Free Thorn Jack by Katherine Harbour

stared at him because she’d never seen him without his confidence and easy grace.
    â€œThree invitations,” she called to the chauffeur who returned with three envelopes.
    Reiko handed the envelopes to Christie. Black, Gothic writing snaked across the crimson paper: Fata. “The autumn revel has a Shakespeare theme this year. Welcome to Fair Hollow, Serafina Sullivan.”
    She walked back to the Mercedes. As she slid in, Phouka winked at them before getting behind the wheel.
    Christie and Finn watched the Mercedes crunch back down the road. He said, “Finn . . . are you paranoid? Because I know I’m not, but I kind of feel . . .”
    Gazing after the Mercedes, Finn tasted bitterness, as if she’d eaten one of those venomous red toadstools beneath her window. “Like this was planned?”
    â€œSo. You’re paranoid too . . . I’m going. You?”
    She felt a fizzy whisper across her skin as she remembered Jack Fata. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
    FINN HAD FOUND A JOB over the weekend, at BrambleBerry Books, which was owned by a friend of her gran Rose. At six o’clock that night, the shop’s three resident cats watched Finn as she was taught how to use the register and the phone. Later, the owner, Mrs. Browning, worked in the office while Finn explored the store, admiring the old paintings hung on the walls, and the front window display, which was a screen of black metal shaped into fairies. She selected an interesting-looking book on American history and sat behind the counter to read it. Early American History was her first class tomorrow, and it was taught by intimidating and model-sleek Professor Avaline.
    When she heard a horn blare, she looked out the window and saw a red Mercedes halt in front of the building across the street. The narrow building, made of dark stone, had black-shuttered windows and child-faced gargoyles crouched on the roof. A girl in a white chauffeur’s uniform slid from the car, auburn hair rippling from beneath her cap. She sauntered to the driver’s side and opened the door and Reiko Fata emerged, her black hair looped into plaits, strappy sandals, and a slip dress of wine-red silk emphasizing her long legs. She seemed oblivious to the chill air.
    A second figure slid from the Mercedes—Jack Fata, who straightened the cuffs of his black blazer before leaning to say something to Reiko. Together, they sauntered toward the building. The doors opened, then closed behind them. The chauffeur remained, leaning against the Mercedes and lighting up a cigarette.
    Finn couldn’t figure out why Jack Fata fascinated her. He moved like a martial arts star and dressed like a modern-day Victorian gentleman, and those were interestingly eccentric qualities, but she’d only spoken to him once, and she couldn’t figure out that look in his eyes when their gazes had first met . . . mischief that had become a shrewd assessment that had darkened to confusion. Maybe the familiarity she’d felt was because she’d seen him somewhere else. In a magazine maybe, or a film . . .
    A battered Corvette pulled up to the curb, and a silver-haired boy hopped out of it, followed by two girls in gauzy gowns. Once again, the building’s doors opened and closed. Music now pulsed from behind the stone walls, and red light simmered beneath the black shutters.
    Finn forgot about the book in her lap.
    The bell over the door chimed and Finn saw Christie enter, his red hair sticking out in tufts from beneath his woolen hat. “Hey. I’m done. How about you?”
    She thought then about how Christie, with his pack of brothers and his interest in Shakespeare and Greek literature, was reassuringly familiar, because he’d reminded her of the boy she’d left in San Francisco, Alex Mckee. That’s why she liked him, and she wouldn’t ruin this friendship with a kiss. She set aside her book.