Tell me.
Everything Embry had to say, she would say in person. This was especially hard, given that Balthazar had texted her, too. Off the group thread, on the one they’d created when she’d given him the coven coin. She pictured his eyes flashing with equal parts anger and anguish on her behalf as she read the words, hearing them in his honeyed New Orleans lilt.
I’m sorry, Princess.
I heard Martinelli questioned you. You okay?
Suspending you is bullshit. Bet they don’t have proof, just vibes. Stupid.
Though they made her smile, Embry didn’t respond to those, either. Nor would she if she’d heard from Fairfax (but to be fair, Ames was probably texting for them both) or Alistair, whose olive branch after her court loss gave her hope that he’d worry, too, in spite of her rejection.
Maybe her silence was a little paranoid, but Embry wasa lotparanoid, and Daddy was a lawyer, after all. She hadn’t consulted with him, but she didn’t need to. He would’ve told her not to leave a trail while the metaphorical hounds were out, sniffing around.
In fact, Daddy himself had barely been around to ask because he was out working the dogs himself. Embry didn’t see him from the time she arrived at the house until after dark, when he knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she called, her voice hoarse from her interviews.
When Lazarus opened the door and peeked his head in, he smiled broadly, which she was not expecting. “An extra-large Embry Woodcross special from Mystic Pizza is downstairs.”
Despite the pit in her stomach, Embry’s mouth watered as thespicy scent of oregano and grease wafted in after him. Mystic Pizza was her favorite, even before Rye had made her watch the movie of the same name. And Daddy knew her order as well as the people who worked there—zucchini, roasted garlic, goat cheese. Manna straight from the Goddess to her taste buds.
When she didn’t say anything, Daddy continued, “Or, if you’d prefer, I could bring a slice to you. With all you’ve been through today, I’d understand if you want to be alone.”
Embry shook herself into action and peeled herself off her duvet. There was nowhere she wanted to be but with him. “No, I’ll come down. Thank you for thinking of me, Daddy.”
They sat at the kitchen island they often used as a table when it was just the two of them and the massive antique dining table seemed ridiculous. Lazarus poured himself a glass of pinot noir and watched as Embry went through her usual motions of blotting grease from her slice.
“Have you eaten anything all day?”
Embry blinked at Daddy. She’d spent so long taking care of him and his imperfect blood sugar that she couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked after her.
“Um, actually, no.” Embry took a bite, just so that statement would no longer be true. Her hunger from this morning had evaporated over the course of the questioning and her suspension. Her head was pounding but she’d assumed that was from the stress of it all, though it might have gotten worse after noon came and went without her typical lunch latte. Embry hadn’t bothered to run a spell or take some aspirin to fix the problem. After everything today, the hurt was something shewantedto feel. “I didn’t get a chance to eat before… before she was found.”
He took his own bite of pizza—she wasn’t about to be the diet police in this moment—washed it down with wine, and planted his elbows on either side of his plate, hands folded.
“Here’s the deal,” Lazarus said without pretense. “In all the information I’ve been given—and I’m sure I haven’t been given all of it—the evidence against you is entirely circumstantial.”
“That’s good, right?” Embry asked, a frisson of hope sneaking in, even though his flat tone gave literally nothing away.
“Yes. Except they can still build a case with it. Especially if you’re the only one they’re looking at. And right now? If they’ve got another suspect, they’re keeping it close to the vest.”
Which meant for all intents and purposes, Embry wasthesuspect.
She swallowed, gulping down as much rising panic as possible. “Martinelli said they were interviewing other people, that folks had come forward. But I have no idea what they’d say that could add to that pile of evidence. That I’d befriended her? That I’d helped her change her schedule for the better, and promoted her for a part in the fall musical? That I’d given her a makeover? I just don’t understand what can be used against me except my own stupid words…”
Daddy squeezed her shoulders. He didn’t drop eye contact, voice calm, despite the twinge of anger in his jaw, beneath a salt-and-sand-grain five o’clock shadow.
“I’m still working on gaining the particulars, but they did interview several students. They talked to Oakley’s friends—therefore we can assume they talked to your friends. Ames, Fairfax, the diviner kid, and what’s this about a sorcerer?”
“Balthazar—he’s a transfer.” Just saying his name made her a little seasick. As much as Embry wanted to see him—to see everyone at tomorrow’s coven meeting—rock bottom was not somewhere a crush should ever see.
“Yes. Them. As your lawyer, I’ll get the transcripts if they bring formal charges, but until then, we can only get information off the record from the ones who’ll talk with us—Ames and Fairfax, surely. Though, don’t text them. No paper trail.”
Embry nodded, grateful she’d ignored her phone. “Did they talk to Rye?”
He was a terrible texter—his only true fault; a penchant for in-personeverything—so she hadn’t expected a message from him. But she was half expecting him to be in the kitchen as she’d descended the stairs with Daddy. Embry was loath to admit it, but she was kind of bummed that for once Rye had picked his own house over hers.
“Yes, I made sure they interviewed him,” Daddy confirmed. He glanced down at his wine, swirling it in the glass. “But, because his version of the events ends in him watching you walk away while heading into the stadium to retrieveme, it’s not as strong a statement as it should be for your case.”
