NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale
– Chapter 4

I was in front of the Louvre at 6:30 p.m.

I was always ahead; that was a fact. I left no detail to chance. I was in control of everything around me. My dress shirts were ironed. My clean cologne permeated my skin. My interest was dead set on the goal. I didn’t waste any time with my lack of fascination for people. I had no desire to take part in any conversation, just like I had no desire to be here in the first place.

I took my antique vintage pocket watch out of my vest suit pocket and jerked open the top flap.

The time displayed 7:20 p.m.

I left it in the palm of my hand, a muscle working in my jaw. I’d been waiting for her for fifty minutes. The first woman I’d asked out in years had stood me up. I readjusted my cuffs, my gaze lingering on the next car arriving. But when a blonde-haired woman came out, my interest faded. Aurore’s hair color was complex, similar to shades of autumn—it had a brown ochre base with gold oxide reflections.

The hand of the watch made another full turn, and I tightened my grip. Another minute had passed, and there was no sign of the girl wearing the unicorn pajamas of a six-year-old and with a beaming smile that could light up an entire city, in contrast to her killer eyes that could annihilate that same city.

“Ajax.” Isaac came to disturb my peace, a flute of champagne already in his hand. “What the fuck are you doing alone with your solemn air?”

“Waiting,” I deadpanned. The answer was obvious. “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“I can’t believe you’re still here.” Judgment was etched in his tone. “Come on, she’s not worth it.”

I gunned my eyes to him. “This is not your choice to make.”

“I’ve never seen you go through this much trouble for a girl. In fact, I’ve never seen you with a woman.” Isaac, one of the only human beings I barely tolerated, thought it was the right time to joke. “Sei pazzo.”

“You’re not Italian, Isaac.” He only pretended to be because his second name was Fiore, and he was growing a light beard with his Van Dyke brown hair and thought that nationality would be his golden trophy to hook up with more people.

“I know, but it’d be much cooler if I was.”

I checked my watch again.

It was 7:27 p.m.

She wasn’t coming.

For a moment, something unwanted tried to flash across my features, and my index tapped on the rim of the watch at a speed greater than the spinning head. The scenario that something had happened to her obscured my already fucked-up mind in shades of menacing clouds before a storm. My brows pinched together, and I remembered the words she used to describe me. Cold. Serious. Annoyed.

“Am I that cold?” I didn’t expect to speak out loud.

“You’re not cold. You’re iceberg frigid.” Of course, Isaac didn’t miss a beat, jumping on the opportunity. “The kind that can’t get melted by lava.”

I straightened my posture even more than it already was, coming across the stares of the new guests arriving, to whom Isaac returned their polite smiles. Next to him, I displayed no sign of friendliness, for the simple reason I wasn’t friendly. I had no reason to fake it; the sight of their arrival did not please me in any way.

“So, you’re expecting to let me go back in there all by myself?” Isaac complained.

“You like parties. You like people. I don’t unless I’m obliged to.”

My watch pointer was on thirty. She had made her choice, but I had other cards up my sleeve after just replaceing her again.

My gaze searched the crowd and swept far away to the large entrance arch, where there was a woman pedaling on her purplish bike at a frenetic pace. My lungs drew breath, and I commanded my legs to step forward. I saw, I heard, I smelled, and I disliked touching. I’d mastered each of these experiences, and yet none of those senses combined had given me anything, not even the skipping of a heartbeat.

It did now. She drove like the craziest version of a madwoman who would crush everyone in her path. Her feet were pounding like she had no gears, and she was leaning forward to gain speed. My date was certainly uncommon, equipped with a fiery temper and enough fuel to power an entire country.

I didn’t move, observing her tossing her bike at the back so no one noticed she’d arrived in an unconventional way. She secured it by tying it up with a big chain I had no idea she was carrying and straightened her clothes with dramatic gestures. She then readjusted her half ponytail and flexed her fingers as if trying to calm herself. It was one hell of an arrival, and this succeeded in making my lips curl into the slightest ghost of a smile.

