by Ann Denton
I sigh. “Why can’t it just be awesome and amazing to have a love triangle? Like in all the movies?”
“Because you end up hurting someone, sweetheart. And you have a heart of gold. Potty mouth. But a heart of gold.”
Tears fill my eyes. “You’re biased.”
“Hell yeah I am.”
“I wish I could hug you.”
“Sweetheart …” his voice trails off sadly. “I’m just not ready to go back.” I know he’s thinking about his estranged wife. How she lied. Cheated.
I feel guilty for letting his mind go there. “I know. Sorry. Technically, though, you’re wrong about the potty mouth thing. My mother made sure of that.”
“Lyon—”
“Did I tell you I’m learning to curse in Persian? Her little curse master didn’t make this sucker foreign language proof!”
He laughs. And I feel like my faux pas for making him remember his ex is forgiven. “Of course you are. So … do you know who you’re gonna choose?”
My chest tightens. “No. What? Why would you ask that?”
“Because the longer you drag this out, the more painful it’s gonna be.”
“But … but I’ve only been on one date with Luke. How am I even supposed to know?”
Jacob chuckles. “You sound panicked. Are you panicked?”
“If there was a paper bag handy, I’m pretty sure I’d be breathing into it, yeah.”
“Lyon, I’m clearly not a relationship expert. But I’ve been thinking a lot. About where things went wrong. When Saffron wanted to run for judge … I don’t think I was supportive enough.”
“What?” I sit straight up, spilling coffee on my robe. “No way! We did letters and pamphlets and posters—”
He cuts me off. “I mean my attitude. It wasn’t what I wanted. Wasn’t the future I saw for us. I wasn’t … her biggest fan.”
I go into the kitchen and dab the coffee off my robe. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is. I wasn’t her cheerleader. I wasn’t enthusiastic. I was going through the motions.”
I consider that as I grab a bag of jellybeans. This kind of conversation requires lots of sugar. “So, you always have to be like ‘rah-rah’ for your significant other? That seems unrealistic.”
“Don’t be a smart aleck. It was her life’s dream. She had a shot at it.”
“Don’t you dare blame yourself!”
“I’m not! I’m just wondering how we got on the wrong path. And anyway, I’m trying to give you the benefit of my life experience.”
I speak through a mouthful of jellybeans. “So … I should have each of the guys try on cheerleader uniforms. That’s what you’re saying right?”
“I can see you’re taking this seriously.”
I sigh. Which is hard to do without drooling when your mouth is stuffed full of sugary goo. “I know I need to take this seriously.”
“Just keep what I said in mind. Alright? Which of these guys would high five you each night? Who’s gonna laugh at your obnoxious and inappropriate sense of humor?”
“Who’s gonna be my BFF, right? Got it. Ten four. Roger dodger.”
“Lyon,” his voice goes down an octave. His serious lecture voice comes out. “It’s time … to catch and release.”
I nearly choke laughing. “OMG. Did you just use a fishing term for my love life?”
“Well, if you’re allowed to make jokes about it …”
“Hanging up. Going to work now.”
“Peace out home-fry.” Jacob signs off and I shake my head fondly as I hang up.
I toss on my workout clothes and grab a suit for later, Jacob’s advice still floating through my mind. I really, really don’t want to answer his question. I don’t know who to choose. I don’t know Luke well enough to trust any answer I’d come up with for him. And, in my heart of hearts, I don’t know if the answer would be Bennett.
Chapter 13
Seena’s over the moon when I get to the Academy. I’m not even through the doors when he whoops and claps me on the back.
“She’s responsive!”
Oh shit. I am a bad person. I didn’t even go to the hospital to check on Becca. What a jerk. I open my mouth to apologize, but Seena just keeps talking.
“She’s not awake yet, but she’s breathing on her own and she’s responsive to stimuli. They think she’ll snap out of it pretty soon. Maybe even tonight. When she does, I’m asking her out for sure.”
“I’m so glad she’s gonna be okay.” I don’t know what else to say.
“You’ll have to help me think of some way to ask her out. Something cutesy. Girls like cutesy right?”
