“Oh sure. I’m Jake Laurent, the owner.” He turned off the hose and stored it where customers wouldn’t trip. “Let me get my glasses, and I’ll pull up the records for you.”
“I appreciate your cooperation.”
“My old man was a badge.” He pointed at Linus. “I still respect the uniform.” He dried his hands on a ratty towel near the register then removed his glasses from his pocket and propped them at the end of his nose. “Yesterday, you said?”
“The delivery was made around six.” He gave the man Grier’s address. “There was no card attached.”
“Woolworth House.” Pride lit him up once more. “Most beautiful broad in Savannah, you ask me. That’s where the big wedding I mentioned earlier is being held.”
“You’re familiar with—” he almost slipped and called her Woolly, “—Woolworth House?”
“Granddaughter number four worked for Haint Misbehavin’ during the summers before she went off to college. She used to regale me with stories about Savannah’s haunted history. That old house was at the top of her wish list of properties to tour, but the Woolworths don’t much lend her out to the public.”
Once upon a time, Maud had decorated the house for the Christmas parade of homes to give locals a peek inside the manor. She hadn’t celebrated the holiday, but Grier did thanks to her public-school peers, and Woolly loved the company. Perhaps this year, their first Christmas as a married couple, they could revive the tradition.
“Ah.” Mr. Laurent shoved the glasses up his nose. “Here’s the receipt. The transaction was made by a Danill Volkov. Would you like a copy?”
“Please.” Warm from the printer, the paper nonetheless gave him chills. “He paid in cash?”
“Yeah. Crisp too.” He rubbed his fingers together. “I made a joke about him printing his own money since he paid in sequential bills.”
“Who made the delivery?”
“Mark, my grandson. My girlfriend does them now and again, but he’s my primary runner.” He rubbed his knuckles as if they ached. “Come back around four, and he’ll be out of school. He works here for two hours every afternoon during the week. Mostly deliveries. You’re welcome to talk to him then.”
“Thanks.” Linus dipped his chin. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”
As he turned to leave, he noticed a planter with a cracked bottom two rows down. The dwarf orange tree within appeared healthy, but it was spilling out of its container.
“I have to repot that one.” The man massaged his hands harder. “It slipped out of my grip. Damn arthritis. I’ve got soil and pots in the back, though. It’ll be right as rain in no time.”
He surprised himself by reaching for his wallet. “I’ll take it.”
“Are you sure?” Mr. Laurent rounded the counter and pointed down a different row. “There are others on the shelf, ready to go.”
The others didn’t earn so much as a glance from him. “I like that one.”
“Got a soft spot for broken things, eh?”
Perhaps that was it, the call of like to like. Though he didn’t mind his fractures as much these days. Between Grier and their growing circle of friends, he felt almost…normal. Perhaps for the first time in his life.
“My fiancée loves to garden.” The slip made Linus grimace, but the florist had been talking his ear off about the wedding since he walked through the door. How could he not think of Grier? Especially now that an old threat was reemerging. “She’s restocking her mother’s greenhouse, and the citrus selection is thin.”
A lie, but a polite one. Maud’s love had been roses, and Grier followed in her footsteps. There had been citrus trees and other fruit trees once, but most had died without anyone to care for them. Only the roses had persevered without a guiding hand, growing wild over the grounds of the old house.
“Do you want to wait while I repot it, or would she prefer bare root?”
“Bare root is fine.”
“I have some burlap in the back. Let me grab a yard.”
Linus waited until Mr. Laurent disappeared into a stockroom before inking a design on his palm with the modified pen he kept in his pocket and performing a quick sweep of the area. The metal-detection sigil was basic, easily tweaked to home in on bronze particulates, but no heat seared his palm.
Whoever had sprinkled the powder onto the flowers, they hadn’t done it in here. It didn’t prove the grandson was innocent, but he felt certain Mr. Laurent wouldn’t sabotage an account he was bragging on. It risked too much negative attention later.
