He stroked the plus of her tattoo.

  “Once he decided you were his, you never had a chance. Even if you hadn’t fallen for his act, he would have had you anyway. You were just a sweet little fly caught in his web.”

  Val tugged free. “Why are you so obsessed with him? Did you want to fuck him, too?”

  “I looked up to him. But fuck him? No. None of us were really his type—except, perhaps, for Celeste. Dorian’s twin,” he elaborated carelessly. “Who you’ve met. She’s very pretty but soft… and a little slow. Gavin didn’t like them slow.”

  “Your whole family is fucked.”

  “Please. You made your bed with a killer in it. And not only that, you lit the match and then stood back to let him detonate. Do you think Gavin would have done what he did, if it weren’t for you?” Luca’s voice hardened. “It was all for you, Valerian.”

  “I didn’t want it,” Val said, choking on the words. “I didn’t ask for him to do any of it. He was the first boy I ever liked and he—” Not in front of Luca. “I would have gone with him,” she concluded. “Willingly. But he wanted to take me by force.”

  “Yes,” said Luca. “And that was the point. You just had to stand there with your big, wounded eyes and deny him. He never could resist a challenge, especially if it meant something he could destroy. He was a sadist—did you know that?”

  Val stared past him at the wall.

  “Did you let him hurt you, Val?”

  The pocked surface wavered.

  “Did you like it when he did?”

  “Stop it,” she whispered brokenly. “Stop talking.”

  “All those women.” Luca clicked his tongue. “Such a shame.”

  “He was a monster,” said Val. “A psychopath. A sick … twisted fuck.”

  “If you thought Gavin was a monster, it was because you helped make him one.” Luca pressed his mouth to her cheek, and she realized she was crying only when his lips slid wetly against her skin. “Remember that, Valerian. We all have doors inside us that should never be opened. God help us all when we find the keys to unlock them.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  When Luca left, Val slumped back against the wall. It was as if he’d taken a part of her with him. What am I doing? she wondered, not for the first time. She was sleeping with the man who wanted to kill her. She knew this, and yet she couldn’t seem to stay away. She wasn’t even sure what it was about him that was so irresistible. It wasn’t like passion was such an integral part of her life. In the three years since college, she’d never had a boyfriend and hadn’t even thought she’d wanted one.

  And yet… when he touched her, she fell apart like a house of cards.

  Had he really not killed Ilya? Would he tell her if he had? Val thought he would have. Luca seemed like the type who would have enjoyed rubbing it in just to see the soul-crushing guilt weighing on her conscience.

  One of his family members could have done it, hoping to pin her for the murder. Dorian, perhaps, or one of the sisters. The letter Dorian had her read made it seem like this sick game was a family affair. A way of shaking her up like a beetle inside a jar.

  It could also have been coincidence. She hadn’t considered that possibility but it was, statistically, the most likely. San Francisco was a city that devoured its residents like the monster in a horror movie: it was a place where people could disappear, not necessarily to die, but to escape, as well. And what was more body among hundreds?

  (We all have doors inside us that should never be opened)

  The door to Meredith’s room opened. Val heard her in the kitchen, fumbling in the cupboards. Luca must have left without detection because there were no outraged calls or texts from Meredith, and she didn’t come pounding on Val’s door demanding to know what strange man she’d brought home to their apartment.

  Instead she went back into her room. The door closed. Jackie returned about an hour later and she must have brought Meredith’s brother with her, because she could detect a low, masculine voice as the three of them all chatted. Their voices were closer, no longer muffled by layers of wall. They were in the living room, probably watching TV.

  Great, thought Val.

  The thought of encountering Jackie and Meredith, bolstered by the addition of a stranger, filled Val with anxiety. She stayed on her bed, flipping through a book she couldn’t focus on long enough to read, wondering how long the brother was going to stay. She was going to have to go out there sooner or later, if not to use the restroom or eat, then to go to work. She had a shift tonight.

  And as soon as that thought hit her, Val realized it was going to have to be sooner, because she hadn’t eaten anything since her pathetic half-portion of sandwich, and what remained of her food was all in the cupboard and fridge. Out there—with them.

  Food would drive her from her burrow like a prey animal. How appropriate.

  Val dressed as if gearing up for war. She pulled on a turtleneck sweater and jeans, raking her lank hair back into a severe ponytail. She glanced at her reflection, mouth turned down. A hipster emerging from the basement dungeon for underground concert tickets, she thought, and her teeth snagged on her chapped lips when she tried to smile.

  Here it goes. Val opened the door.

  Meredith and Jackie were on the couch, an unfamiliar man sitting between them. They were playing a video game on the TV that didn’t look familiar at all. She didn’t even realize they owned a game system, which made her wonder if maybe they only brought it out when she wasn’t around so they wouldn’t have to invite her.

  Meredith twisted around in her seat at the creak of hinges. “Oh hey.”

  “Hey, Bunny,” said Jackie, who didn’t turn around at all, which stung.

  The man turned, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “Hello,” he said, looking her up and down with sloe-dark eyes. “Who are you?”

