I don’t know what I’d expected Takumi to be like, but it wasn’t this. He was tall and slim and wore black-rimmed glasses. His hair was undercut and swept rakishly to the side, and while his father wore a traditional tuxedo, he had on slim pants and a long, asymmetrical jacket that belonged on a runway.
Even though he looked more like a high-fashion mannequin than a real person, Takumi was pleasant and polite, and all through the appetizer course we talked about how lovely Venice was and what I’d seen in London. He told me about his favorite restaurant in Tokyo and offered to take me there one day and teach me how to order real Japanese ramen—which he promised me was much different from the crunchy packets you get in the grocery store—out of a vending machine, of all things. He was shocked that I’d never had sushi, and I told him that if he ever came to the US and wanted a good American hamburger, he had to try In-N-Out. We talked about everything but the important stuff, and it helped me forget that the rest of the room was watching, no doubt analyzing my every move.
I realized that I hadn’t even looked at my watch since Takumi sat down, and his parents hadn’t done anything weird, either, which was a nice change. The past few families we’d met had been so terrible that imagining a future with them had made me feel sick. The thought of Dev had been okay, but now . . . did this mean, if it came down to it, that Takumi was my best option?
Him or Stellan, I guess. There was always Stellan. The more I thought about being married to somebody, the more I was forced to think about being married to him. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about a creepy family or a surprise first wife with him. And I knew him way better than any of the Circle guys, so I’d know what I was getting into. On the other hand . . . I knew him. So I knew what I’d be getting into.
I was glad when the static of the microphone hissed from the speakers onstage.
I may have been getting used to the Circle, but there were still moments when I was struck by how strange it was. My friend Lara back in Lakehaven—or anyone else I knew—would have had a heart attack if they got to be in the same room as Eli, Alexsi, and Noah. Sunday Six usually played to sold-out stadiums of screaming girls, and they were about to perform on a tiny stage ten feet away from me. If someone I knew hadn’t been killed earlier today, this whole evening would actually be pretty fun.
Lydia told me that all three band members were Circle. Noah Day was a Saxon cousin, Alexsi Popov was related to the Vasilyevs, and Eli Abraham, the lead singer, was a Melech. With three families’ worth of Circle support, it was no wonder they were so popular.
The TV cameras that had been idly roaming the crowd focused on the stage, and the lights went down. The three boys strolled out to polite applause. Alexsi tuned his guitar and Noah tapped his drumstick experimentally on a cymbal, but Eli swung the microphone stand between his hands and peered out into the crowd. He had chin-length, wavy black hair, held back today with a wide headband. None of them had purple eyes, but they all had the swagger that came with being part of the Circle. And with being rock stars, I guess.
Eli’s eyes landed on our table, then found me. His lips curled into something that couldn’t quite be called a smile, and then he went back to adjusting the mic. I wasn’t a Sunday Six superfan, so I could be wrong, but Eli was different than I would have imagined. He seemed more distant than he was on TV. Maybe an event like this wasn’t as exciting as playing to screaming thirteen-year-olds. “One, two, three, four!” he counted off, and they broke into one of their first hits, “After Midnight.”
Despite the somber mood hanging over the party, the wine and the music had loosened people up. Around the room, a few heads bopped to the music, and next to me, Lydia was mouthing the words to the chorus. Even Takumi was tapping his foot.
When the song finished, Eli wiped his face with the hem of his plaid shirt, then leaned close to the mic. “This next one,” he said with another of those weird, sad smiles, “is for a very special young lady. Hi, Avery West. You’re going to change the world, you know.”
I sat up straight, startled. The Circle didn’t usually say things like that in public. The cameras panned to me, and I tried not to look like a deer in the headlights. For just a second, I pictured Lara watching at home and wondered if she’d even recognize me. If she did, she would be so confused. Then the band started playing again, and the camera swung away.
Lydia poked my arm behind my father’s back and raised a suggestive eyebrow in Eli’s direction. “Yeah right,” I mouthed. Not being in the direct line made him ineligible for the mandate, and he was also Eli Abraham. But then again, he was the one who kept smiling at and talking to me. My eyes made people like Eli Abraham interested in me. This was all so, so strange.
I had to admit Sunday Six were actually good live, even though Eli seemed distracted. I still wasn’t feeling cheerful enough to dance in my seat like Lydia, but I did teach Takumi the words to some of the choruses.
To finish the set, they played my favorite song of theirs. As it built to the end, Eli jumped off the stage, mic in hand. He crooned to a few tables before making his way back to ours.
“In the name of loooooove!” As he hit the highest note, punctuated with a bang on the bass drum, the crowd burst into applause. With another of those sad smiles right at me, he bowed to our table. Whistles and cheers sounded across the room.
Eli took a few seconds to stand. When he did, I flashed him a grin, a genuine one this time, but he didn’t smile back. In fact, his expression was oddly tortured.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, and set the microphone on the table next to him.
I sat forward, confused, and felt the rest of the room do the same.
And then Eli Abraham pulled a gun out of the waistband of his skinny jeans. He raised it at our table. And he shot Takumi Mikado in the chest.
CHAPTER 8
There was a moment of complete silence before the room burst into screams. People stampeded toward the doors, chairs were knocked over, well-dressed guests were shoved to the floor.