While the florist was in the back, Linus called Bishop. “Find Danill Volkov.”
Bishop was a member of his former team in Atlanta, but Linus had yet to find his equal in Savannah. Until he did, he paid Bishop bonuses for his occasional assistance, such as hunting down leads online and evidence analysis, tasks he could perform without leaving the city.
“No problem, boss. I’ll get it for you ASAP.”
“I have a card with handwriting I need you to analyze as well. I’ll scan and email it to you.”
“You do that. I’ll clear my schedule.”
Linus ended the call as Mr. Laurent reappeared cradling a bundle in his arms.
“There are planting and care instructions for everything we sell on my website,” the florist told him. “It’s not too difficult to parse for a gardener, but you tell your fiancée to call if she’s got questions.”
“Thank you.” Linus paid his bill, accepted the plant, and ducked out onto the bustling sidewalk.
Morrison pulled up to the curb within seconds, accepted the burlap package from him, then rushed to open the car door. Linus slid onto the backseat and waited while the driver secured the tree in the trunk where it would be safe from breaks or bends.
“Where to, sir?”
With seven hours until dusk remaining, Linus had one last stop to make. “The Lyceum.”
Morrison guided them through the crowds, and Linus gritted his teeth as they bumped over metal rails and worn stones. He used the time to check his phone for updates, and he had one from Gilly. Assured of Morrison’s loyalty, thanks to a magically enforced NDA, he didn’t hesitate—long—before dialing her.
Prepared for more bad news, he asked, “What have you found?”
“The blood sample belongs to a Last Seed. We’ve got a type, and it fits Danill Volkov.”
“How long until you get a confirmed match?”
“Four hours if we’re lucky. We called Doughty in from Buckhead. His rulings hold up best in the Lyceum.”
Doughty was a witch, and a man of science. Between the two disciplines, he made a peerless analyst.
“Keep me posted.” He ended the call as Morrison parked in front of city hall. “Back in an hour. I’ll call if I’m detained.”
There was no escaping the chauffeur routine here on the steps of the building where his mother worked, not when cameras filmed all entrances and fed her a steady diet of information.
Prior to the Siege of Savannah, she had been content allowing a human security force to police the premises while a lone sentinel monitored the upstairs’ feeds from behind a locked door. Back then, she had kept the bulk of her defenses in place on the lower levels. Now the security staff at city hall was one hundred percent sentinel. No humans who applied for the post would receive a callback ever again.
The start of lunchtime meant Linus rode the elevator twice before he got it to himself. Only then did he use his key to gain access to the lower floors. The extra descent gave him time to apply what Grier called his Scion Lawson mask.
Cool. Aloof. Bored. All the facets expected from this personality.
The car hit bottom, and he exited into the main hall. Crimson tiles with heavy veining paved the way to what he considered the arena. Rows of seating for each caste within the Society loomed high overhead, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Ahead of him sat the box where the Grande Dame and her advisors made their rulings.
The darkness in him pulsed, stronger
in this place, and he gritted his teeth to keep his power leashed when it screamed within him, shrieking its intent to shred this theater to splinters it would drive into the hearts of any who tried to stop him.
Grier had been tried here. Without meaning to, he had stopped walking on the exact spot where she had stood and been judged. Sixteen years old and found guilty of a murder she hadn’t committed. Tossed away in Atramentous to rot.
He never thought he would see her again.
He had grieved her and hated his mother—their entire society—for a long time.
Unforgiving night spilled from his pores, wafting into the air around him. The slip in control was ill-advised, and it annoyed him, but this place brought his loss back in vivid detail each and every time.
Mother had known he would damn himself to save her, and so she had ordered him sedated to prevent him from throwing away his life. Her words, not his. He might not have been present for Grier’s trial, but he had watched the video, listened to the audio, and read the transcripts until he could recite each syllable as her life sentence was handed down, until that night was as real as any memory to him.
“Darling,” his mother cooed, snapping him back to the present. “I heard you were here.”
