Val mentally finished the other woman’s words, a bitterness rising up in her that coated the back of her throat like cyanide. But you don’t know me, she wanted to say. You don’t know what I’m like.

  Maybe I’m always like this.

  Maybe this is who I am.

  Swallowing the words back along with the saliva rushing to fill her mouth, Val got herself a glass of water from the sink and turned her face away to drink it. She was proud of herself; her hand didn’t shake, although the tears in her eyes were beginning to spill over. “I’m going to my room now,” she said, in a barely contained voice. “Please let me know if you find my key.”

  She could feel her roommates staring at her as she closed her bedroom door.

  Val set the water by her futon and shed her clothes, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She changed into her pajamas and collapsed on the futon, regretting it as soon as her sore body protested. As she stared at her blank, peeling walls, she heard Jackie and Meredith talking in low, concerned voices. A hum, rising and falling in pitch. None of it was intelligible but she knew they were talking about her.

  She closed her eyes, letting everything fade away but the dreams. Tangled in the depths of her conscious like seaweed were memories, half-recalled. Whenever her guard was down, they surfaced, tearing into her like a shark scenting blood. She could smell sandalwood and roses; she thought that she could even hear his laugh.

  Checkmate.

  Chapter Ten

  Diamond

  Val stirred awake, the scent of roses a fading memory that receded like the tide. Her lip throbbed and she touched it, still half-asleep, a frown on her face. What—

  And then she remembered.

  She always did.

  Her eyes shot open, green and bloodshot, and she sucked in a raw-sounding breath as she searched her room wildly, scanning the shadows. She was in bed. Safe in bed. There was her coat, crumpled on the floor. On the desk, her laptop and a collection of dirtied cups and dishes. To her right, the stacks of books and journals.

  Safe, she whispered to herself. You’re safe.

  Nothing was out of place beyond the ordinary clutter. And yet—and yet …

  She could have sworn that she wasn’t alone. Her skin was prickling, picking up on sensations only half-grasped, even though she wasn’t cold. Not wrapped in her robe and comforter. She rubbed at her arms and shivered at the drag of fabric on sensitized skin. When she wet her lips, she could taste the copper of her own blood.

  Dirty pennies. The taste made her remember another time, another room…

  Val rose from her bed, twitching as if she could shake off her memories like dirty water. The apartment was silent. Though she listened carefully, she couldn’t hear a sound. Meredith and Jackie must be out. Good, she didn’t want to face them.

  The sink was filled with breakfast dishes and on the card table was her room key along with a curt note. Found this on your shelf in the fridge, it said. Talk later.

  Talk later! Who did Meredith think she was? It sounded like something her mother would write. Accusations wrapped in courtesy and tied with polite-sounding ribbon.

  Talk to you never, she thought pettishly, snatching at the key. She left the note. An accusation of her own. I didn’t lose it, then. Only misplaced it.

  Thank goodness for that. She hadn’t wanted to tell her roommates and see them fuss about getting the locks changed. They’d pretend to be nice, but they’d blame her for that, too. Poor, dysfunctional Val. She sighed angrily.

  The fridge, though? Really?

  Now her roommates would think her crazy, as well as dysfunctional. She knew she didn’t put her key in the fridge. She would have remembered doing something like that.

  But she had, and it didn’t look good when paired with last night’s blow-up. If they didn’t think she was crazy, they would definitely think she was chemically unbalanced. Too many drugs—or maybe, in her case, not enough. She had tried antidepressants before but they had made her gain weight and only added to her gloom. Against her psychiatrist’s advice, she had stopped taking them, and had never gone back to anything else.

  Maybe I should. She stared at the wine bottle, which had been left untouched on the end table next to the couch like another accusation. It was almost completely empty. I’ll add that to the list.

  She’d slept in. The oven clock said it was much later than she’d thought it was. The throbbing headache behind her eyes bespoke a state of dehydration. It felt like someone was taking hot needles and slowly sticking them into her forehead to slow-cook her brain.

  When this is over, I’ll see someone, she decided. Maybe I’ll even see that psychiatrist.

  She shook her head at herself as she heated hot water in the microwave for tea. Who was she kidding? She didn’t trust anyone enough to reveal her secrets. She’d tried before, in bits and scraps—no one she’d tried to confide in had been equipped to handle her. Most days she hardly felt equipped to handle herself. She had more baggage than an airport.

  She took the key with her into the bathroom and took a hot shower. Bracing against the wall under the onslaught of hot water, she raised her face to the spray so it washed the leftover makeup from last night from her face. Her eyes began to sting and she thought maybe she was crying, but it could have been the eyeliner sluicing into her eyes.

  Am I losing my mind?

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Once means yes, twice means no.

  She dressed, wondering if it was Jackie, who was also known to forget her key. Or a well-meaning neighbor, wanting to sell essential oils or Tupperware.

  “Just a minute.” She looked helplessly at the microwave, which she had forgotten about. The water was starting to boil over. Shit. She pressed stop and left the door open so the whole mess could cool before marching over to the front door and yanking it open. “Look, whatever it is, we don’t want—you—”

  “Me,” Luca agreed, folding his arms over his chest. He was wearing a cable knit sweater beneath the leather jacket, hair tousled from the wind. “Hello again, Valerian.”

  She backed up, which was a mistake because he stepped over the threshold and let himself into her apartment. She flinched when the door slammed shut. “Well, well,” he said, looking at her. “Aren’t you the skittish one.”

  His dark eyes flicked around the room, taking in everything—the dishes, the open microwave, the steam coming from the bathroom, the silence—before he turned back to face her. “Jumpy, too,” he said. “Is that why you go by Bunny now?”

  I didn’t tell him that. “How did you find me?”

  “I told you I’d been watching you. You’re a creature of habit. Work and then home every day, with very little deviation. You’re so predictable.”

  He must be staying somewhere nearby. Of course. He wouldn’t have brought her to the place where he was really staying, just in case she really did contact the police. The spider only invited the fly to his lair when he was ready to kill.

  The huntsman. Was it referring to the spider, or the cloaked and menacing figure from a fairytale? Either way, it was an apt nickname. He was a beautiful killer, just like his brother. Maybe more like his brother than she’d expected. That display he’d left for her… how much had Gavin told him? How much did he know?

  Movement in the corner of her eye made her look at him. Luca was taking off his jacket, draping it over his arm like he was settling in for a stay. “What are you doing?” she asked in alarm. “You can’t stay here. My roommates will be back soon!”

  “Is that a fact?” His eyes flicked over her in appraisal, making her instantly conscious of how little she was wearing. “Which room’s yours, Valerian? That one? Oh no,” he said, when she tried to race past him, and her back collided with his chest as his arm locked around her front. “There will be none of that.”

  Ignoring her protests, he walked her to her room. She made a sound when he picked up her cell phone from the nightstand and pocketed it. “Better safe than sorry,” he said mildly, dropping onto her futon and looking around. “Just because you didn’t call the police before doesn’t mean you won’t—although it is curious.”

  Val wasted no time in backing from him as he looked around her room. “Your sense of décor is rather lacking,” he said. “It’s rather miserable in here.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I’m surprised,” he told her. “Surprised and disappointed. Gavin was an aesthete. I would have assumed that any woman he chose would feel the same.”

 

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