“Easier said than done,” Cash said.
Abigail laughed in tired agreement as she tucked the Chanel rip-off bottle back into her pocket. Her despair was stale, chewed over every time she exhaled the last smoke from her throat and told herself, “This was the last one,” even though she knew it was a lie.
Go to any addiction self-help group in the city and you’d probably find a wisp there in the back. Addiction was the cheese sandwich of despair, but it never ran out, and there were usually donuts.
“My mom smoked,” Cash said, because his monster had been more of a dick than usual these last few days. “She was a waitress too. It helped her get through a shift without killing anyone. When she got a better job, she quit.”
That was a lie. She hadn’t gotten a better job. She’d worked at the same café until she got cancer. Then she died. Cash didn’t visit her in the hospital. It turned his stomach to glut on his mom’s death, but it wasn’t something he could control.
It made Abigail feel better, though, that brief jolt of hope that she could do it, get a better job and quit, get far away from here. She was probably never clear on why she wanted away from here so much. It was a job, and it paid well, but on some cellular level, she knew what they were and that she didn’t belong.
Her aura flared briefly golden as shebelieved, just for a second, that she might get away alive.
The monster retched in Cash’s ear and sunk away from that flare of happiness and into his bones.
“You and Mr. Abascal, looked….” She glanced sidelong at him, as if she hoped he’d finish for her. “I thought he was straight. Him and his wife, they were always all over each other when they were here.”
Cash swallowed the glass and acid in his throat. He hadn’t expected that or for it tostillhurt quite so much.
“Bisexuality is a thing,” he said.
Abigail gave him an interested look out of the corner of her eye. “Are you….”
“No,” Cash said easily. “I like guys. I’ve never—”
He paused, cleared his throat, tried again. “I’m pretty taken right now.”
Abigail shrugged and nodded. “I mean, if Mr. Abascal looked at me like that? Wow.”
She sighed. Cash could just taste the edges of a tattered daydream, buttercream icing and champagne as her aura fluttered like a veil. That wouldn’t end well for her, but it wasn’t Cash’s job to scare off Arkady’s prey.
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly something he wants publicized,” he said. His power tasted like marsh water on his tongue as his voice lilted on the night air. “Me and him, I mean, not right now. His ex would have him over a barrel. You know what she was like. Arkady only just about agreed to be seen with me in public. If he finds out about that guy with the glasses taking photos? He’ll lose his mind.”
It didn’t take a genius to work out that Abigail didn’t like Madeline. Humans never did. Even when Arkady’s ex wasn’t actively courting dissent, she had contentious energy. That was the line. The hook was the chance to get closer to Arkady—even through his lover—and, well, if hewasbisexual and obviously notthatinto Cash… who knew what might happen?
It wasn’t a conscious calculation. Abigail was a nice woman. She’d neverdecideto chase someone else’s man. It was enough temptation to get the hook in her throat. Cash wouldn’t have been able to lead her to her death on that flimsy string, but it was enough to take the first step.
“Okay,” she said. “I mean, he owns the hotel, right?”
“His mother does,” Cash said.
Abigail chuckled as she handed him a warm folded napkin from her pocket. “Yeah, but he’s in charge, you know. She just has tea parties sometimes.”
That hurt Cash’s brain. He unfolded the paper. It was full of salt. The white grains spilled out over his hands, got under his nails, and the sharp ocean smell of it filled his nose. He jerked back and let the napkin fall, lifted away on the breeze as he shook the salt off his hands.
“What the fuck?” he said.
Abigail stared at him. Her aura sagged and faded around her. Disappointment wasn’t despair, but they had a similar taste. Her eyes flicked past him, into the dark. “What now?”
They salted monsters for a reason. Some of them could abide the sea, and wisps could tolerate the salty brine of marshes, but purified into thin, flat crystals it still stung them.
Fuck.Fuck.
Cash lunged for the door back inside, but Abigail blocked him. It was hard to tell if she meant to do it or was just in the way. Before he could decide, something cracked him across the back of the head. He had a second of hot, monstrous contempt at the fact they thoughtthatwould be enough, and then his legs went out from under him, and black washed over his vision.
Chapter Eight
CASH WOKEup facedown on sand. He could smell blood. His head ached. It took him a second to put the two together, but to be fair, he’d just been cracked on the head.