“You saw me on the video feeds,” he corrected, but he couldn’t stop his faint smile. She had, after all, returned Grier to him. Forgiven was not forgotten, but it was progress. “How are you?”
“Better now that you’re here.” She leaned in, smelling of the grapefruit essential oil she preferred to any perfume, and bussed his cheeks. “Come to my office. I was about to eat a late lunch. You can join me.”
On reflex, his gut cramped at the invitation. Not long ago, he would have passed on her offer, but Grier was healing him in all ways, and his mother would appreciate evidence of that.
“What brings you here at this hour?” She rounded her desk, pressed a button, and a sentinel appeared with a second china plate and napkin-rolled silverware. “Ungoddessly, isn’t it? The sun is so bright, and there are so many humans underfoot.”
“I could ask the same of you.” He sat and accepted the plate and utensils, then the half portion of Cobb salad from her. “You’re working all hours lately.”
“Yes, well.” She stabbed a leaf with gusto. “That Pritchard boy has some ideas on how to improve security. We’re upgrading the tunnels and running wiring for cameras.”
The fork in Linus’s hand froze halfway to his mouth as the implications sank in.
That Pritchard boy was Boaz Pritchard. He was meant to be her gofer as a punishment for helping Linus break into Atramentous with Grier to access what remained of the Great Library in order to harness her goddess-touched powers and save the city from Gaspard Lacroix.
His twelve-month sentence was up more than a year ago. Yet here she was, talking as if they remained in touch with one another. The notion Boaz’s patented charm might be working on his mother unsettled him.
“That is his area of expertise, or so I hear.” Linus forced himself to eat. “When does he rejoin the Elite?”
“Oh, that happened months ago.” Her attention remained on her meal, avoiding his eyes. “However, I have decided to post a contingent of Elite at the Lyceum. He will be heading the squad as well as overseeing the sentinels assigned here.”
Linus gulped a cherry tomato whole to keep from choking. “You’re bringing him back?”
“You two have bad blood between you,” she said with mild reproach, “but he truly is quite resourceful. I came to appreciate his gumption during his time here, and I can’t think of anyone better to head this new initiative.”
There had been blood, all right. Smeared down his face when Boaz broke his nose for bringing Grier flowers after her crush paraded his first girlfriend around town. Coating his shins when Boaz jerked him down from a tree branch where he sat to sketch Grier. Crusting his fists the first time their mutual dislike turned to blows.
“Employment at the Lyceum is at your discretion,” he said blandly. “You don’t need my permission.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission,” she parried sharply. “I was simply informing you so that you can let Grier know what to expect.”
“Ah.” That explained the advance warning. “I’ll tell her at dusk.”
“Good.”
The rest of their meal passed without mention of Boaz, which made his lunch far more palatable.
“I should be going.” Linus checked the time, and she smiled to see him using her gift rather than his phone. “I have an interview to conduct.”
“Linus.” His mother stabbed the last boiled egg on her plate. “He is over her, isn’t he?”
“Boaz has been engaged to Adelaide Whitaker longer than I’ve been engaged to Grier.” He was careful of his words, aware of the weight they carried. “Long engagements aren’t uncommon in the Society. Marriage is an unbreakable vow, after all.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Her shrewd eyes flipped up to his. “I want to know if he’s going to cause any problems.”
All of a sudden, he grasped her fresh appreciation for Boaz’s gumption. She wanted him under her thumb until after the wedding. Maybe until after his own wedding. No doubt it had taken the last few months Boaz had spent back among the Elite for her to carve out this special niche for him.
“Will he abandon Adelaide for Grier? Would Grier have him if he asked? That’s what I want to know.” She pushed back from her desk, disgusted. “I’ve waited long enough, and this promises to be the social event of my lifetime. I won’t have it ruined.” She slapped her palm on her armrest. “I won’t.”
