Their answering smiles were genuine, and the man nodded. “Sure thing.”
I edged toward the hall leading to the kitchen just as another piece hit the floor. Rumbling laughter followed me out. When I passed through the open archway, I stilled at the sight of a curvy woman leaning over a cookbook. Her canvas apron was dotted with pastel flowers, and various utensils stuck out from her deep pockets. A stray bit of flour dusted the tip of her nose. Freckles covered her face, and she reached up to adjust a bright-red bandanna that held back a mess of springy espresso-colored hair.
One of those strange living shadows drifted from her frame and slipped toward me, halting just before my chest. Glancing up from her book, she followed its path and met my gaze with a warm smile. “Hello. I’m Naomi. You must be Leena. Are you hungry?”
I resisted the urge to touch the shadow. “Yes. I can just get a piece of fruit or something.”
“Tsk. Nonsense.” She straightened, and the shadow dissipated. “What do you like? I’ll whip you up something.”
“Like?”
“Yes. Like.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Go on. Spit it out.”
“Eggs?”
She snorted. “You don’t sound sure. What about an omelet? Do you like spinach? I have some fresh greens that are just to die for. And there’s always bacon. We can dress it up with some scallions and cheese, and it will be scrumptious.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I glanced past her to the mountain of dishes lingering in a sink big enough to call itself a bath. Clearly, she’d served others and had enough tasks on her hands.
“I’ll happily cook if it reduces the number of bounties I’m assigned. Which it does.” She yanked open the icebox and started extracting ingredients. Closing it with her hip, she beamed at me. “Besides, I like it. Now, grab yourself some coffee and have a seat in the dining room. I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
When I opened my mouth to argue, she wielded a whisk with the precision of a weapon, and I backed off. She stared at me with firm but kind golden-brown eyes, nodding once to a silver kettle steaming over a low-burning stove. I grabbed one of the ceramic mugs and poured some coffee, retreating in the direction she’d indicated before she could chastise me further.
Cup in hand, I followed the sound of voices and silverware scraping against plates until I reached the dining room.
Fog-colored paneled walls were laden with oil paintings in stark white frames, and an impossibly long tarnished platinum table was centered beneath a row of chandeliers. High-back chairs with the same finish and steel-blue cushions lined the sides and ends. The three closest seats were occupied; two by assassins I recognized and a third I couldn’t place.
Ozias grinned. “Stomach calling again? Come on. Have a seat.” He patted the open chair beside him.
“Thanks.” I sat down and took a sip of my coffee—then nearly died of pleasure as the rich undertones of caramel teased the back of my tongue.
“This is Emelia and her twin brother, Iov.” Ozias gestured to the pair sitting across from us.
Emelia I recognized from the night before, and even if Ozias hadn’t mentioned her relation to Iov, it would’ve been obvious. They offered the same, uncertain smile that hinted at dimples and brought a warm glow to their sepia-toned skin. Off-black hair framed their oval faces, and they shared similar widows’ peaks and full lips.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Emelia’s plate was empty, but she twirled her fork across it anyway as she studied me. “So you’re a Charmer?”
“Yup.” I took another sip of coffee. “And you’re an assassin.”
Iov’s grin turned genuine. “Quick, aren’t you?”
“Only because of this.” I lifted my mug. “Catch me before coffee, and I’m more or less insensate.”
Emelia arched a brow. “You shouldn’t share information like that with us.”
Ozias rolled his eyes. “C’mon. Enough of that.”
“What?” Her gaze slanted to Ozias. “It’s true. Our whole job is predicated on collecting information that makes it easy to eliminate our marks.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Besides, you didn’t see what her beast did to Kost.”
Iov leaned back in his chair and cradled the back of his head with his hands. “Ah, Kost was fine. He could’ve taken her.” A flash of humor sparked through his eyes.
My grip tightened on my coffee. “That so?”
Before he could answer, the chef entered the dining room with a plate in one hand and a carving knife in the other—the tip of which was pointed at Calem’s back. He sauntered forward with a lazy sway to his step.
Naomi glowered at him. “If you try to take someone else’s food again, I’ll cut you.”
