I clench my jaw tight. I want to destroy something. Someone.
Stevie, perceptive as always, reaches out and touches my arm. And just like that, the rage dissipates.
“You going to the assembly?” she asks, her hand still warm on my bicep. At my obvious confusion, she says, “Trello sent out an email. Mandatory attendance.”
I pat my pockets. “Left my phone upstairs. What’s up?”
“Apparently we’ve got some new security protocols.”
“Fuck.” I lean in close, keeping my voice low. Janelle is still lurking by the fireplace, pretending to be absorbed in that travel magazine, undoubtedly cocking an ear for some juicy gossip. “She say anything else about Phaines?”
“Nope.” Her eyes dart over toward the fireplace, then back to me. In a soft whisper, she says, “Do you know that woman? She keeps glaring daggers at your back.”
“That would be Janelle Kirkpatrick,” I say. “Carly’s mother.”
Stevie’s eyes widen. “Is she here about Phaines?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But she’s not exactly being forthcoming.”
“You said you and Carly grew up together. So I take it you know her mom, too?”
“When I was a kid I… I lived with them for a little while. Kind of a long story.”
Stevie narrows her eyes, scrutinizing my face. “But you’re not happy about her visit.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Stevie watches me close, trying to get a better read on me. On the situation. Concern flashes in her eyes.
Lesson one in the mysterious school of Stevie Milan—and I should’ve learned it the first day I met her. Hiding anything from this woman is damn near impossible.
Stevie’s still searching my face, waiting for me to fill in the gaps, but all I can do now is shake my head.
It’s one thing to stop keeping secrets about each other—we all agreed to that stipulation.
But our own private hells? Far as I’m concerned, that shit isnotup for discussion—especially where Stevie’s concerned. She’s seen enough darkness to last a lifetime—I’m not about to pile it on deeper.
“Baz, what’s going on? You—” Stevie cuts off abruptly, her eyes darting back over my shoulder again. “Shit. She’s coming.”
I close my eyes, wishing like hell I could call on my earth magick and bring this whole fucking place down on the woman’s head.
“Baz, sweetness, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Janelle inserts herself into our once-cozy space, her fake smile glinting, the pungent scent of booze-breath now competing with her perfume.
“Ah, nope.” I draw closer to Stevie, hoping Janelle will take the hint, but of coursethat’snot happening.
“You’ll have to excuse his rudeness, hon.” Janelle edges between us and grabs Stevie’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “He’s still not over the shock of my visit.”
“I can see that,” Stevie says, her tone carefully neutral.
“I’m Janelle Kirkpatrick. And you are?”
“Starla Milan.”
“Starla Milan?” Janelle’s red mouth rounds into a shocked O. “Goddess, you’re the poor girl the Professor attacked! Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Are you… recovering well?” Her gaze trails down Stevie’s body, lingering on her bare legs, doubtlessly wondering where the bandages are.
Stevie drops the woman’s hand, her face pale. Whatever vibe she’s picking up on, she doesn’t like it one bit.
“I’m doing much better, thanks,” Stevie says coolly. “I heal pretty fast.” Then, flashing me a quick smile and a look that says we’ll be having a nice long chat about this later, she says, “I need to head upstairs and get ready. See you at the assembly?”
