Running with the Pact - Chapter 4
Know-It-All
TRIGGER WARNINGS:
Adult Situations
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Chapter 4 - Can We Talk?
Adira Elm
November 1, 1996
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” the Jack of Heart booms awful loud for a woman with a chipmunk voice. “Fiona will distribute your conference agendas at the door as you exit. Thank you for your attention this evening, please be seated tomorrow by seven—no one wants to drag anything out I imagine. And do remember, while at this conference we are under parlay, therefore fighting is strictly forbidden. Good night, everyone.”
Without another word, the Jack of Hearts turns and walks quickly out of the dingy conference room without giving anyone a chance to ask her a question. Not that I want to. There’s no recovering after I just insulted her in front of everyone.
I duck out before Heinrich Vulfhausen gets any closer to me, or whatever it is Ari is worried about. Danny will flip out for sure if he sees me checking some guy out.
I spot Danny as I step into the dimly lit hallway. I raise my hand to waive hello to my six-foot-two Brad Pitt wannabe brother, and a tug pulls my arm.
No!
I’m spun, my stomach flopping around like a fish reeled out of water.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it’s Ms. Irit. Which is premature. “I don’t know why you look so relieved to see me after your big performance in there. We schlepp all the way here from California for this and you cannot keep your smart comments to yourself?” Ms. Irit asks in her thick Hungarian accent, her big lips curled down. “No, of course you did not! You insult not one, but two delegations? I tell you to beware of the Jack of Hearts, and look what you do! What are you thinking, Adira?”
There’s only one thing she wants to hear right now. “I’m sorry Ms. Irit,” I say all little-girlish, looking at my white high-top Converses with the hearts.
She lifts my chin, the touch of her fingers freezing my breath. Luckily those lethal weapons let go as soon as our eyes lock. “You are sorry? You think saying this makes everything okay?”
Crap on a candlestick—deflect!
“The Diiv started it,” I try to look away, but the thought of her fingers touching my face again brings me back.
“Of course they did! To get a rise out of us, so it is our fault when the pact falls apart! Now you listen to me Adira,” she snaps her fingers.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Good. Tomorrow you listen, you pay attention to the other delegations, like we teach you to pay attention to your surroundings in battle. You will watch what you say instead of being the ignoramus. You think this is a debut party for everyone to look at Adira Elm?”
I know she’s being sarcastic, but the image of a debut party after my initiation creeps into my mind. Everyone’s cheering, I’m wearing a killer dress, Heine is waiting to pop out of the cake wearing nothing but a—
“No! This is politics!” Ms. Irit booms, ruining my daydream just as it’s getting good. “Everyone here knows everyone else wants something, and nobody can have everything they want. Everyone has to make the sacrifices to hold this pact together—including you,” she grouses, wagging a finger at me.
“Wait, what does that mean?”
“Oh, now you pay attention to me? I think for a second I am invisible,” she moans, as though I never listen to her.
And she calls me a dramatic chatterbox. Wonder where I learned it?
Well, Mom. I learned it from Mom, but Ms. Irit is way worse.
“Let me explain so even you can understand Adira. You can be Ms. Teenager-Who-Needs-Attention and doesn’t listen to anyone else, or you can learn, observe, think about someone other than yourself,” she grumbles.
“So I can be a better person?” I ask petulantly.
She scoffs. “Forget being the better person. Help us figure out what everyone wants!”
I cannot roll my eyes hard enough. I’ve already what Clan Diiv wants from me, and it will be a cold day in hell before that happens.
“I don’t even know what the emergencies even are, Ms. Irit,” I fume, which raises her eyebrows in response. “But I do know that every single trainer Ari and I have studied under, including you, warned us about trusting the other clans. About back in the day when every single clan in there tried to wipe us out. And now we’re supposed to forget that? Like, sorry we killed your ancestors, sign here?!”
Ms. Irit clenches her jaw. “How good it is to have everything figured out, Adira.”
“I don’t think—”
“Be quiet,” she cuts over me. “The truth is you have had it easy because you think everyone think like you, so you can judge them as good or bad. But you only know what you have heard, what you have read, but nothing in your bones yet. Be grateful for this. Be grateful you do not have such memories burned into your eyelids, memories that haunt you every night that you sleep,” she growls in my ear.
What… ever.
Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten she’s basically a mind reader. “Oh, don’t like listening to the old woman, do you? Let me make it simple: if this treaty falls apart because of your mouth—no initiation for you!” she snaps.
My face drops. “No! Ari and I have been training for almost five years!” my voice cracks.
“And what about your five years? If you cannot listen, if you cannot think before you speak, you have wasted them,” Ms. Irit lays into me. “I tell you before, the price of peace is your pride, Adira. And tonight, I saw only pride.”
My brain screams the AOL dial-up sound.
“You hear me?” Ms. Irit scolds, snapping her fingers in my face.
I jump back instinctively. Those lethal fingers again. Seeing she’s spooked me, Ms. Irit softens her face into a smile, fishes a strawberry wrapped candy from her purse, and bear hugs me after I take it. “I love you my sweet girl, and I bring you and I bring Ari because I believe in you both. Now, go order some room service, take a nice shower, and go to bed.”
The one-eighty she does from thundering Witch of Doom to Sweet Aunt always throws me. And she’s not exactly the crazy one among the women in the Eighteen. If I join them, am I going to go all crazy-pants too?
Ms. Irit kisses my cheek and takes off without a word in the direction of the bar.
Ahh, the wine calls to her. I’ve seen her drink my dad under the table, eight bottles of wine to six before Dad fell asleep mid-sentence. Then she taught Ari and I appropriate uses for a sharpie when someone passes out with their shoes on.
She stops where Danny and Ari wait about twenty feet away, giving them each a soft shoulder squeeze. “Watch out for her, you two,” Ms. Irit whispers.
Danny throws me a grunt before storming through the open-air lobby towards the sliding glass door, tapping his Marlboro Lights pack against his right palm. Ari follows while I trail behind, popping the strawberry candy in my mouth.
Mom’s pissed the boys started smoking, especially since Danny’s up to two packs a day. Well, one—he smokes one, and Ari steals the other pack for himself. Normally, I’d remind them they’re not immortal and smoking is bad for them, but after my performance on opening night of the conference, and Ms. Irit wigging out on me, I could use a smoke myself.
Mom would blow a gasket.
Sounds perfect.
“Danny, wait, you’re supposed to watch out for meee,” I whine, chasing my brothers outside as the hairs on the back of my neck perk up.