Chapter Two: The Nocturne
1334 Words
By Friday evening, Clara had changed her mind at least six times.
The first time was while she was getting dressed.
She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at the clothes hanging in front of her, and wondered what exactly she thought she was doing.
She could still stay home.
Nobody was forcing her to go.
The invitation was sitting on her dressing table, and she had spent most of the day pretending it did not exist. Every time she looked at it, though, she remembered the message she had received.
You should not have accepted it.
That was enough to make any sensible person stay home.
Clara reached for a black dress.
It was simple, fitted without being too tight, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. She had bought it months ago and had barely worn it.
Tonight seemed like a good enough reason.
She looked at herself in the mirror after putting it on.
"You are going there for answers," she told her reflection. "That's all."
Her reflection did not look convinced.
She picked up her handbag and slipped the invitation inside.
At 10:47 p.m., she left her apartment.
The address on the invitation took her to a part of the city she rarely visited. The roads became quieter as she drove, and the tall buildings slowly gave way to old stone walls, expensive houses and private driveways.
Clara checked the address again.
She was in the right place.
At least, according to the invitation.
She drove another few minutes before seeing it.
The Nocturne stood behind a tall iron gate.
There was no large sign announcing its name. No bright lights. No crowd outside.
If she had driven past it without the invitation, she would never have guessed what was inside.
A security guard stepped toward her car as she approached the gate.
Clara lowered her window.
"Good evening."
"Good evening."
The man looked at her, then at the invitation she held out.
His expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough for Clara to notice.
He looked at the card for a second longer than necessary before returning it to her.
"You are expected."
Clara frowned.
"By who?"
The guard stepped back.
"Please proceed."
That was not an answer.
She wanted to ask again, but the gate was already opening.
Clara drove through.
The building was much larger than it had looked from the road.
There were several cars parked near the entrance, all expensive enough to make her feel slightly uncomfortable about the ten-year-old car sitting beneath her.
A man in a dark suit opened her door before she had time to do it herself.
"Miss Bennett."
Clara froze.
"How do you know my name?"
The man smiled politely.
"We were expecting you."
Again.
That sentence.
She stepped out of the car.
"Who exactly was expecting me?"
The man did not answer.
He simply held the door open and waited.
Clara looked back at her car.
For a moment, she considered getting inside and driving away.
Then she thought about the photograph.
Her mother.
The symbol.
The message.
She walked inside.
The first thing she noticed was the silence.
Not complete silence. There was quiet music playing somewhere in the background, and she could hear people talking in low voices, but everything seemed controlled.
Nothing was loud.
Nothing felt careless.
The entrance opened into a large marble hall with high ceilings and warm lights hanging above them. People stood around in small groups, dressed in expensive clothes.
Clara immediately felt underdressed.
Not because her dress was bad.
It was because everyone here looked like they belonged.
She did not.
A woman behind the reception desk smiled.
"Good evening."
"Good evening."
"Name?"
"Clara Bennett."
The woman's fingers moved across the screen in front of her.
Then stopped.
She looked up.
For a second, she simply stared at Clara.
"Is there a problem?" Clara asked.
"No."
The woman looked back at the screen.
Her expression had changed.
She typed something.
Then she glanced toward a man standing several feet behind Clara.
He looked at the woman.
The woman gave him a small nod.
The man walked away.
Clara noticed all of it.
"Can I ask what this place is?"
The receptionist smiled again.
"Welcome to The Nocturne."
"That doesn't really answer my question."
The woman seemed almost amused.
"Most people don't ask."
"I'm not most people."
"No," the woman said quietly. "You're not."
Clara frowned.
Before she could ask what that meant, someone spoke behind her.
"Clara."
She turned.
A man stood several feet away.
He was tall, dressed in a black suit that looked as though it had been made specifically for him. His dark hair was neatly styled, and there was nothing careless about him.
He wasn't smiling.
He was looking directly at her.
Clara didn't know him.
At least, she was certain she didn't.
He walked toward her slowly.
The receptionist immediately lowered her eyes and returned to her computer.
That made Clara even more uncomfortable.
The man stopped in front of her.
"You need to leave."
Clara blinked.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me."
His voice was calm.
Not rude.
That somehow made it worse.
Clara looked around.
"Do you own this place?"
"No."
"Then I don't think you can tell me what to do."
Something changed in his expression.
It was so small she almost missed it.
"You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me."
He looked at the invitation in her hand.
"Where did you get that?"
"Someone sent it to me."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
His eyes returned to hers.
For the first time, Clara noticed something behind his calm expression.
Concern.
Real concern.
She folded her arms.
"Now it's my turn. Why does everyone here keep acting like I shouldn't be here?"
The man didn't answer.
"What's your name?"
"Adrian."
"Adrian what?"
"Vale."
The name meant nothing to Clara.
Apparently, it meant something to everyone else.
A man passing nearby noticed Adrian and immediately moved out of their way.
Clara looked at him.
"Who are you?"
Adrian ignored the question.
"Did anyone contact you before tonight?"
"No."
"Did anyone explain what The Nocturne is?"
"No."
"Did you tell anyone you were coming?"
Clara hesitated.
"My friend knows I'm out."
"Who?"
"Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"Because you should not be here."
"And yet I'm here."
Adrian looked at her for several seconds.
There was something frustrating about the way he looked at her, as if he was trying to remember something.
Or perhaps trying to understand something.
Clara suddenly felt less confident.
She looked around again.
Nobody was paying obvious attention to them.
But she had the uncomfortable feeling that several people were listening.
"Maybe you should tell me why I was invited," she said.
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"I don't know."
Clara gave a small laugh.
"That's interesting."
"What?"
"Because you look like someone who knows everything."
For the first time, his expression almost softened.
Almost.
Then someone approached him.
A woman in a dark green dress leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear.
Adrian listened.
His eyes moved immediately toward Clara.
The woman walked away.
Clara noticed the change in his face.
"What was that?"
Adrian looked back at her.
"You need to go home."
"Why?"
"Because the invitation in your hand was not meant for you."
Clara stared at him.
"What do you mean?"
Adrian took one step closer.
His voice dropped.
"That invitation belongs to someone else."
"Who?"
He hesitated.
Then he looked past her toward the entrance.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"Her name is Evelyn Hart."
Clara waited.
"Who is Evelyn Hart?"
Adrian didn't answer.
He simply looked at Clara as though he had just realized something that frightened him.
And for the first time since she arrived, Clara wondered whether coming to The Nocturne had been a mistake.
Because Adrian Vale wasn't looking at her like a stranger anymore.
He was looking at her like he had seen her before.
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