“Sure.” That sounds like the worst idea ever. Worse than JR’s wedding sweatshop. Me? Come up with something romantic? Um, my most romantic efforts were all with Bennett. They consisted of a lamb-a-month subscription and an engraved gold watch. Both suggestions were ads in that astrological mag Cosmos. (Ads next to articles like the following: ‘Make Your Life in the Bedroom Outta This World,’ ‘Are You and Your Man Star-Crossed,’ ‘Save Your Love Life from the Black Hole of Boredom.’ You know, real literary stuff.) I’m so not creative with the romance thing. I’m edging away when Seena changes the topic back to things I can handle. Like poison.
“Wife’s story checks out. Buying a fainting potion from Dove. Bennett’s writing her off for now. ‘Cause they think the poison is Dormio. Which is a Schedule I potion. Completely illegal. Not the kinda thing a hack like Dove makes. So, on the plus side, I will have a limited number of leads to follow. On the downside, I’ll have to be hacking into gang emails and servers.”
“Wait. What?”
“I’m gonna have to search that Troll gang the Bloods, the Crypts, even the fairies are rumored to have a drug ring. Of course, they mostly deal in pixie dust. But … with a Council seat up for grabs—”
I search Seena’s eyes. He’s totally serious. He thinks the Crypts might be a part of this. Crap. “Have you talked to French yet?”
“Oh yeah, he was at the hospital with me last morning. He was kind of surprised you didn’t stop by.”
“I passed out.” Shit. Shit. Shit. What was that phrase Seena taught me? I mutter under my breath. “Zahré mar!”
“What’s that?” Seena asks.
I don’t get a chance to answer, because Flowers walks up right then and barks at us to get moving. Torture number one begins. Physical battery. But the entire time, I’m dreading torture number two.
Torture two shows up in a suit as I emerge clean and dressed from the showers around eleven.
Bennett looks hot in his fully tailored blue three piece, but his green eyes are cold. He’s a man on a mission. And I know exactly where he’s planning to go.
I close my eyes and steel myself for his growly command. It doesn’t come. When I peek through my eyelashes, he’s right in front of me, bent forward, looking concerned.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I try to play off looking like an idiot. (Why does that always happen around him?)
He waits until all the other recruits have filed past, ignoring their stares.
“You know where we’re going?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“Lyon, I’m not doing this to torture you.”
I nod, avoiding eye contact. If he didn’t want to torture me, he wouldn’t make me go. But he’s got to prove a point, right?
The car ride is tense. Silence thick as cement.
When he parks, Bennett turns to me. “Just like the other night. You’re my shadow. I’ll do the talking. No interruptions this time, Ly.”
I give a stiff nod and climb out, pulling at the sleeves of my mauve suit nervously. Deep breath.
Luke’s office is a clean-cut brick building in the midst of ramshackle warehouses. The windows are the only ones on the block that reflect the moonlight. Every other building is either boarded up or filthy.
Bennett marches in and down the hall like he’s been here before. I
trail behind, watching a line of workers shape and assemble wheels through viewing windows lining the hall. Ben smacks open the door to Luke’s office. I cover my eyes with my hands. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be part of this.
“Hawkins, where were you yesternight?” Ben’s voice drops to a menacing growl.
I peek between my fingers.
Luke is standing behind his desk in a crisp collared shirt. He’s eyeing me with amusement, completely ignoring Bennett. Next to him is a tatted Hispanic man with thinning hair and slumped shoulders. That guy does seemed cowed by Bennett’s vibe. His gaze flickers between Luke and Bennett nervously.
“Mario,” Ben narrows his eyes at the new guy. “How’s Cookie? She pleased with what happened?”
My eyebrows shoot up. Cookie? Cookie Gonzalez? As in, head of the Crypts?
I eye the tattoos again. Sure enough, it’s there. A tombstone surrounded by a circle. On his left bicep. Mario’s a Crypt? How well does he know Cookie? What’s he doing meeting with Luke? Luke’s meeting a member of the Crypts? I’m pretty sure my face turns paper-white. Holy mother eff! Has Bennett been right all along? My eyes plead with Luke. Prove him wrong. Prove him wrong, please.
