Unsung Requiem Read online

  And didn’t they do that a lot to her? Was it just that he wanted her nearby and it was hard sending her off? Trust the Academy, sure. There was no way Mr. Buble would allow her to do anything that would bring her to any harm, but stuff got dangerous often.

  Maybe her joining the Academy was a bit harder on all of them than they’d thought.

  ♥♥♥

  It was decided that while North and Nathan worked on the car, Victor and Silas would return to the party, claiming Sang’s hair was taking longer and he didn’t want to be late. They had already taken much too long trying to decide what they wanted to do, and driving all the way out to the Taylor compound and back took ages.

  He hoped to pass his mother the keys without the car actually being there... for a while. The others would sneak the car over during the party after it was finished when she’d be too busy to notice.

  With Sang off on her own, he checked his phone every five minutes, just in case he didn’t feel the vibration of her sending a text or calling for whatever reasons. He was tempted to text, even though he was driving, and also worried that it’d look bad for her if she was checking text messages on her very first solo job in front of Mr. Buble. She was supposed to be doing things like this as she was going through tryouts. Why was he so apprehensive now that it was actually happening?

  Silas sat quietly in the passenger seat of a black SUV borrowed from North. North and Nathan would bring Luke later if he was feeling better.

  Just a block away from Victor’s house, cars along the road in front of them slowed to a crawl.

  Silas angled his head around to try to see past the line of cars, pressing his head against the window. “People are heading into your house earlier than I thought. And they are redirecting traffic early.”

  Victor breathed in through his nose and held it. The Morgan estate wasn’t really a great location to hold a party for so many people because of the narrow lane roads, but to his mother, it made more of a statement to back up traffic a bit for the sake of a party. Never mind people probably wanted to get home or downtown to do other things. “This is really too early to start, but she might have some early guests.”

  Silas sat back, closing his eyes. “For some reason, I thought it was just dinner with you playing the piano. Which actually doesn’t sound like a birthday.”

  “Yeah,” Victor said in a huff, letting the held breath out quickly. “Performing for other people... Not really a birthday thing.”

  “There’s no cake,” Silas said.

  “Nope. Well, there might be cake. It’s probably something fancy and small.”

  Silas thumped his fingers on the dash in front of him. “You all should do name days. I like those better.”

  Silas hadn’t really celebrated birthdays until he got to America. Instead, in Greece, he had what was called name day. “Isn’t that where you buy dinner or something for your friends? Instead of us getting you cake and gifts?”

  Silas nodded, and his broad lips lifted into a smile. “Some of us would have the same day, like me, since I don’t have a saint name.”

  “Like Sang?” Victor asked.

  “Yeah. We’d get All Saints Day. At the same time.”

  “Doesn’t Gabriel have a saint name?”

  Silas nodded. “I don’t remember which day, but yes. And you have one. It’s in July, I think. But we don’t have to add in extra days. We can do it once a year to represent everyone. Same All Saints Day for everyone.”

  A hard chuckle burst out from Victor’s mouth. “So you’d want basically everyone to go out and buy each other food once a year on the same day? All nine—ten—of us?”

  He nodded again, this time way more enthusiastically. “All that good food. And fireworks. We could do fireworks.” He paused. “Also, cake.”

  Victor bowed his head, smiling. “I guess it would make it simpler than trying to remember nine other birthdays. Or extra name days.”

  Cars started to move. Attendants wearing white collared shirts and dark pants held red batons and directed cars with a flourish. Occasionally, people stopped to ask them something. Victor was the only one allowed to make a left. The gate to the Morgan estate opened for him.

  Beyond the wall, there were cars parked expertly in a line, alongside and in front of the three annex buildings. The tent on the lawn could be seen over the top of all the cars.

  The tent was finally complete, with all sides rolled down to block the chill except in one area where attendants streamed in and out. Flowers were coming in, and table scape arrangements were placed with final touches being added.

  Victor parked the SUV just to the left of the garage, away from other vehicles parked in line.

  Silas stared out his passenger side window, frowning. “I feel bad the car is probably going to get sold to someone else. We didn’t even get to ride in it one last time.”

  “We might get it back,” Victor said. “I’m worried my mom will take the spare keys and try to find the car and... I don’t know what... like ask too many questions.” He reached over, opening the glove compartment.

  Silas shifted his leg, knocking the door to the glove compartment while Victor’s hand was inside. Victor felt the pressure and jerked his arm back before Silas could accidentally smash his hand.

  The spare keys to Mr. Blackbourne’s car had been placed inside and fell out onto Silas’s leg and then slid to the floor.

  “Sorry,” Silas said, adjusting his leg to try to get out of the way and reach for the keys.

  “No, I should have warned you,” Victor said.

  “I know you’re worried, but it’s okay. We’ve got everything. She won’t come out here. It’s party day.”

  Victor sighed. “Maybe I just don’t want to go inside.”

  Silas reached over and clapped a hand on Victor’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve been through worse than a birthday party.”

  Of course, he was right. Why did this one feel worse than other times when his mother held parties? Because the focus was supposed to be on him? One day. That’s all they had to get through. Next year, he’d tell his mom it’s done. He wouldn’t do any more parties and be gone.

