The moon was in a Waxing Crescent on this still Summer night. It looked small against an empty night sky. Fair Oaks was a curious mix of suburbia, hotels, and tourists. The streets were practically empty and clean; with the Summer coming to a close most visitors had left the homes and hotels vacant. Streetlights provided islands of light in the vast night, but still cast shadows that twisted into a vague Rorschach's shape of nightmares out of the corner of the eye. Fair Oaks looked pretty because kine worked to make it so, but even among the beauty monsters hid in open sight.
The guesthouse was rented out under Leaves' Airbnb for the weekend. It was a tiny home with pale white walls and a sloped tiled roof. Privacy was the first thing in mind when Clara had Leaves rent the house with her money: it was fenced off from the main house, the owners were out of town, and it was sandwiched in-between two two-story townhouses. That, coupled with the lemon tree growing in front of the doll-like house, made it hard to find if you didn't know what to look for.
Clara was lounging on a black floating chair in the pool. A Bluetooth speaker nearby was blasting a song. Clara was lazily bobbing to it, the heart-shaped sunglasses shifting a bit on her vacant expression. The Bacchante had slipped into a black one piece swimsuit with a white Sicilian bow tie tied under her cleavage. A foot lazily played with the luminescent green water as she stared out into space.
She had told John to come meet her here. The Priscus of Clan Daeva wanted her due. The way Doctor Simmons hounded him like a shark that smelled blood indicated there was more there with the First Estate. And then there's the Prince's own known displeasure of him. Clara thought on the huge liability that she called cousin and what the next move would be.