Page 22 of Hextreme Measures

“Britney is a catastrophe waiting to happen. The girl sold her music catalog, which was the only thing that was guaranteed to keep her from blowing through all of her money.”

“Isn’t it her money to spend?” Ofelia asked.

“Yes, but what is the one thing that could make her situation worse?”

“Dropping one of those knives she likes to dance with on her bare foot?”

“Yes, well, that would suck,” he readily agreed. “Being poor and not being able to take care of herself was what I was thinking of, though.”

“You’re worried she’s going to burn through her money.”

“Yes, and then what happens? She’ll have to sell her house. We know her parents aren’t going to take care of her. Are they going to shove her in a state-run hospital? The whole thing is frightening to think about.”

Ofelia didn’t disagree. She simply didn’t understand why Pascal was always thinking about it. “Well, I have a problem that’s closer to home. There was an attack at our engagement party last night. The party you didn’t attend.” She hadn’t intended to say that last part out loud, but she couldn’t stop herself. Once it was out, it was out.

Pascal lifted an eyebrow as he regarded her. “I fully intended to attend the smaller event your beloved set up for after the party. He texted to cancel, though, and said something had happened at the party. I assumed your mother and his mother went at it, and you had to keep them out of jail.”

Under different circumstances, Ofelia would have laughed. Nothing felt funny about this situation, however. “My mother and Madeline got along fine. They threw a party they both loved and were happy as clams … although I don’t know how anybody has ever been able to determine if clams are happy.”

“They loved the party,” Pascal said. “I take that to mean you did not love the party.”

“It was not to my taste,” Ofelia replied. She was determined to be an adult about it, given what Angelique was going through. Before she could stop herself, however, she was embarking on a tremendous rant. “All the things they promised me didn’t come to fruition.

“There was no carving station or a proper mixologist,” she continued. “There was no crawfish boil. There was no cake or ice cream. It was all the things my mother and Madeline wanted and nothing that I wanted.”

As soon as the deluge escaped, Ofelia slapped her hand over her mouth. She was disappointed in herself. “And none of that is important,” she said, shaking her head. “There are other things to worry about, and none of them have to do with that party. Well, other than tangentially.”

“You’re allowed to be angry,” Pascal said in his matter-of-fact manner. “This is supposed to be your time. It’s your wedding, isn’t it? That means it should have been your party. They stole it from you.”

“I’m just angry that I was stupid enough to believe them when they said they were going to be tailoring it to what Zach and I wanted,” she admitted. “I’m such an idiot. That was never going to happen. It was about what they liked, and they were lying to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Pascal’s expression was much graver than Ofelia expected. “Do you want me to kill them? It’s been a few centuries since I killed for fun, but I could make an exception for you.”

Ofelia burst out laughing. She hadn’t been expecting her response and felt instantly guilty. “It’s not about the party. Not any longer.” She told him about the banshee attack, which he hadn’t heard about. When she got to the part about Angelique, he was completely fixated on her.

Once she was finished with the story, Pascal started with the questions. “Has she shown signs of turning?”

“Not that I know of, but she was asleep when I checked on her this morning.” Ofelia held her hands out. “I didn’t want to wake her because I figured she needed her rest.”

“And if you did wake her and it was obvious she was changing, the pressure on you would have doubled,” Pascal surmised. “I get it.”

“There are stories,” Ofelia pressed. “I’ve heard about people who were turned into banshees being cured after the transition had already taken them over.”

“There are stories,” Pascal confirmed succinctly.

“Do you know anybody who has been cured?” Ofelia was almost afraid to ask — if the answer was no, she would be bereft — but she had no choice. They were working with a limited timetable here.

“Yes.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until he said it, and the oxygen whooshed out in a great gust. “You do?” Tears pricked the back of her eyes.

“None of that,” Pascal chided, wagging his finger. “Don’t cry. I can’t stand it when you cry.”

Ofelia knew that, but she didn’t care. “Sully’s unit is looking for her.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t know what possessed me to hide her injury when it happened. I just reacted. I don’t know why.”

“Because you knew that if they took your friend into custody and she showed signs of turning, they wouldn’t do anything to save her,” Pascal replied, not missing a beat. “They would kill her and be done with it.”

He hesitated, then continued. “You do realize, if she turns and we can’t find a way to cure her within the first few days, she will have to be put down, don’t you?”