Luke gives me a soft smile and then turns to Bennett. “Mr. Gomez was just here to pick up an order of shopping cart wheels for Tidbits.”
“That money-laundering grocery the Crypts run?”
Mario laughs nervously.
Luke doesn’t look the tiniest bit intimidated. “It’s a grocery store, yes. In a neighborhood full of trolls. As you can guess, carts don’t fare too well out there. They have a standing order to pick up new wheels every six months. If you have a warrant, I’ll be happy to show you their purchase orders and the check copies on file for all purchases. Everything is above-board. Just as everything was above-board a week ago with the miniature furniture casters I sent to the brownie commune in Selino. Or a month ago, when you questioned the order I sent out for the W Games. All of those wizards whose custom skateboard wheels were delayed have you to thank.”
He lays a flat gaze on Bennett. It’s more annoyed than condemning. But I twist to look at Bennett, whose neck is turning red. From embarrassment.
Is Bennett harassing Luke?
“Mr. French. Ms. Fox, if you’ll have a seat, I’ll get Mr. Gomez’s order and be right with you.” He sweeps out of the room. Mario shuffles behind him.
Bennett takes a seat with a huff.
Me? I’m just reeling. First, I thought Bennett might be right. All evening, I’ve been worried about it. Now, I think he might be crazy. Am I that bad a judge of character? Maybe my guy-dar is broken. If that’s true, maybe I shouldn’t start anything with Luke. How can I trust myself? My thoughts take a downward spiral. I hardly hear Ben when he curses.
“Dammit.”
“Huh?”
“Mario looked confused. He’s one of Cookie’s runners. And he squeals like a pig. If she’d ordered the hit on Bell, he’d probably know by now.”
“So … why are we still here?”
“We’re here in case Hawkins saw something on his way out the door.”
“You don’t think he did it?”
“He’s slippery. But probably not.”
“But yesterday you said he had opportunity.”
“Yeah. He did. But what’s his motive?”
“So, you dragged me down here, letting me think you’re about to accuse Luke of murder when all you want is a flippin’ witness statement!”
“Whoa!” Bennett holds up his hands. “I never said that.”
I stand. The fact that he didn’t, and that I just put myself through the shittiest night of worry does not make my anger recede one bit. “Excuse me, sir. I need a moment.” I stomp out of the office.
Luke catches me in the hall. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m an overanalyzing bozo and a doubter.”
“Doubter?”
I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
He gives a sad half smile. “That doubt have anything to do with me?”
I shrug, not wanting to say it out loud.
He nods. “I get it.” He reaches for my hand and interlaces our fingers. “Look. I’m not perfectly clean. I do have that DUI. Partying after the breakup from Georgina. But for the last fifty years I haven’t done anything else illegal. Well, if you don’t count …” he trails off and waits until I’m brave enough to make eye contact.
“Count what?”
“Kidnapping.”
With that, Luke sweeps me into his arms and sprints down the hall.
I’m not sure if I should giggle or scream. Is he for real?
Luke opens a door and kicks it shut behind us. It’s full of boxes piled to the ceiling. Most have labels, so this must be a prep room for shipment. The smell is cardboard and dust, laced with a tinge of oil.
“Greta, can we get a minute?” Luke calls out.
“I’ll take lunch,” a woman’s voice calls back.
“Now that I have you alone …” Luke raises his hands and wiggles his fingers. He lets his fangs extend. His voice drops. He takes a few exaggerated tiptoe steps toward me. “I vant to suck your blood. Muhahahaha.” He throws his head back to laugh. With his fingers still in claw formation he looks like a total doofus.
I stare at him in shock. “When we met I thought you were a hot, bad boy.”
He shrugs. “Been there, done that. Have to worry too much about image. And insults. Besides, leather chafes. I’m embracing the silly side of life now.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” He tosses an imaginary cape in front of his face and pulls down slowly. He cups a hand to his mouth and whispers, “You’re supposed to run away.” He winks.
