“Yeah, well,” Jonah said. “You can only pull that off if I’m alive.”
She chuckled, low and dark and wet, as if she’d actually stuck her tongue down Jonah’s ear. “Don’t bet on it,” she said. “They don’t call me Witch because they’re too shy to call me bitch. Hold on.”
She set the phone down.
Jonah grimaced and stuck his finger in his ear to clean away that sensation. Once it faded, he opened the fridge. His beers were gone. Luke’s doing, he guessed, either for Jonah’s own good or because Luke had decided he might as well enjoy his fall off the wagon if he was going to confess to it. Jonah sighed and grabbed a bottle of soda instead. The sound of the bar muttered in his ear—the click of pool balls, laughter, and occasional muffled curses—as he twisted the top off and took a drink. It was flat, but it was cold and sugary enough to take the edge off the headache that scraped at the inside of his skull.
There was a box of chicken balls in the door. Grease spots soaked through the paper. Jonah lifted it out and popped it open. He picked out one of the nuggets, the batter soggy where the sauce had soaked in, and ate it while he waited.
The last bite was half-chewed when the phone moved again.
“Joe,” Shiloh said. “You just can’t stay away, huh?”
It wasn’t his name, but it was close. Jonah hadn’t expected it to matter, but he felt his throat tighten for a second. He’d not heard his name in nearly a year. It had been lonelier than he’d expected when he started this.
“Did you ever follow anyone else home?” Jonah asked. He swallowed and took a gulp of soda to wash it down.
“A couple,” Shiloh said. “What’s wrong? You think you were special?”
Jonah folded the takeout box and shoved it back onto the shelf. He pushed the door shut and leaned on it to make sure the seal had caught. Sometimes it didn’t.
“What about the man who runs the meetings? Dark hair, my age…” Jonah hesitated as he realized that was it, all he knew. “His name’s Luke.”
There was a pause, and then Shiloh chuckled. He didn’t put anything behind it, but the noise rubbed Jonah’s skin like cat fur anyhow.
“Oh yeah,” Shiloh drawled. “Your friend.”
He made it sound dirty. Jonah tried to ignore that.
“Yes or no,” he said. “No offense, but I’m on a deadline.”
“I know,” Shiloh said. “It’s my sister who’s got the garrotte. And yeah, I did due diligence on anyone that seemed tight with Deborah. So?”
“Where does he live?”
“What happened to you guys being friends?”
“I didn’t say we were close.”
Shiloh laughed. “Berea Avenue,” he said. “The apartment block with the graffiti on the front. I don’t know what his apartment number is.”
“It’s a start,” Jonah said. “That’s enough. Thanks.”
There was a pause, and then Shiloh exhaled roughly. “That’s really all you wanted?” he said. For the first time, he sounded as young as he was. “After that kiss you laid on me?”
“After that hex you laid on me?” Jonah said. “That’s definitely all I want.”
Shiloh snorted. “You know he’s a cop, right?”
No. Jonah hung the phone up unceremoniously and stuck it in his pocket. His temper pushed uncertainly at the box he kept it in, not sure whether this was worth a fight or not. He hadn’t known that.
The graffiti on the side of the building was the same as the sketched bird tattoo that decorated Luke’s ribs. It made the building easy to find, even in the dim evening light.
Jonah stood on the sidewalk and watched his shadow stretch out like taffy ahead of him. It went spindly and thin, smudged gray on the pavement like chalk, and Ram stitched himself a skin out of it as he crawled out from under wherever it was he went. It clung to his face like a shroud, draped over his eyes and mouth, but you could still read the exaggerated rage through it.
You’ll come to a bad end yet, Ram mouthed the memory of Gran’s warning, her voice clipped with annoyance.See if you don’t.
Jonah shrugged and headed for the front door of the building. “Don’t worry,” he muttered under his breath. “You’ll still have been first.”
