Sofia tilted her head and smiled.
“We’re looking for an Underworld therapist for a client. Have you heard of any floating around Tucson?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes in thought but shook her head. “No, but you should ask Clothilde. She knows everyone.”
He snapped his fingers. “Good call. Thanks.”
“Later, Henry.” She even gave him a little wave before disappearing into the crowd.
“Did you guys sleep together or something?” Emma said way too casually.
She wanted to put her face in her hands. Acting this way was going to make her look like a jealous weirdo who had no business being jealous in the first place. He was the man who signed her paychecks. He meant nothing to her. Yet if that was the case, why was she annoyed with herself for asking? Henry faced her, giving her an amused look.
Henry rested his elbow on the table, putting his face in his hand. “I fail to see how that’s any of your business,” he drawled.
He was right. She was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, and it was a ridiculous question to begin with. This was the man who thought intruding on people’s thoughts was highly improper. Why on earth would he have slept with a client?
Still, she said, “It’s my business if you’re violating attorney-client ethical standards.” She steeled herself for his reply.
He stared at her for a long moment. She kept her expression neutral but felt her face heat up. He laughed.
“Seriously? No. Some people are just a little flirtatious, and I’m definitely not her type.”
What a ridiculous notion. Henry was everyone’s type. She pressed her lips together and glanced around the bar. Okay, fine, maybe she was taking it a bit far.
He nudged her with his shoulder. “Jealousy is an odd color on you.”
Emma was surprised that she was mollified—relieved, even—that there wasn’t anything going on between him and Sofia. Goddamn it. She shouldn’t need to feel mollified. They weren’t dating. They worked together and that was it. She wanted to sigh. Being so close to the vampire was short-circuiting her logic.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I be jealous?” she asked, barely keeping a straight face.
Henry opened his mouth, but before they could discuss the topic further, a man with short blond hair and way too much confidence slid into an empty chair in front of them. He wore a jean jacket with the arms ripped off and a plain white t-shirt underneath. Studs and patches adorned the jacket. Emma’s eyes narrowed in the dim lighting as she tried to read the patches: Subhumans, Bad Brains, Minor Threat, and Me Monster. There was also a white patch with a large black X. She’d never heard of any of the things on his jacket, but it was easy enough to tell that he was a punk.
“Is this your dinner or what?” He gestured toward Emma. “Your secretary over there seems to be under the impression that she’s working for you.”
Henry folded his arms across his chest. “Been a while, Victor.”
The man clucked his tongue. “Pretty tacky to play with your food in public. Not very courteous to let mortals in on our secret.” He studied Emma as if she were a particularly strange-looking insect. She tried not to fidget.
Henry gave him an unimpressed stare. “If you’re as sloppy as you were when Stone Avenue was still made of dirt, there’s a good chance you’ll need her help to stay out of jail eventually.”
Henry tipped his head at Emma—that was her cue. She grabbed another business card without missing a beat. Laying it on the table, she pushed it across to Victor with a pointed look. He gave a cursory glance at it and puffed out a bored breath.
“Why would I let a mortal handle a vampire case? She wouldn’t know the first thing to do with me,” he said, casually flashing his fangs at her. “Better off as dinner.”
Well, at least he hadn’t called her a “little mortal girl.” Still, she was tired of Henry doing most of the talking while supernats kept pushing her to the side. It was time to show she could hold her own. Maybe she’d take a page out of Sofia’s book, though she had something with a bit more bite in mind. Emma leaned over the table, letting the fabric of her dress pull tight across her chest.
Emma kept her voice low so that Victor and Henry would have to pay closer attention to what she said. “I know enough that if you keep bullying me, I can buy sesame seeds in bulk from a nice Asian supermarket over on Pima and dump them on your front doorstep every morning for a week.”
Emma tried her best at flashing him a sultry yet dangerous smile. With any luck, she’d look more like a shark than a siren. “Or I can get real creative and steal your left sock, put some stones in it, and toss it in the Rillito River during monsoon season.”
