Page 18

Maybe if I have a snack, I thought, my stomach will shut up and let me have a few more hours of sleep.

Staggering to my feet, I pulled aside the divider curtain and headed towards the kitchen. A weak beam of sunlight snuck past me and fell across Polly's face. She didn't stir, not that I expected her to.

"Morning, Polly," I whispered anyway, as I passed her.

The light caught on the two purple stones that hung around her neck, next to the gold chain of her key.

They glittered, and my fingers twitched.

I wanted to wake her, to snap the amulets off right this instant, but I couldn't work up the courage to. I wasn't sure what was wrong with her, and I was afraid to disturb her in case it was something severe.

Though I wasn't on friendly terms with Luc, I at least trusted his judgement. After all, I had seen him healing her with my own eyes.

Now that I knew what Luc used the amulets for, I realized he must have had his reasons for keeping them—both of them—on.

But the fact that he had used two amulets was exactly what worried me.

What condition was Polly in that he didn't want to risk her waking up at all? My hand clenched into a fist, resisting the urge once again.

I wished I could just ask him .

.

.

but he had been avoiding me.

It had been a week since I had watched him from behind the curtain, and I hadn't seen him since. He'd been cooped up in his room and seemed to only leave when he was sure I would be asleep.

My few attempts to stay up and catch him in the act hadn't been successful.

My stomach grumbled to remind me of its need. I turned away from Polly and continued on to the kitchen, but I stopped suddenly, realizing something was wrong.

The counter was bare. Today's supplies hadn't arrived.

The only reason I knew Luc had been leaving his room was the daily arrival of supplies on the kitchen counter.

Every morning, a bag—just a simple, flimsy grocery bag—would be left for us, filled with basic necessities for the day: cheap food and cheaper clothes.

I didn't know how he was getting them, but that was just another question on the pile.

Without a bag, there was no food. My stomach moaned with disappointment. I thought for a moment of digging through the cupboards, but my breath caught as I suddenly realized what this actually meant. If the supplies hadn't been delivered, Luc hadn't done the delivering. But he would. And soon.

I might finally get a chance to talk to him.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, a light knock came at the door. I nearly toppled over from the shock of it; our situation often made me forget that other people still existed. Trapped in this apartment, separated from everything, we might as well have been the last people on Earth.

I froze, not sure what I should do. Did I answer the door or call for Luc? I knew we couldn't leave the apartment, but could other people come in? I didn't get to wonder for long; the door to Luc's bedroom opened only seconds after the knocks stopped.

Luc looked dishevelled.

There was a dark shadow of prickly stubble cast over his face, and heavy purple bags hung under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days. It was the worst I had ever seen him; being trapped inside with no sun had begun to turn his golden skin pale and, paired with this scruffy look, made him look kind of, well, dead... Yet, somehow, he still looked impossibly attractive. The vampish look worked for him.

He didn't glance at me as he crossed the room, breezing past me like I didn't exist.

The snub stung, but I kept my eyes on him, watching him closely as he tugged the curtain open further and headed for the door.

He didn't even check the peephole before he tore it open, revealing a man—actually more of a boy—standing on the other side.

"Hi again, Mr. Couillard!" the boy chirped and smiled brightly. There was a mischievous glint to his eyes, but he still seemed pretty innocent. I couldn't see Luc's expression, but the delivery boy's face fell slightly after meeting Luc's eyes.

"You're late," Luc snapped. "And keep it down."

"Sorry, sorry," the boy's voice fell to a whisper, "I forgot. Don't want to wake your guests."

"She's already awake," Luc responded tersely. "But don't forget next time."

I leaned forward to get a closer look at the boy, and our eyes met. He smiled again, this time directly at me, but I could only return a weak twitch of my mouth. The boy didn't seem offended, but his smile fell back into an unimpressed line as he took in Luc's and my matching sullen states.

Giving up on his small talk, he turned away to reach into the enormous bag slung across his chest.

