Waring’s smile turns predatory, white teeth gleaming. “You’re Elysia Fields, daughter of Melinda Fields and Cory Korzeniowski, sister of Dante Fields.”
I almost flinch at hearing my brother’s name.
Waring’s lips turn down in a practiced frown. He still hasn’t blinked. “I’m sorry to hear of his passing.”
I swallow. This is all wrong. We weren’t important enough to know by name. Not my parents, not my brother, and especially not me. Until the last year, I’ve kept clear of all syndicate dealings, and even then, I’ve been very, very careful.
“I’m Eleanor Jones,” I say, hoping my nerves sell the bit.
Rule #23: Never break a cover, even if you’ve been made.
“I’m a lab tech. And the only way you would know my parents is if they represented you in court. Back in St. Olaf.”
Waring looks down at the fishnet stockings peeking from under the lab coat and raises an eyebrow. As though a woman in STEM can’t also like being a little fancy.
He leans back onto a mahogany desk and crosses his feet. “Ihired your parents to do a job right before they disappeared. You look exactly like your mother, you know. I imagine you’re more like her than you care to admit. She never could walk away from a bad hand.”
I don’t snap back. Even as someone who spends quite a bit of time in the Afterlife, I’m not ready to make it a permanent residence.
“It’s a shame they took off like that,” he says.
This guy is trying to goad me, and I don’t know why. All I know is that he is dangerously close to succeeding in making me break character.
“Don’t you want to know what I know about your parents?” he asks, impatient, and it’s the first crack in his armor I’ve seen.
I wish I could beat up this asshole like CJ would. I’d even settle for flirting my way out like Poppy. Tolliver would have already befriended Waring and taken him out for a beer.
And Dante—Dante would have never gotten into this position in the first place. He would have prepared better and had a plan for every contingency.
But I’m me. Just me. Elle, the last and least of the Fields crew. And I don’t know why this guy knows me or what he wants from me, but I think I’ve finally gotten myself into a situation I can’t talk my way out of.
Waring pushes off the desk, taking a step forward just as a haunting, high-pitchedcawcuts through the air. Shock and adrenaline rush through me as I turn to find a decaying crow sitting on the back of an armchair, one glowing eye fixed on me.
It launches, and I throw myself out of the way just as a repurposed 2004 hearse crashes through the side of the building.
Four
The wall explodes in a shower of dust and glass, but the crow has knocked me behind a couch that mostly shelters me from the debris. For a moment, I’m too dazed to react. The glasses have shielded my eyes, but dust is filling my lungs. I pull the collar of the lab coat over my nose.
The decaying crow hops on my shoulder and caws gratingly several times.
“I know, I know. I’m going.” I grunt as I push myself off the floor and stumble toward the crashed hearse. “Jesus, right in my ear.”
I yank at the passenger-side door so I can slide right in, but a chunk of debris keeps the door from opening wide enough. I try to force it open wider once, twice, but it’s no use.
Across the room, people are coughing.
I give the door a good kick, but it still doesn’t budge.
“Get in the back,” says a voice from within.
“I’m not getting in the back,” I snap.
The hearse revs its engine and starts to back away.
“Okay, sorry, wait! I’ll get in the back!” I scramble for the rear door, even as the car doesn’t slow. I throw myself inside the carpeted interior, slamming the door shut just as we clear the building.
The hearse swivels back, and I’m thrown to the other side. I’ve just gotten my bearings when we shoot forward and I face-plant into one of the rubber things that keeps caskets from sliding around.