It sounded ridiculous, but according to lore, he would be tethered to the sock and jump into the river after it, drowning over and over until someone finally pulled him and the sock out. Cruel, but so was getting murdered by having your throat ripped out. Victor fell back in his chair, and Emma detected a barely noticeable shiver in his shoulders.
“That’s right, I know the deep cuts when it comes to vampire mythos.” She continued to smile. “Not so fun when you’re the one being threatened, is it?”
To her disappointment, Victor only shook his head slightly before ignoring her completely once more.
“See? The last person I’m going to trust is a mortal. If I get busted for my work, you’re the one I’m calling, Henry. I’m sure you wouldn’t trust your renewal with a random mortal.”
Emma looked askance at Henry. “Renewal?”
Victor finally acknowledged her with a roll of his eyes and said, “You don’t know anything, do you? If a supernat needs a new identity, I get them one.”
Once again, she felt humbled by how little she knew. Before she could respond, though, she noticed Sal and Salomé sitting a few tables away. Salomé raised a glass to her. While it was comforting to see a halfway (and she really did mean halfway) friendly face, she was tired. With the amount of crap being thrown at her, it was tempting to go home.
Victor pushed his chair back, stood up, and looked down at Henry. “If you’re going to have mortals working for you, I would seriously consider getting a witch to dose your employees with a gag order charm.”
Emma’s eyes widened as doubt crept into her brain. Maybe Camille had a point about staying away from Henry. He could saddle her with a spell, hit her with some mind control, or even take a bite out of her like Victor had threatened to do. Glancing over at him and seeing the nonplussed look he was giving the punk, she sighed. He had thus far never indicated he would do any of those things.
Victor brought Emma’s business card up to his forehead and performed a salute with it before letting it fall to the floor and walking away.
Emma let out a low, frustrated huff. “How do you know everyone here if you’re at work all the time? No wonder they all want to keep working with you.”
“Rafael and Sofia are clients. I’ve known Victor since I first came to Tucson. That’s three people. It’s not like everyone cheered my name the minute we walked in,” he pointed out.
She grumbled nonsense words in frustration and ran her fingers through her hair. “And would you really do that—force a magical gag order on me?” She couldn’t help but ask.
He shook his head. “Not unless you plan on telling everyone you know about the Underworld and posting videos online.”
“Of course not! But I hate how weak I am around supernats. At the end of the day, any one of you could drain me dry to make me forget my own name.” It was terrifying if she thought about it too hard.
Henry gave her a jovial clap to the back, startling her. “Sure, and most of Tucson’s native insects and animals could do the same thing.”
She laughed a little, but it fizzled out. “Really, though. No one takes me seriously or trusts me, even as I keep telling them I’m here to help. It’s pointless if no one wants me around.”
“I want you around,” Henry sai
d simply.
Emma snapped her head up to meet his gaze, but he studiously ignored her before it could turn into A Moment. She knew it was wise of him, even as disappointment sank in her chest. After finishing his bloody Bloody Mary, he wiped his red mouth with a cocktail napkin.
“You want to finish up your drink? We’ve still got plenty of other spots to hit, and for better or for worse, I think we’ve made our mark here.”
Happy at the prospect of getting the hell out of there, Emma took his suggestion and drained the last of the gin fizz. She snapped open her purse to double-check her phone. Nothing from Daphne. She wondered when she’d get to see her sister.
“Let me know if you see Daphne around. She’s supposed to be in the area too, but I haven’t heard from her.”
“Will do,” he said as they abandoned their table.
As Henry escorted her out of the bar, she declared, “Maybe I should stick to water at the next place. I need to keep my focus and stay sharp for the next supernat who insults me.”
He bent close to her ear again so she could hear above the din. “Trust me. They’ll like you more if you’re tanked. Tucson supernats don’t know the meaning of ‘professional.’”