He wants to play a game?
I dash through the maze of boxes at top speed. But no matter which way I turn, Luke’s vamp speed is faster. He’s always there when I turn a corner. Smiling. Leaning on the boxes. Making silly faces. Jumping out around corners to scare me. Once he appears shirtless, dazing me with his awesome pecs.
“Gah! You’re never gonna let me win.” I sit on the floor and pout, lower lip out, arms crossed. FYI, suits are not great outfits to pout in. You cannot get maximum arm-crossing grumpiness.
“That’s right. Because I’m a winner.” Luke zooms up and stops at the last second to sit next to me. He retracts his fangs and reaches for my hand again. “In a better mood?”
I make a face and shrug but I’m fighting a grin.
He helps me to my feet. “I’ll win your trust, Lyon. I promise.”
My stomach tingles at that. I lean forward—
A throat clears behind us. Bennett’s standing at the end of the row of boxes. He does not look amused.
“Fox, you can go to the Baths and start questioning the women there about the wife and her motives.”
“By myself, sir?”
Bennett just raises an eyebrow at my question. It’s clear he wants to be alone to question Luke.
I toss a worried glance at Luke, who just shakes his blond head and gives me a smile. Okay then, if he’s not worried about it …
I stand, walk to the door, and pull it open.
Luke’s voice stops me just before I walk out. “See you tonight.”
A blast of heat rolls over my back. Oh crap. Bennett’s steaming. Literally.
I start to jog down the hall, certain that the building is about to be obliterated. “Remember, dueling in a non-designated area violates statute 38.9!” I shout.
A tiny flame singes my ass.
I double time it out of there.
I’ve never been to the Baths before. I stare up as my Broomer zooms off. The big building looks like a block of polished marble from the outside. And then I see why Bennett sent me by myself. A large metal sign outside reads, ‘Females Only.’
Inside, posh does not begin to describe it. If it didn’t have women and birds fluttering all over the place, I’d think it was a sculpture museum. There’s every kind of birdbat
h imaginable. Traditional round stone baths. Eight level mosaic fountains with bathing areas on each level. A gigantic pool for the women who want to stay in human form. A giant marble fairy that’s swooping, somehow balanced on a wingtip. The left side of the room is covered in mist and I see brightly colored parrots swoop through the haze. I walk toward the other side of the room and see a human statue on a park bench covered in …
I don’t think that’s part of the sculpture. Sure enough, I stare up and there are golden “power lines” extending over the sculpture. They’re crowded with every bright colored species of bird you could imagine. Okay, will be avoiding that side of the room. Gross.
I trot over to the front desk and have to pay a ridiculous entrance fee—thirty-five gold—and then wait because I ask for a receipt. No way am I doing this without getting reimbursed by the office. The hostess sends me off to a locker room, telling me to strip, shower, put my clothes in a locker, and roam around in a towel. I run through all the germ-related lectures JR is gonna give me later for doing this. She brings her own sheets and towels to hotels. Yup. True story.
Still though, the quality of these towels is better than anything I’ve ever bought for myself. I wonder if the price includes taking the towel home. It should.
As I’m shoving stuff in my locker, I start listening to the ladies twittering around me. Who looks like a good gossip to target for a run-down on Bell’s wife?
Luck is on my side this time (after abandoning me earlier during the whole Luke-Bennett debacle). I hear an older woman prattling on about the murder. I wrap my towel around myself, ignoring the twinge where Ben burned me, and head toward the conversation.
“Those poor reporters! Can you believe it? My nephew works over there—doing hair—they sent five out all last night. They had to wait outside the homes of the City Council members. All night. All day. Twenty-four-hour watch. Just waiting to see if that City Council Killer strikes again.” The obese woman pats her grey curls and drops a towel. She grabs a shampoo bottle.
“That is so morbid!” replies a woman with green feathers instead of hair. I’m guessing her partial transformation is caused by leaching, not choice, because her feathers are … not the most becoming. Plastered to her head, flat, somewhat dull. I’m guessing duck shifter.