The spirits liked it too, I guess. They quieted, as though listening to the wholesome conversation. The couple couldn’t see the spirits, obviously, but they also ignored me. That was the thing about humans. They had a refined sense about parapsychs. Something in them recognized what we were, even if they didn’t know us.
I’d been one of Orphium’s Maere for so long it was nearly impossible not to be recognized at this point. But it wasn’t just that. I wore a hat, and had dressed purposely to blend in. Neither man had looked at me for more than a moment when I’d busied myself selecting my pie, my back to them.
They recognizedwhatI was, and their instinct was to completely ignore me.
Long ago, it hurt to be treated this way and worse. Now, it was more of a fact of life than anything else. If it bothered me, I no longer registered my distress. When Lara walked in, out of the pouring rain, wet through and stunning as a black hole, the couple looked up, startled by her appearance.
She pushed her dark hair back, water flying everywhere, like she moved in slow motion. While we’d never been attracted to one another in that way, I’d have to be numb not to feel her magnetism. The lethality in every move she made—the wicked tilt to her grin—had the humans staring at the meringue left on their plates and deciding it wasn’t worth it to finish eating.
They pushed past her, leaving their plates on the table. She shrugged, clearing them herself, then selected a grilled cheese sandwich from the bank of compartments labeled “Hot Sandwiches.” When she had a cup of black coffee and a grilled cheese with bacon, she sat down with me.
I shook my head, stealing a fry from her plate. “You did that on purpose.”
Lara’s eyes narrowed, her long, straight lashes obscuring my view of her light green eyes. She was the embodiment of every brooding hero in a romance novel in her leather jacket and heavy combat-style boots. A voice in the back of my head said,and Ares Necroline is the sexy villain you wish the heroine would pick instead. What the Hel waswrongwith me? This obsession with Ares had to end.
“Why don’t you ever get your own fries?” Lara asked.
I rolled my eyes. “They taste better off your plate.”
“How long’s it going to take you to ask?” My heart pounded. How could she know why I’d been looking for her? She sighed when I froze. “I’m sorry I didn't come back to the Carlyle. That place gives me the creeps.”
I sniffed a little. One of the humans had been wearing cologne that made my nose itch and it lingered. “You should have called.”
Lara swallowed a bite of her grilled cheese, the sandwich dangling from her tattooed fingers. “Probably.”
My heart raced, but I had to push through this. “Are you going to keep acting like a petulant child, or are we going to talk about all the beheadings?”
The sandwich fell to Lara’s plate, but there wasn’t a hint of surprise on her face. “How did you find out?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Did you think you could take the head off someone in Necroline’s territory without me finding out? You haven’t even been out a week. What the fuck were you thinking, Lara?”
Now, Lara looked confused. “What are you talking about?”
After the laundromat, I’d dug into what I could get out of the reports. “That woman at 88th and Vine. The medium with the stepdaughter. Don’t play the fool, Lara.”
Lara brushed crumbs off her fingers. “I haven’t killed anyone since I got out.”
“She hasn’t,” a low voice said.
Both of us turned, whipping around lightning fast, ready tofight if need be. But there was no need, even though the voice belonged to the most dangerous creature in the three cities.
Rhiannon Brontë stood by the pastry section, perusing like she’d been here all along. She was completely dry, her blonde hair set in waves that cascaded just past her collarbone. A long, black trench coat hung over her shoulders like a cape, and as she turned towards us, I saw she was dressed to the nines, as usual. Aubergine velvet suit with no waistcoat or top of any kind underneath, just some kind of sheer, plunging lingerie.
Every generous curve of her body was perfectly accentuated. Her makeup was flawless and minimal, but expertly applied. And the enormous umbrella sitting by the door explained why she was dry, but nothing could ever explain the way such a statuesque woman of substantial proportions could sneak up on you the way Rhi could.
“How thefuckdo you do that?” Lara asked, grinning, her whole face lighting up at the sight of our assassin. “You’ve gotta teach me.”
“Never,” Rhi replied with a delicate purse to her lips, which hollowed out her cheekbones.
She paid, then prepared herself a cuppa from the tea station before making her way to our table. Lara pulled a chair out for her, and I shook my head. She was so rude to me, but chivalrous with Rhiannon. I stifled the urge to make a snotty comment. Rhi inspired this behavior in many people, but especially Lara. She was elegance embodied, and the true lethal element among us. All of us were killers, but Rhiannon could eliminate victims in silence. It didn’t matter if she used poison, a weapon, or her bare hands. She never left a mess, not even a throw pillow out of place.
She held out her hand to me when she was seated. Her oval nails were painted an opalescent beige that shifted color in the light. I took her hand and squeezed. Despite the circumstances, it was good to be together again. When she squeezed back, I saw the concern in her dark blue eyes.
“Someone else was sent for the stepmother,” she said without preamble, gazing straight into Lara’s face.
Lara nodded. “I went to the Pizza Queen for orders, but they said I had a month to recover from the Asylum.”
I itched to ask questions. To demand answers. Hel, I practically seethed with the desire to force the truth out of the two of them. But it was better to give them plenty of room to talk, to let little bits and pieces out that they might not otherwise. I had to bite my tongue, but I was used to that.