Chapter Eleven
Emma did not, in fact, stick to water at the next place. Nor the place after that. She was drunk. They both were. Despite the rocky start at the Rusty Spoon, things had gone more smoothly at the next couple of bars he took her to. The bartenders had been far too kind with their drinks after seeing her business card. His metabolism and healing pushed the alcohol through his system at an accelerated rate, but he didn’t normally drink more than a beer or so, so his brain still felt a bit like melted cheese. He could only imagine how she felt.
Well, he didn’t have to imagine. She was soused. He decided to lead her away from the bars so they could both sober up and took her to Clothilde’s to check out “haute” Underworld couture. There was a lot of leather. Too much leather. And puffy white pirate shirts. But Clothilde was happy to see Henry and welcomed Emma heartily when he introduced her.
Henry was thumbing through some less-ostentatious dress shirts when Emma sidled up to him and held up a black cape wrapped around a wooden hanger. It was as ridiculous as it was voluminous. It even had a velvet-trimmed collar.
“Why do you never wear capes?” she exclaimed.
A few late-night shoppers frowned in their direction.
He grinned and lifted a finger to his mouth. “Shhh. Your drunk is showing.”
Her eyes widened. “Sorry,” she whispered. “But you might look dashing in a cape at work.”
She lifted the cape up to his chest and squinted her eyes, assessing the look on him. Henry gently pushed the garment down.
“I think I’ll stick with my suits,” he commented. “Don’t want to be a walking stereotype.”
Emma waved him off. “Fine, fine. You with your fancy suits and ties.”
He burst out laughing. “Fancy? I’m not a Manhattan lawyer. I shop at Macy’s and use the in-house tailor like a normal person. I can’t afford custom-made Italian suits.”
She blinked. “Oh. Well, you must be doing something right because they always look good.”
Really, now? Before he could respond, she hurried away, the cape fluttering in her arms. He looked through some dark-wash jeans, enjoying the buzz of the alcohol and her compliment coursing through his veins. He’d give her a little space. He had no idea what was happening with them, but he admitted to himself that he liked it. Emma was having fun, and she was learning to network well with the supernats.
Henry turned around to see where she’d gone. To his mild horror, Emma stood at the cashier, the cape draped on the counter. He rushed up to the front of the store. Clothilde smiled at Emma as she scanned the barcode on the tag.
“Are you sure—” he started, but Emma ignored him and passed a credit card to the woman.
He gave up on talking her out of her impulse buy and instead focused his attention on the witch. “It’s nice to see you again, Clothilde. You seem to be doing well with the store.”
The witch smiled at him from underneath a pink cloche hat with a black feather and crystal embellishment. Her gray hair looked smooth and neatly coiffed.
“It’s been far too long since I’ve heard from you, Henry, dear. I didn’t even know you were still in town.” She gave him a kind but chiding look before handing Emma’s card back to her with a receipt and pen.
“I apologize. I haven’t been much for socializing in a while,” he admitted.
“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” She glanced at Emma and then gave him a knowing smile. “How did you find her?”
“She saved my ass in court.”
Clothilde clasped her hands together. “How serendipitous!”
Emma handed her the signed receipt. “That reminds me,” she said, sobering for a moment. “A fairy named Sofia said we should ask you about finding an Underworld therapist. One of my clients needs one. Do you know any?”
The witch raised a victorious finger. “Yes, actually. A witch in my coven is starting a small practice to see if there’s any demand.”
Emma whistled low. “I don’t need to be a psychic to tell you that she will be wildly successful.”
Clothilde tore off a blank piece of receipt paper and wrote down a name and number in pristine, elegant script. She handed it to Emma.
“Perfect, thank you.”
“Now,” Clothilde said in a serious tone, “would you like a bag for your cape, or would you like to wear it now?”
The sound that Emma made could only be described as a cackle.