“Grier wouldn’t leave me for him.” The uncertainty in his voice would have earned him a solid pinch from her, so he tried again. “Grier loves me.” The darkness in him snickered, but he ignored its taunts. “She won’t leave me for Boaz.”
At last, his mother nodded reluctant acceptance. “See that she doesn’t.”
A rueful smile tilted his mouth. “I’ll do my best.”
“I expect grandchildren, Linus.” Her gaze softened. “Grier was a lovely girl, and you were such a handsome boy. Can you imagine how beautiful they’ll be?”
Even with the weight of the ring around his finger, he didn’t dare study the future that closely. “I’ll make your request known.”
“You do that.” She tossed her napkin onto her plate, signaling the end of lunch. “Did you need something, darling? You never said.”
“I had time on my hands and thought I would visit my mother. There’s no crime in that, is there?”
“I’m sure if there is, your fiancée will think up a way to punish you.”
“Yes, well.” The twinkle in her eyes disarmed him, as did the innuendo. The Siege had altered many things, including their relationship. “I’ll see you later, Mother.”
Bowing her head, she resumed her work, and he took the elevator up to city hall.
The pointed questions about Boaz had left him too raw to remain in her company. He would brief her on Lethe’s condition later, in case the Atlanta alpha decided to have words with Mother about allowing her daughter to be harmed while in close proximity to a necromancer…again.
Once he stepped out, Morrison abandoned his task of buffing a smudge off the hood to open his door.
“Where to, sir?”
His inflection never changed, and Linus found the routine settling. “Back to Flower Power.”
This time, the trip doubled in length thanks to a collision between a frazzled tourist in a rental car and a street artist who attempted to save a dog from a tour bus but got a broken leg out of the bargain.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way.” Linus let himself out before Morrison could throw the car into park. “At this rate, I might be finished by the time you reach the shop.”
He shut the door and hit the sidewalk, taking his time walking past the touristy kitsch. He reached the florist by four on the dot and was greeted by a tall boy with dark hair plastered to his
head wearing a soggy tee with the Flower Power logo on the front.
“I wasn’t playing in the water.” He dropped the hose in his hand like it was a snake come to life. “I was spraying the plants and—”
“The hose attacked you.” Linus nodded with all seriousness. “Clearly you were wrestling it when I arrived to prevent it from assaulting any customers.” His lips twitched. “I appreciate your efforts on our behalf.”
The boy flushed a shade of red to match the walls as he studied Linus’s very wet, very expensive shoes.
“Your grandfather told you to expect me.” That would explain the rambling excuses. Law enforcement made guilty people nervous. Even if the crime was rolling through a stop sign or running a red light. “I need to ask you a few questions about an arrangement you delivered to Woolworth House yesterday afternoon.”
“Granddad told me. I should have known it wasn’t glitter.” He smoothed his hair back and flung the water off his fingers. “This guy, he gave me a packet of coppery-looking glitter and paid me fifty bucks to sprinkle it over the flowers.”
“The same guy who purchased them?”
“Yeah.” He exhaled quick and sharp. “I wouldn’t have done it for a stranger. I’m not a total dork.” He glanced down at his soaked clothes. “Most of the time.” Cheeks hot, he kept going. “He met me out on the street. I was about to get in my car when he came out of nowhere with the packet. He said he meant to drop it off when he placed the order but forgot. Then he saw me and hoped it wasn’t too late. He said it was for the bride, that she loved glitter. It’s a big account, and Granddad is being so extra about it. I wanted to get it right. For him.”
More than likely, Volkov had read the florist as the type who wouldn’t appreciate the implications his bouquets weren’t adequate. Far easier to bribe the delivery boy with a generous tip for a perceived favor.
“Do you have any glitter left?”
“Nah. I used it all. He told me to sprinkle it on in my car. It was kind of windy yesterday, and he didn’t want it to scatter.” He thought about it. “The packet he gave me is still in the passenger floorboard. I can get it for you.”
How to Kiss an Undead Bride Page 4