Even he might not be able to sense much at this distance.
The only thing I do notice in my lurking is a tiny crystal ball fixed beneath a branch on the pine next to the house. As the crisp scent of the tree’s needles fills my lungs, I ease closer to the glinting sphere.
It’s no bigger than the tip of my pinkie, clearly designed to be discreet, but a fleck of yellow gleams in its center. My eyes widen.
It’s one of the charms the so-called “Faithful” carry around to honor our radiant ancestors who they see as gods. Most lucents scoff at the idea that we have outright divine ancestry and mockingly call those who believe it “radiators.”
Did the Hearsts set up an incredibly subtle shrine on their property because they believe the supernatural beings that once mingled with humanity were some kind of deities? Or are they hedging their bets, figuring they might as well offer a little worship just in case?
Either way, I’m not surprised they’d be too embarrassed to show any faith openly. Or maybe the charm isn’t theirs at all, although it’s hard to imagine why a radiator would have wandered into their yard and attached one to the tree.
As I retreat to the sidewalk, debating my next course of action, a trim navy-blue sports car growls by. A faint tug that shoots from my palm to my chest brings my head ticking around.
The car cruises around the corner. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside.
I’m starting to think I imagined the sensation when the vehicle reappears at the opposite end of the street. The driver must have circled the block.
And that driver is Salvatore. When he’s this close, I can recognize his distinctive brash energy in the pulse through our bond.
This time, the car eases to a stop a few houses down from the Hearsts’ and idles there. Waiting for me?
If I can sense him, he can sense me regardless of my concealing magic. What kind of a scene might he make if I try to ignore him?
It’s not as if I was getting anywhere with my inspection.
Swallowing a sigh, I tramp over to meet the car.
The door swings open right as I reach it. I drop into the front passenger seat but don’t drop my concealing magic until I’ve yanked the door closed.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
Salvatore grins at me from behind the wheel. “Keeping an eye out for you, mia amata. What areyoudoing here?” He peers over his shoulder toward the house visible through the back window. “Visiting the Hearsts?”
“I didn’t talk to them. I couldn’t think of a good excuse to get into the house that might not bite me in the ass later.” I let out a huff of breath. “I just wondered if I’d pick up on anything that’d explain what he did. I didn’t. Now I should be getting home.”
“Hmm, I don’t think so. I promised you some private time.”
Salvatore plucks my satchel off my lap. Ignoring my noise of protest, he digs out my phone, flashes it toward my face to unlock it, and starts tapping on the screen.
I grab at him in a futile attempt to snatch it back. “What are you doing? You know we’re supposed to be keeping our bond a secret.”
“It’s staying perfectly secret. I’m just buying us sometime.” He turns the screen back toward me. He’s texted my dad a brief message:Going out for dinner. Won’t be back too late.
“He’s going to worry,” I grumble as Salvatore taps a few more times on the phone.
He finally hands it back to me. “I’ll keep my word and have you back before it’s totally dark. He’ll think you’re out with your fancy friends. What’s safer than that?”
Not a question I necessarily want to think about given my recent suspicions.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Where are we going, then? It can’t be anywhere anyone will see us.”
“I’ve got it all worked out, a chroí.” Salvatore pulls the car away from the curb with a smooth turn of the wheel. “This isn’t my ride, just so you know. Mine is sweeter.”
“Because it matters to me so much how ‘sweet’ your car is.”
Salvatore raises his eyebrows at my sarcasm. “Because you should know I’m smart enough not to pick you up in a car that’s registered in my name. We’ve got a whole fleet that are basically anonymous.”
Oh. Itisgood to know he’s taking the situation at least that seriously.