  “That’s Bunny,” Meredith said, answering for her. “Our roommate. This is my brother, Adam. I told you about him earlier.”

  Adam was just as attractive as his sister, clean-cut in the boring, preppy way that seemed to be the standard form of dress for affluent millennials. Polo shirt, baring gym toned arms; artfully faded jeans; and a watch that probably cost more than rent.

  He extended his hand, a dimple appearing in his cheek when he smiled. His teeth probably cost more than her rent, too. They looked whitened and straightened. Val didn’t miss that the gesture would force her to approach, drawing her deeper into the room when she would have preferred to have kept close to the walls.

  “Adam Lam,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze when she reluctantly clasped his. It was warm and dry. “Nice to meet you, Bunny. Do you want to join us?”

  Val saw Jackie’s shoulders tighten. Meredith’s face pinched.

  “No, that’s okay,” Val muttered. “I’m leaving soon. Thanks anyway.”

  Adam looked at her for a heartbeat too long before turning to face his sister. There was a question on his face—one Val didn’t want to stick around and hear answered.

  “She works,” Meredith said, adding pointedly, “she’s a waitress.”

  Val couldn’t quite hide her flinch. It felt like Meredith was warning her off.

  Adam’s face turned sympathetic, which was worse. “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.” And then, compelled by the politeness that had been drilled into her since childhood, she added hastily, “I’m sorry. I’ve got errands to run.”

  Quickly, she moved for the door and relief washed over her as it closed behind her. Relief that dissipated into a fog of panic when the smell of flowers saturated her senses, and it was no figment of her imagination this time, oh no. Scattered rose petals were being crushed under her feet, releasing their fragrance into the air.

  And not just any rose petals. Yellow ones. For infidelity.

  And the black, curling husks of dried-out red roses, too—

  For death.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Luca could have left the flowers.

  Val was at the Asian grocery store on the corner. She didn’t have the energy to take the bus to Safeway or Trader Joe’s. She didn’t know the name of it, the sign wasn’t written in English, but it was close, familiar. The milky fluorescent lights fluttered and hummed, giving everything a sickly, grayish cast.

  She liked it here because nobody bothered her. Nobody followed her around asking her if she needed help, or if she was having a good day. Because the answers to those questions were always yes and no, and there was nothing she or anyone could do about it. She liked it now, because it gave her the space to think.

  Either Luca was lying to her, playing some kind of long con designed to cause her as much mental anguish as possible, or somebody else was trying to fuck with her.

  Luca could have left the flowers, but then Jackie and Adam would have seen them. Val was sure she would have mentioned them—that was a weird thing, wasn’t it? Finding flowers scattered over one’s doorstop? Which meant someone had put them there after Jackie and Adam arrived.

  Which left one of the Mecozzi siblings, or a perfect stranger. Vance Benveniste had tried to drown her in a sea cave at high tide because he had blamed her for his sister’s death. And any surviving family member of one of Gavin’s many victims would have ample reason to want her dead for the same reason.

  Val tossed several packages of ramen into her basket. The flavor didn’t matter, she wouldn’t be able to taste anything. Bao were on sale in the freezer section and she got some of those too, as well as some leafy green vegetables that were inexplicably cheaper than the bigger supermarkets nearby and that she could therefore feel less guilty about when she threw them out, uneaten.

  They found me, thought Val. They know where I live.

  The blue apron-wearing cashier eyed her impassively as she rang up Val’s purchases. There were no greetings, no small talk. Only a void into which there was a comfortable fall, free from judgement or effort.

  Val clutched her plastic bag, which had THANK YOU printed on it in Chinese and English in a bright red font. She walked out of the store.

  She was not entirely surprised to see that the petals were gone from the step when she returned. As if I imagined them, she thought. Like the chess pieces. And the mirror.

  A hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat. She swallowed it like a pill.

  I am not insane. I did not imagine it. I know I didn’t.

  Even now, she thought their fragrance lingered.

  Val closed the door behind her, shutting it out. The living room was dark, the game system put away. Jackie, Meredith, and Adam were gone. Val supposed the three of them had gone out to dinner.

  One of them had gotten the mail before leaving. There was a small pile on the card table, all of it bearing her name. Most of it was junk, thoughtfully forwarded by her parents who could throw nothing out, but there was one white envelope bearing her name with no return address that someone must have stuck directly into the box.

  No, thought Val, staring at the spiky handwriting.

  Moving slowly, she opened it, wincing as the paper sliced her thumb. Blood welled, and she left a red, smeary thumbprint on the stark white paper as she tore it open, revealing another plain piece of paper inside.

  The writing on it had been done by a heavy hand, probably in anger. Val could see where the ink had bled, the force that had applied the pen had been so rigorous that the paper had torn in several spots. Tomorrow, was all it said, the T an angry, crimson slash.

  It was the same font that had been inscribed on the bottom of the graphite rose, bundled together with the portrait of her with the eyes burned out. Killed in effigy. Black roses, Val thought. For death. Oh no, oh no, oh no no no—

  A few crushed petals fluttered out of the envelope.

  Yellow and black.

  Tomorrow.