  Too bad that couldn’t be this year.

  They got out of the car, and Victor did his best to get away from the SUV while scanning the vicinity. His mother wasn’t outside, which was a good thing. Otherwise, she might have noticed them approaching in a car that wasn’t the BMW.

  Mr. Blackbourne’s... because his was destroyed.

  A sad, nagging feeling settled into his chest. Goodbye, Mr. Blackbourne’s car. As much as he hoped they could buy it back, it was sad to think maybe this might be the last time he saw it at all.

  But he’d never see his own again, either. Maybe this was what made him more frustrated today, realizing his first car, the car he’d had loads of great times with his friends, the one he’d had when he’d met Sang for the first time... It was just now settling in that it was probably a lost cause. The dismantled car, seeing it in pieces... and now they were pulling it apart more just to take out the VIN. He’d probably never drive it again.

  At the porch, Silas stood aside as Victor opened the rear door. Many footsteps and voices came from inside the house. Maids were putting final touches on everything to ensure the stage was set for house tours.

  “Maybe you should wait out here for a second?” Victor said. “I’ll just go give the keys to my mom. She’ll probably have me get dressed in something else. But I’d rather come back out here after.” Silas often said he felt like a bull in a China shop in tight spaces and got uncomfortable with everyone inside downstairs trying to set up and sometimes walking by with breakable items. He could imagine Silas would be a bit unnerved on a day like today.

  Silas seemed relieved at that. “Just text if you want me to come in. I’ll go hang out by the pool.”

  The moment Victor stepped inside, he immediately pushed himself to the wall to avoid some people brushing past him out the door h
e’d come in from. Victor angled himself into the stairwell and stopped someone else rushing past with a hand wave.

  “Sorry to stop you,” Victor said. “Have you seen... Mrs. Morgan?”

  The young woman blinked at him as she considered what he was saying while juggling some fresh-cut flowers in her arms. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Really? She usually never stepped foot into it during party preparation. “Thank you.”

  Victor turned around to head down the ground-floor hallway. The door to the kitchen was propped open completely, exposing the space filled with chilling racks with some of the prepped food for tonight.

  Jasmine Morgan had changed her dress, black with a single large silver stripe that curved around from top left to bottom right. She was dressed for dinner this early? She stood at the counter with a death glare looking over an iPad screen.

  “Something wrong?” Victor asked, tentative. Part of him suspected she’d somehow learned about the whole disaster with his car and was about to ask him far too many questions.

  Instead, she picked her head up and did an exaggerated eye roll. “Just the newspapers already have photos and a guest list for tonight and the event hasn’t even started yet. Half of their list is incorrect. I absolutely hate this internet news. Before, they got it wrong because of incompetence. Now they get it wrong because they’re trying to be the first and then they’ll correct mistakes after... if they bother to fix it at all.”

  She was web searching her own name again. Victor blinked at her, stunned. His birthday, and she was more worried about what people thought of her. “You really should stop Googling yourself.”

  “I get alerts now when something new pops up,” she said. “The PR team gets all the news as well to give them a chance to dismantle anything problematic and promote our good name.”

  Victor blew out a perplexed breath. “Have you ever considered how not normal it is to need a PR team?”

  Jasmine didn’t bother to look up at him this time. “What are you talking about? Everyone has a PR team.”

  She meant everyone she knew. No one else existed.

  Victor didn’t want to take the time to explain any further and instead held out the keys to Mr. Blackbourne’s car. “I believe you wanted these.”

  She peeled her gaze away from the iPad enough to register what he was holding. His mother’s lips pressed together as she clutched the keys to the BMW in her hand.

  Unceremonious. No fanfare about the exchange. No considering his thoughts on the matter of letting go of his first car.

  Sentimentality wasn’t important to her. Perhaps that was the most unnerving thing about it.

  “Is your friend not joining us?” she asked.

  She meant Sang. He was used to the way she called out any of his friends, but with Sang, she had a particular tone. Jasmine refused to acknowledge her as anything but ‘friend,’ not even using her name. Victor didn’t like it. His mother had every intention of keeping Sang just a friend. “Silas is here. Sang will be here in a little while. The others should show up at different times today.”

  She shifted her hand back to put the keys next to the iPad on the counter. “It’s just as well. Your clothes are upstairs. I need you dressed.”

  Victor’s face flickered. “It doesn’t start until five, right? If you want to do house tours early, I should wait somewhere else...” He imagined she wanted him around early for house tours, where close friends and their families got a history of the house and hors d’oeuvres before the other guests arrived. But he was hoping to get out of it. “Silas is outside, after all, and...” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Was it his birthday or not? Though he knew the answer to that one.

  She turned from him, picking up a clipboard on the counter to check over a list. From over her shoulder, he could see well-defined boxes, the first quarter checked off. “We’ve some early guests who are already here. I need you to go now.”

  No one showed up this early. She wanted to show him off for some reason, it was the only time she had him change and be presented so early. He should have known. Victor sucked in a few words he wanted to say. Like how he’d rather hang out with his real friends, not her friends. How he didn’t want to meet anyone right now...

