Infatuate by Aimee Agresti Page A

city of the dead, you know?” Sabine smoothed her silky hair, and, of course, didn’t look the least bit blah.
    “Yeah, it’s surprisingly good exercise, all that painting. It works more muscle groups than I expected,” I said as we started heading back to the dining room.
    “Totally.” Sabine didn’t look like she was paying the least bit of attention. Her eyes flitted around, her hand fidgeting with the clasp of her bracelet. Just outside the doorway, she slowed her pace and grabbed my arm, pulling me back a few steps. “Haven, I need to talk to you about something.” She stopped when we were clearly out of sight from the guests inside the dining room. Waiters scurried past us with trays full of savory delicacies.
    “Sure?” I said, not meaning to sound so unsure. She let go of my arm. Her nervous eyes could barely look at mine. “Is everything okay?”
    “I saw what Dante had,” she whispered.
    My heart nearly stopped. “Whaddya mean?” I tried to play dumb.
    “Those leaves. I saw them. I know what they do. I have some but I’m almost all out.”
    The questions overflowed in my mind, setting off warning bells. But the heaviness of her tone told me that she was telling the truth. Beneath the strain in her voice lay a softer intention, the need to be understood and to share a secret. I had to choose whether to let her in. So I asked, “What do they do?”
    “They protect you. They keep the toxins away, out of your system.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “I had a friend who learned the hard way what can happen if you don’t take them.”
    As I thought of more questions to ask, I saw Lance coming down the hall. He shot me a confused look as he approached. I answered it with a blank stare. He passed us wordlessly and ducked back into the dining room. Sabine spoke again before I had formulated a response.
    “I wasn’t sure whether to say anything,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes pleading. “I didn’t plan on ever telling anyone, really, but . . . it’s hard.” She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “And when I saw that leaf in Lance’s hand, I just . . . I had to try.”
    “I understand,” I said. And I did. More waiters streamed into the room.
    “I know it’s not the best time for a bombshell.” She rolled her eyes and almost laughed, reminding me of that lighthearted, easygoing girl I had assumed she was before this.
    “No, I mean, hey, when is it ever a good time, right?” I smiled.
    “No kidding.” She shook her head. The waiters hustled past us with empty trays.
    “I feel like we should get back in there,” I said, even though it was the last thing I cared to do. I wanted to grill her, ask every burning question, and then tell it all to Lance and Dante and try to make sense of it. Did all this mean Sabine was one of us? An angel in training? She had to be, didn’t she?
    “You’re right,” she said, sighing. “But later . . . ?”
    “Definitely,” I promised her. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
    We nodded at each other, signaling silently that we would go back in that room and revert to these other versions of ourselves for the duration of the evening until we could safely speak again.
    “I saved you a seat,” I said, pointing, as we stepped inside. “We’re over here in the middle.” My bag and napkin sat on the two chairs between Lance and Tom, who was almost always dressed like he was on his way to the gym but had managed to wear khakis tonight. Sabine took the seat beside Lance. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed; she would have had no way of knowing that I had been sitting there, and I certainly didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Salads had been set at each place, along with small cups of gumbo, while several platters of an oyster dish, some kind of almond-encrusted seafood, and a saucy chicken dish were scattered across the table.
    The clinking of knife against glass quieted all the wild threads of