What we are looking at is a series of spreadsheets and documents that make up the detailed proposals that Ritika and Julian intend to present to Leila. I’ve spent most of my life gaining increasingly more specialized knowledge of the human body, and so my financial literacy is garbage, but what I do know is that the sums of money beingthrown around are dizzyingly immense. It is stunning to see firsthand in dollars and cents what Julian thinks a life with me is worth.
“This is insane,” I say, panicked. “It’s too much, Julian.”
Ritika gives me a sympathetic smile.
“He thought you’d say that,” she says.
“Because it’s true!” I turn to Julian. “Jules, you can’t do this.”
Julian reaches for my hand.
“Iamdoing it,” he says. “It’s just money. It’ll come back. And I’ll have more than enough left over for us to be comfortable.”
“What about you?” I ask Ritika. “What about your family?”
Ritika leans back in her chair and stretches.
“My family has been waiting for Julian to die for generations,” she says plainly. I gasp, but Julian doesn’t blink. “It’s a curse, living the way he does. And not just because of how he stays alive, but how he’s forced to live, like a bystander. We’re all thrilled that he’s chosen you. And besides, he’s got a separate trust for us that can only be accessed when the ‘Conrads’ die out.”
I swallow back tears. There’s a weight on my chest; I’ve never experienced love so overpowering that it makes me feel like a burden. What if Julian realizes that I’m not worth this investment? What if the fulfillment he seeks isn’t in me after all?
I sit quietly as Ritika and Julian talk through logistics. It’s hard not to be impressed by the level of detail they’ve put into their plan: overseas accounts, secret trusts, LLCs, properties spread out across the world that Julian intends to offer up. They’ve already sent a brief proposal to Leila, who was evidently intrigued enough to agree to meet in person in Chicago, meaning he’ll have to leave us behind in the safe house for a couple of days while he travels there and back.
“Ritika’s tough,” Julian says. “You’ll be in good hands.”
The first time we’d met, I’d noticed Ritika’s build: like she livesin the gym and never skips upper body. She catches me looking, winks, and flexes an impressive bicep.
“I’ve got good aim too,” she says. When I raise an eyebrow, she lifts her oversized tank to reveal a handgun tucked into a holster at her waistband.
I stare at it, aghast, as my ears ring with memories of gunfire, splatters of blood against glass.
“Hopefully we won’t need that,” I say in a small voice.
“It’s just a precaution,” Julian says. He stands. “Speaking of.”
He hustles back into the bedroom, then emerges later with a small tote bag. When I see the contents, I laugh out loud.
“Do I have to be cute for house arrest?” I say, turning over the package of nude-colored short press-on nails, not unlike the ones I’d popped off my fingers over the last couple of days.
“They’re a tracking device,” Julian says. Prototypes, he goes on to explain, from a woman-owned company based out of South Africa that’s been working on developing GPS navigation microtechnology with the idea of making it easier to locate people who have been kidnapped, trafficked, or killed. The chips, he explains, are embedded in the thumbs.
“Morbid,” I say with a whistle as Julian pulls out a second box, the “decoy”: a yellow gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant the size of a small button.
“The nails are less noticeable, but they’re buggy,” he explains as he fastens it around my neck. “They go dark every now and then. The necklace is more likely to work, but also much more likely to be taken off you. Ritika and Aditya will have your location at all times. If something happens and we get separated, they’ll help me track you.”
I look down to where the pendant nestles against my chest. Julian’sbeen thorough; that much is undeniable. But that also tells me that he’s scared. He knows his sister. The depths she’ll go to guard their secret.
Leila’s face pops into my mind. Teeth stained red. Blood dripping down her chin.
“It’ll be okay,” I say out loud, a prayer.
“It’ll be okay,” Julian repeats.
Julian leaves the next morning and takes my resolve with him.
“Ritika will handle meals and any logistics. There’s another truck in the garage if you guys need to leave, but otherwise try to stay on the property,” he says, standing at the threshold of the cottage with his carry-on bag in one hand and my waist in the other. “We’re both going to feel like shit for a bit. Tylenol. Hydration. Rest. You know the drill.”
“Ah, to be literally addicted to my hot supernatural boyfriend,” I deadpan. Julian rolls his eyes affectionately.