I capitalized on his distraction to stare unabashedly.

He was obviously some kind of delivery boy, but the uniform wasn't familiar to me—not the iconic brown or blue and red—and consisted of a garish orange polo shirt and matching hat. He kind of looked like a pizza boy.

But the package he pulled out of his oversized messenger bag was much too thick to be a pizza; he removed the protective brown paper and revealed an old, heavy-looking book.

"This was a pain in the ass to find, even with the list you gave me. Couldn't you get it off of Amazon or something?" the boy teased, holding it up to show Luc. The book's cover was leather, weather-beaten, and looked handmade, much like the little book of protective spells. The title was scrawled across the cover in faded metallic ink, written in a language I had never seen before.

Luc just scoffed and shook his head. He raised his arms, beckoning with his hands.

The delivery boy paused. "Are you sure? I mean, this book was really expensive."

"I thought your company advertised 'no questions asked'," Luc chastised. "Just throw it already."

"Alright, if you insist."

The delivery boy gently tossed the book over the threshold of the door and into Luc's waiting arms. Glancing down, I noticed how Luc was standing carefully on the brink of the doorstep. His feet were firmly planted at the edge of what I assumed was the border of the protective spell, and he was just as careful not to let the delivery man stretch any limb across it either. So that answered that question; no one was allowed in just as much as no one was allowed out.

Luc ran his finger down the binding of the tome, nodding. "Perfect. Thank you."

"You are more than welcome!" the delivery boy chimed, revelling in the slight praise.

"Oh! And, of course, your usual..." He turned away for a moment, reaching for something.

He returned with the familiar bag, the thin plastic straining against its contents, its handles neatly tied together.

That, too, he threw at Luc.

Luc caught it with ease, then shifted the goods into one arm and reached into his pocket. He tossed the guy a lump of crumpled bills.

The delivery boy unfolded and counted them on the doorstep. My jaw slowly fell open as I counted too; he had just been given nine hundred dollars.

"Keep the change," Luc said, and the boy's constant smile widened.

"Any time, Mr. Couillard," he said, stuffing the bills into a front pocket of the bag. "Need anything else? Any laundry to take away?"

"Not right now, but the schedule is the same," Luc responded, his fingers at the edge of the door, apparently anxious to close it.

The delivery boy glanced at me and back to Luc. "Nothing special for your guest?"

"No." Luc's voice grew tense.

The man chewed on his lip, and I sensed an internal struggle about whether he should ask something he really wanted to. His childlike curiosity won out in the end. "Is she your girlfriend or something?"

Luc slammed the door in the boy's face. He sighed loudly before turning on the spot and striding back towards his room, his face lined with irritation. He dropped the bag on the floor next to the coffee table as he passed.

Realizing that I was about to miss my chance to talk to him, I panicked and spit out: "What's that book for?"

He was just through the frame of the bedroom door as he stopped in his tracks, his whole body stiffening at the sound of my voice. Luc looked over his shoulder to meet my inquiring eyes, the first time he had looked at me in days.

"Research," he responded before he closed the door and disappeared back into his room.

?

Like usual, Luc appeared almost instantly and headed for the door, still refusing to even glance in my direction though I was staring him down.

My sudden interest in him seemed to vex him, even if I had yet to work up the courage to ask more questions.

Just the fact that I was monitoring his every move seemed to bother him.

So it became a hobby of mine, my only source of entertainment in the dull day-to-day of confinement.

I particularly enjoyed watching him tense the minute he entered the living room, as he realized that—yet again—I was awake and watching.

Luc wrenched the door open and, as usual, Tory was standing there with another bulging, nondescript plastic bag.

Evidence suggested he wasn't an average delivery boy; he brought everything you could imagine to Luc's doorstep, including toiletries, clothes, food, strange artifacts, and stranger books for Luc.

Anything we could possibly need while we were trapped.