Henry grinned. She pulled the cape from the counter and threw the black silk around her shoulders. She looped the velvet ties at the collar into a sloppy bow around her neck then gave Henry a triumphant look, bid Clothilde goodbye, and bounded out the door.
As they walked down Fourth, Emma giggled, swishing her cape back and forth with grand gestures. It was two in the morning, and they neared the bridge on Fourth that would lead them back to Congress Street. Yet there was one last place he wanted to show her. Henry gently cupped her elbow and steered her toward their destination. There was another cloaking deterrent charm on the place, so he had to make sure she didn’t wander off onto the train tracks or something. What humans saw as an empty lot with a ‘Lot for Sale’ sign was actually Tucson’s Underworld grocery store—Krueger’s.
Emma gaped when they passed through the automatic doors.
“Do you have your own chamber of commerce or something?” She scoffed. “How did I not notice any of this when I was in law school?”
Henry smiled. “You were never supposed to,” he reminded her.
They picked their way through the produce section, and he tried to see it with the same wonder as she was. It was well-stocked with sumptuous fresh fruit. Ripe cherries, ruby red strawberries, plump raspberries. The fairies loved the stuff. By contrast, there were also a lot of standard ingredients witches used in their potions: exotic fragrant herbs, wilting nightshade, and rutabagas with roots still dangling.
“Is this why parts of Tucson seem so vacant and dead? Because there are Underworld spots that only look like empty spaces that nobody wants to rent?” Emma asked.
Henry grinned. “For the most part yes, but there are plenty of areas that are crappy just because that’s the nature of any city.”
She nodded as her gaze raked over a pile of dusty mandrakes. She started to tickle a dirty toe of one; the foot started to wiggle and a high-pitched giggle flew into the air. A crotchety employee in a green apron whirled his head toward them.
“Who’s teasing the mandrakes?” he demanded.
Henry swatted her arm away and ushered her down the aisle. Emma brought up a hand to her mouth to stifle a drunken guffaw.
“If you ever see a Candy Apple Properties ‘for rent’ or ‘for sale’ sign, then it’s probably a hidden Underworld business,” he added, continuing their conversation.
>
Emma swatted his arm. “Shut up. You’re lying. I remember trying to rent apartments from them and no one would ever call me back.”
“Pretty smart, huh?” Over the past month, he’d been hating the way she kept making him smile, but he realized he now welcomed it.
“They have a good logo,” she mused as they turned down the dry goods aisle.
“It’s a Snow White reference. I must admit—ever since the witches showed up to town, it’s been much simpler to protect ourselves. A shame they know how valuable they are.”
He grabbed a red cereal box with the name “Batty-O’s” in chubby white letters on the front. These were new. Rich in fiber, iron, and vitamin B12. They looked like dark red Cheerios with bat-shaped marshmallows sprinkled in. This would be way better than eating Lucky Charms with blood in the morning.
Emma grabbed a box of chamomile tea that boasted its supposed ability to prevent every werewolf’s “monthly courses” from happening. She frowned at the box as if it had insulted her.
“Then why do so many supernats break the law? If you’re so magical, why get caught in the first place?”
“When you can live forever, it’s tempting to have a little too much fun. If there’s more than one human around, it’s easier to get caught doing something stupid instead of risking using our abilities and getting discovered.”
Emma watched him intently, seeming to agree with the explanation, but then went back to studying the werewolf tea. “What if I got this for Wendell? He’s always so edgy. And he seems to like normal chamomile tea during our meetings.”
Henry had to smile at her concern. He wondered if she realized how deep into this she was. “That probably has more to do with you doing a good job than the tea. There’s a whole industry devoted to suppressing vampiric and lycanthropic symptoms. It’s like the diet pills and juice cleanse plans for mortals. Bogus ‘enhanced’ chamomile isn’t going to cut it.”
With a sigh, she put it back on the shelf but then wobbled in her heels. She shut her eyes briefly, the alcohol apparently getting the better of her. “Think I need to sit down.”
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