  Val swallowed hard, fighting back a scream.

  Tomorrow she was going to die.

  Chapter Twelve

  Serpentine

  Tomorrow.

  The word hung over her like a shroud—a burial shroud. I am a dead girl walking.

  It jarred her. It shouldn’t have, not after everything she’d been through, but it did. Enough so that she called in sick for the first time since she’d started because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “Are you all right?” Martin asked her. He’d been the one to answer the phone.

  “No,” said Val, with unfeigned hoarseness. “I’m sick.”

  There was a brief pause. “Feel better,” Martin said at last, before cutting the connection.

  Val set the burner phone down on her rickety excuse of a nightstand and collapsed on her mattress. She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was just lying there, waiting to die. They know where I live. They’ve been tracking me like an animal this whole time. She shivered, pulling the sheets up to her chin.

  She closed her eyes, shutting the world out, shutting her thoughts out. When she opened them again, gray light was flooding through her window and tomorrow became today. The day that her stalker had announced that she would meet her fate.

  A terrible, rancid taste lurked in the back of her throat. She brushed her teeth like a zombie, staring dully at her reflection. The shadows beneath her eyes seemed to have become more pronounced over the last few days. She looked sick. Maybe she was.

  Val supposed it really didn’t matter.

  Part of her was tempted to call in sick again but the idea of stumbling around her apartment by herself, just waiting, seemed like a special kind of hell. Besides, she knew deep down that she couldn’t do that to Martin. Today she had the split shift that she’d agreed to take over from Desiree. He’d have enough problems to deal with when she was dead and ended up even more short-staffed than he already was.

  Val ignored Meredith and Jackie on her way out the door for work. Meredith was grinding coffee and Jackie was doing something to an avocado. She could feel their eyes on her, a sticky gaze that lingered, wanting to say something but not quite daring.

  It was something in her face. Val knew the look; it scared her, too. It was the look of someone who had given up all hope and no longer cared about anything.

  She worked in a fugue, only half-aware of what was said to her. The smell of food she was carrying made her feel ill. She didn’t take advantage of her usual free meal and walked home with her hands plunged deep in her coat pockets as the morning fog burned off around her under the subdued blaze of the autumn sun. She had avoided Martin, slinking out the door with her purse clutched to her chest. All she wanted to do was get through the day. Would someone stop her, grab her, on the way home to her apartment? Was her stalker here, on this very street?

  Just in case, Val splurged on the train, jumping at every shadow stretching long over the crooked pavement. She entered her apartment cautiously, looking around. It was empty now. Her roommates were both gone and it didn’t seem like anyone else was there, either. There were no more notes, no rose petals.

  Nothing.

  The hairs on her arms prickled as she took off her coat and made her way to the kitchen. She heated up some broth in a cup, her shoulders tensing at each miniscule noise. When the microwave beeped, she grabbed the cup and fled to her room, sipping the heated chicken stock in silence as she whiled away the hours until her next shift.

  When she was done with her broth, she called her parents. But it was daytime, and they had gone to their jobs, too. “Hello, it’s me.” She paused, throat tightening. “I just wanted to say that I love you… and I miss you. Bye, I guess.”

  She hung up the phone and sat there, looking at the glowing face, before getting up and tipping what remained of the broth down the sink.

  Her dinner shift wasn’t much better. She was yelled at, insulted. Two people tried to get their meals comped for reasons beyond her control. Val just stood there and took the abuse, a blank expression on her face, feeling like she wasn’t even in her own body. The customers seemed to sense that. Maybe that was why they tried so desperately, so angrily, to make themselves feel heard.

  She could feel Martin’s eyes on her as she left for the final time. He was on the floor more at dinner, harder to avoid. She wondered if he were going to fire her. If she were him, she would have done it well before this. She was trouble, everyone said so. She brought tragedy to those she cared about most.

  But all he said was, “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes,” said Val. Soon I’ll feel nothing at all.

  And then, because Le Victoire was busy, he moved on to the next problem, leaving her to sit alone and unfinished. A problem without a solution.

  Coming home at night, Val opened the wire gate at the street level. The sun was going down and the temperature had dropped sharply. She walked quickly into the foyer, closing the door against the wind. The hall was silent. Most of the people who lived in this apartment were older. Apart from the faint sound of the music coming from outside, she could only hear a few muted televisions playing quietly.

  It didn’t seem fair that their lives could go on while hers was falling apart.

  Shaking her head, she twisted the key into the lock and opened the door. It gave easily and she was hit with surprisingly warm air and the smell of Herbes de Provence. Jackie and Meredith took turns cooking for each other. It was just another way that the two of them were perfect.

  “Hello?” she called out, hesitating. “Anyone here?”

  No one answered.

  It’s good that they’re not here. They won’t get killed like you.

  Val stared at her shelf in the fridge, which consisted of a few yogurts that were about to expire, a wrinkled apple, the leftover carton of broth from this morning, Chinese lettuce, and old wrapped-up leftovers from work, now sporting fuzzy white spots of mold. She threw that into the trash and poured herself a glass of water, leaning back against the counter. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.

 

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