  How he didn’t want to be here anymore. Not where he was a showpiece, something they dressed up for friends at parties and otherwise ignored.

  Was today the day? Pressing his luck didn’t seem like something he was ready for. Not with so many people around.

  One day later. Not today. Get through today.

  “Okay,” he said.

  She gave a stiff nod and waited. She meant right now, and she never repeated herself.

  He left her, heading upstairs, blind to anyone else in the house for the moment. Somehow, talking to his mother left his mood even darker than before.

  His bedroom had changed from this morning. He’d slept in the bed, had left clothes on the floor, but now the bed was made, the garments gone. A movable steel clothing rack on wheels had been placed just outside of his closet. He checked the bathroom and the closet, just in case someone remained, and then locked his bedroom door.

  There were three suits hanging up on the movable rack, obviously meant for him to pick from. However, one was positioned in front of the others, a gray Tom Ford suit, with a vest, white shirt, and gray tie.

  Instead, he went for the Armani, the last option. Black suit, white shirt, jacket, no tie.

  Until the second option—the Zenga, a gray suit with a black, form-fitting shirt replacing the typical white shirt—caught his eye. Something new.

  He pulled his phone out, dialing Gabriel quickly.

  “Tell me I’m not late,” Gabriel said instead of a greeting. “These motherfuckers on I-26 don’t know the speed limit’s ten over what they’re going.” Someone mumbled next to him. “Also, Kota says the speed limit isn’t 75 but I disagree. They clearly meant for it to be 75.”

  Good thing Gabriel wasn’t driving. “Tell me what you think of this.” He turned on the camera to Facetime with him and pointed it at the Zenga. “This shirt’s a bit different for me.”

  “Not with that suit,” Gabriel said. “Move the camera over a bit. Show me the other ones.”

  Victor backed up a bit until his butt was up against the piano to be able to show Gabriel the options.

  “The Ford,” he said, “with the Zenga shirt.”

  Victor turned the video around, frowning. “I was hoping you’d say the Armani.”

  “You just like Armani because your dad won’t wear it,” Gabriel said. Gabriel was combing his fingers through his hair, using the phone image like a mirror for looking at himself. He’d the pink studs in his ears again today. He always wore the pink ones now. His hair was getting longer, too.

  “It’s not that,” Victor said.

  “Or your mom picked these out so you don’t want to wear what she wants, right?” Gabriel asked. “Why does her opinion matter anymore? You’re fucking seventeen now. Don’t dislike something just because your mother likes it. You’ve your own opinions. It’s not Tom Ford’s fault.”

  A hot bit of air hit Victor’s lungs, and despite breathing calmly, it festered, threatening to stay. He wanted to say Gabriel was wrong. However, what he said was always the case. If his mother really wanted him to do something, he hated to do it. Agreeing to things she wanted felt like he was giving in...

  Becoming one of them... whatever it was they wanted him to be.

  Gabriel wasn’t wrong. It was just hard hearing, again, that he needed to forget his mother and what she wanted.

  Victor hung up after saying goodbye to Gabriel. He reached out to the Tom Ford, feeling the fibers between his fingers, something Gabriel would often do when picking out his clothes. Get a feel for it. Imagine how it would fit.

  Still, he couldn’t seem to get that sensation of burning out of his lungs, heat radiating inside of him, how he felt when something bothered him terribly. It was always
there, and he tried to keep it in check. But on days like this, the feeling was overwhelming.

  Very few things helped. Like having his friends around.

  And Sang.

  Thinking of her, he sent her a quick text, despite knowing she was probably still on her Academy job with Mr. Buble.

  Victor: You doing okay?

  Minutes passed. No answer. Of course. He chewed at his lower lip, a bit concerned. It’d be simple to track her phone, but it meant opening up opportunities for others to do so, after he’d put in a lot of effort to make their lines untraceable lately. Especially after Volto started getting more dangerous...

  Should he check on DepthCrawler? Check on his progress?

  He debated doing so. DepthCrawler would let him know if there was any new information to share.

  Victor left his phone on his bed before heading into his bathroom. He needed to freshen up and head downstairs before his mother sent people to fetch him. He told himself Sang would be there tonight. They all would be. Silas was waiting for him, and that was at least one of them here, enough to give him some breathing room from his mother so he could stop feeling like a puppet.

  Tonight, he’d do what they’d like. Tomorrow, and for days after, they allowed him to do as he wished.

  And maybe one day he’d have the guts to tell his mother to back off.

  Sotto Voce

  (In an undertone)

  Sang

  Outside of leaving the Taylor compound, I had no idea where we were going when we left. I wasn’t sure I should ask. I thought I’d check my phone if it took much longer and have the map show me where I was.

  The neighborhood we arrived in was a single cul-de-sac off a road with an empty field on either side before there were more single homes on larger lots of land. The cul-de-sac had small homes sitting close to each other. Single-story modest homes. Some had chain-link fences. Some of the lawns had bicycles and toys. Few cars were in the drives. Some homes had a single-car garage in the back or a carport alongside the house.