Her stomach clenched. Maybe she could just leave it somewhere obvious and let fate do the rest? Except her fingerprints were all over it. And what if this shiny little nightmare became the thing that introduced her to Bellwether PD’s criminal database?
Fantastic. Truly, ten out of ten for problem-solving.
Swearing under her breath, Goldie dropped the bead into her pocket, took a deep, steadying breath, and stalked back into the living room.
Splice was exactly where she’d left him, still clutching the water bottle like it contained the answers to the universe. The cats hadn’t budged.
“Are you part catnip?” Goldie asked dryly, sweeping past him toward the window seat. “Because Maeve only purrs like that for sardines or a Churu.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She plunked herself down and snagged the nearest tarot deck, the cards snapping against each other as she shuffled, a sharp, purposeful sound in the tense quiet.
“What are you doing?” Splice asked.
“I’m doing a spread.” The cards whispered in her hands. “What does it look like?”
“What good will that?—”
She held up a single finger. “You barge into a witch’s apartment, you get a witch’s take. House rules.”
Splice went silent.
She cut the deck with a final, decisive snap. As if on cue, Maeve hopped to her left side, Oberon to her right, both curling into place like they were born to be dramatic stage props.
Splice hesitated, then sat gingerly at the far end of the cushion, careful not to disturb the feline royalty. Maeve issued a curtmmrphof acknowledgment.
The silence that settled was thick and expectant.
“You… smell of sex,” Splice blurted suddenly.
Goldie’s head snapped up and she glared at him. “Wow. Really?”
His jaw twitched. “You?—”
“Oh, let me save you the moral holier-than-thou,” she hissed. “Yes, I had sex last night. Yes, it was good. No, I don’t care if you’re offended. And why are you offended, exactly? You’re a literal cultivar of a fertility god. Do you even hear yourself?”
Her voice climbed before she could halt it. “Let me remind you, we were well on our way to doing the horizontal tango beforeyoudecided to slam the brakes. And, yes!” Her hands flew up in exasperation. “Yes, I told you to tell me if you wanted to stop! I meant it, I’m not mad at you for that, I wouldneverbe mad at someone for that?—”
Her throat tightened, the rage cracking, and the real words, the wounded words, ripped out of her. “But gods and goddesses, Splice,why?What did I do wrong? You shoved me away like… like you couldn’t stand the touch of me. Like you were disgusted by me. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”
Silence.
Goldie froze, her breath caught as all the things she hadn’t meant to say echoed loudly between them.
Splice just stared at her, stunned into absolute stillness. The vines along his collar, which had been twitching with agitation, went slack, their movement ceasing as if a current had been cut.
“Gaaah,” Goldie blurted, whirling back to the table before her like she could physically wrestle the conversation into submission. Her throat closed tight, and, horrifyingly, hot tears began to prick the corners of her eyes.
Great. Just great. A perfect way to top off the morning.
Maeve licked her elbow comfortingly, then turned her round head and hissed softly at Splice.
He flinched.
Goldie looked down at the deck in her hand and steeled herself.Thisshe could do. She straightened her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and pulled her sparkle back around herself like a well-tailored cloak. The raw hurt shimmered, shifted, and refracted into something theatrical and manageable.
“Right,” she muttered, waving one hand through the air dramatically, like a conductor cueing theGoldie Flynn Theme Song.
Then, she leaned into her cards, into her rhythm, into her dance. One by one, she flipped them over. A soft slap of card on wood, another, then another, steady as a heartbeat, until three lay spread across the coffee table.