“Of course, the one you invited is the crazy one with a bike.” Isaac chuckled. “In case you’re both searching for me, I’ll be—”

“We won’t,” I cut, my eyes devoted to her.

“You’re a selfish prick, you know that? As I was saying, I’ll be socializing and welcoming the VIPs and all that.” He finished his sentence anyway, taking his leave.

Aurore was pacing in my direction with black pearl ankle boots and ebony tights. She made me think of Melpomene, the goddess of tragedy—the one holding a tragic mask in one hand and a sword in the other. She wore a skater skirt of the same color and a crimson top with large sleeves, displaying her naked collarbone. The day was fading behind her, and she seemed to carry the night with her. She was a painting of contrasts with a determined and sophisticated allure along squinting eyes.

My muscles stiffened. My jaw tensed. I felt the strange need to swallow as she arrived in front of me, carrying a smile around like a weapon that kills at sight. I craved to tell her she looked like a siren who could lure any man to destruction, but I’ve been known to upset people easily, so instead, I said nothing like an idiot.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Yes.

This was all a wrong, messy idea, and for some reason, I couldn’t tear my gaze from her pursed plush red lips. They flamed like scarlet pigment. I didn’t mind observing her. If it was up to me, I’d do that for the next couple of hours, but it wasn’t, so I had to snap out of it. Now.

“No.” I finally averted my eyes away from her. “Thank you for coming.”

“I know I’m late. I’m so sorry. I feel terrible to have made you wait that long. I—”

“Not at all,” I interrupted her. “I haven’t been waiting long.”

And here I was, lying to spare her feelings.

To that, she gave me a full smile, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Is that a fob watch you’re holding? I’ve never seen one. I thought those things were extinct.”

I immediately put the watch back in my pocket suit. “It’s my father’s. He thinks he has lost it.”

She nodded as if approving. I laid an arm behind her back without touching her as we strode to where the security guard was checking the names of the guests by the pyramid entrance.

She bit her glossy lip and mumbled, “I’ve never been here before. I mean inside. It’s a first.”

From the friction of her fingers, I could deduce that neither of us wanted to be here tonight.

“Your names,” the security guard grumbled, not lifting an eye as we arrived next to him.

“Ajax Clemonte and—” I waited for my date to introduce herself.

She leaned on her tiptoes so he’d hear her amongst the crowd behind us. “Aurore Bardot.”

A name fit for a queen.

The guard searched the list, and a brouhaha built up behind us. Someone was pushing away the crowd with his extremely irritating voice.

“Excuse me, I’m Bernard Dupont-Brillac, the artist.”

My jaw clenched at the perched voice that screamed of bourgeoisie getting closer. Bernard tried to mince his way between Aurore and me, but he retracted when I shielded her next to me, keeping her away from that pretentious man. A tingling sensation ran through my fingers, but he had left me no choice. A normal person would have circled around us.

Bernard, as delusional as he was, tried to push me so I’d step aside as if he were the Prophet. He hurt himself by colliding with my back, and I didn’t budge from my place, taking solid root on the ground. Bernard, on the contrary, stepped backward with the impact. I snapped my eyes down to him as he readjusted the round glasses he wore just for the style, wrinkling his nose in my direction. Wearing a filthy checkered suit of yellow and orange alongside his toad-green bow tie, Bernard was the most annoying artist of the century.

“Welcome back, Mr. Dupont-Brillac.” The guard smiled fakely at Bernard, who was only a second-class artist, literally no one, and surely not the highlight of the show.

I knew him too well. After all, he had been my teacher long ago. Distracted by his reflection in the mirrored doors, Dupont-Brillac didn’t acknowledge anyone and took his leave while we were still waiting.

“You were checking our names,” I articulated to the guard, my patience on edge.

“Right, Clemonte—” He searched through his list. “Sorry, your name is not on it.”

I’d murder someone tonight. He was making me look like an impostor. “Ajax. Clemonte.”

“No, sir, I’m sorry. We don’t have a Clemonte or whatever your name is.” What a fucking mess. “I’m gonna ask you to leave.”