Thank God for Tory.

"Hi Mr. Couillard," Tory said, beaming like always. He turned to me and smiled wider. "Mrs. Cou—"

"Just throw the damn bag," Luc snapped.

Tory continued to grin, despite Luc's poor mood, and leisurely tossed the bag. Luc caught it effortlessly and threw a wad of bills to Tory in the same movement, promptly slamming the door before Tory got another chance to say something.

I expected Luc to drop the bag, like usual, before disappearing again, but instead, he turned and headed straight towards me.

I was sitting on the edge of the futon, next to Polly, and Luc dropped the plastic bag at my feet. The courage I was mustering to speak to him caught in my throat in surprise. I glanced at it and then back to him.

Luc wasn't looking at me, his gaze averted. "These are for Polly. Her clothes should be changed. Could..." He paused and his cheeks turned pink. "Could you do it?"

He had actually spoken to me! I was stunned for a moment, but I kept my eyes on him, trying to will him to return my stare.

After a few moments of heavy silence, he flicked his eyes to me to make sure I had heard him. "Could you?" he repeated, his voice a little desperate.

"Couldn't you?" I retorted, my courage coming out as snark. "You changed us before. You've already seen everything."

That did it. Luc's face turned a hilarious shade of crimson, and his eyes fell away again, refusing to meet mine yet again.

"I haven't!" he protested, his voice trembling. "I mean, I did... change you... but I had no choice! Your clothes were in ribbons... bloody..." His voice dissolved into mumbles.

"But you did see, so what's the big deal?" I savoured his reaction.

The flush of his face didn't fade. "I didn't see anything," he murmured. "I put the new clothes on... over top... first."

I just gaped at him.

Just who was he?

A few days ago, I had suspected him of trying to murder me, but now I could only see him as a goody-goody dork; I balked at the idea that I had ever suspected him of summoning some dark creature to torment me.

In fact, I wondered how he got caught up in all this in the first place—he really didn't seem like the type who'd even consider dabbling in the darker stuff.

"Fine," I said finally, watching him closely. I picked up the bag and set it next to me on the futon. "I'll change her."

"Thanks." He closed his eyes in relief and turned to go back to his room, his face still hot with embarrassment.

"Wait!" I said, not content for him to disappear on me again. Now was the time, the perfect opportunity. I had to ask.

He stopped but didn't look at me.

"What exactly is wrong with Polly?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I was wondering why you used two amulets on her."

Luc paused, looking awkward."She needed to stay asleep."

"Are her injuries really that bad?" Worry began to churn in my chest. "Will she ever be able to wake up?"

There was another beat of quiet before he spoke again. "She's fine, but it's... complicated."

I felt my brow fold in. If Polly was okay, then why was she still being kept asleep? "How so?" I said, my voice low and careful.

He turned, slowly, to face me. "Well, we can wake her up, but..."

"Wait... what?"

"I said, we can wake her up, b—"

"I heard you!" I snapped, cutting him off. My trust in him dissolved; every time I thought I understood him, he would always do something completely off target. "I just can't believe I'm hearing it. How long has she been well enough to wake up?"

His eyes shifted to the floor. "For... a while."

For a few moments, all I could do was blink at him. Then I burst. "But you've been keeping her sedated anyway?"

Luc saw the horror on my face and quickly tried to backtrack. "It's not like that, it—"

But I was uninterested in his excuses. I had already turned back to Polly, fumbling with the chains around her neck. One, and then two, fell away, releasing her from the spell of sleep.

"Polly, wake up!" I shouted, shaking her shoulder.

Luc pulled my hand away. "No, don't, you have to—"

But it was too late. Polly's eyes fluttered open the minute she heard his voice. She blinked at the ceiling for a minute, before her gaze slid down, eyeing Luc and me out the corner of her eye.

"Get away from her, you sick bastard," Polly growled as she leapt from the bed, lunging at Luc's throat.

??