Another nerve twitched my jaw. I was arguing with a fool. The mask plastered on my face probably made me appear aloof while inwardly, I was burning. The idea of hibernating in Antarctica with penguins and to not have to deal with human interactions sounded almost appealing. I searched for Isaac, sweeping the crowd with a glance. I found him doing his social butterfly with everyone inside, like a clown distracting his audience at the entrance of the pyramid.

I waited for him to notice me, but when he didn’t, my voice leaped above everything else, calling him. “Isaac.”

At the sound of his name, his eyes widened, and he rushed directly to us, not wasting a second. He hooked a friendly arm around the guard’s neck and switched his stare between the both of us. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, that man’s name is Clemonte, but I have no one registered under—”

“My bad, my mistake.” Isaac gave him a familiar pat on the back. “Let them in.”

Aurore remained silent, but her brain seemed to be racing, as if she were dealing with an equation. Finally free, we crossed the entrance, and in doing so, Isaac mouthed, “So, so sorry,” to which I replied with a murderous stare.

“See, you didn’t wait for nothing. She finally came,” the asshole dropped loud enough with a big fucker smile on his lips. “You should have seen him, not wanting to leave his post.”

To that, Aurore held in a chuckle by pinching her lips together. “Well, I’m glad he did.”

“Isaac, this is Aurore,” I introduced them. “Aurore, this is Isaac, my friend you shouldn’t pay attention to.”

“Your only friend, and the most entertaining.” He bowed. “I’ll let you two enjoy your date. It’s not good for my career to spend more than five minutes talking with someone. No offense.”

“Yes, you do so.” My eyes were warning enough.

I turned to face the only person here who was stopping in the middle of the room to look at the transparent ceiling for a reason I couldn’t picture. Maybe she was stargazing? She had a light smile and didn’t seem to mind the glances of the people around her with their mortal boredom.

“Are you looking at something?” I asked.

Aurore’s eyes fell back to mine, and she erased her smile. “Just the sky. We can see the stars through the ceiling, and it’s making a weird shape like a—”

So stargazing it indeed was.

She breathed deeply. “Like a tufted deer.”

“Tufted deer?” What on earth was this animal?

“It’s a deer that has teeth like a vampire,” she continued as if the answer was that obvious. “My little sister, Luna, tried to get bit by one once because I used to tell her it’d maybe make her immortal—you know, like turn her into a vampire—but it didn’t work. Me, on the contrary, I tried to befriend him, but I found more success with geese.”

I blinked. I had no idea what to reply and if any person was capable of formulating any semblance of an answer to something like that.

Faced with my silence, she opened her eyes and clapped her hands together. “Anyway, the sky was despicable. Shall we?”

“Yes.” I showed her the way, wondering where she could have possibly seen that wonderland animal. “I’m sorry about all this mess, by the way.”

She carefully stepped on the stairs. “Don’t be. I always knew you had some secret identity hiding who you truly are. A disguise.”

I remained blank.

“I’m joking.” She raised a brow. “But anyway, the rude man who crossed us. That’s why I hate—” She bit her lip before continuing. “I hate men who wear bow ties.”

I couldn’t be more glad I went with a simple tie.

We arrived at the bottom of the stairs, a billboard hanging in the middle portraying the opening of the art exhibition tonight and the room it’d be hosted in, the Apollon Gallery.

“Oh, I don’t even know which artists are showing here. Let’s see.” She read through the billboard, and I remained behind her.

“Zekriev Morrinksky,” she struggled to articulate. “Bernard Dupont-Brillac. The guy from earlier. And the exclusivity of the night is—”

Her face shut close, her enthusiasm disappearing as she slowly pronounced the last name as if it was the plague incarnated, “Spectre.”

She froze in place for a moment and locked her fists. In the space of a breath, she turned to face me with a tight, razor-toothed smile. “Well, that sounds incredibly promising! Great. Loooooving it.”

She didn’t waste any time rushing inside the Apollon Gallery to saunter past its ornamented walls and masterpieces hanging on the ceiling. Following her, I knew I’d have to struggle with two things tonight.

One, to try to keep my gaze away from her.

Two, to hide who I truly was.