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Laughing at his enthusiasm, I let out a chuckle. The last one he showed me consisted of wooden dentures. Interesting, but not something I would exactly consider being magnificent pieces of art. Though he did have a collection of Viking pottery the year before that, which was breathtaking. In either case, my cheeks burn from smiling and they deserve a break.

“Yes! Come on, whatcha got?”

Fisting the sheet, he flicks his hand back, like someone performing a tabletop trick. The sheet falls away, and immediately, I’m taken aback.

Inside the case is an array of plates and small dishes. I’d recognize the Gzhel markings anywhere. Incredibly rare Russian hand-painted perfection. The sight is incredible. I’ve never seen so many in one place.

“It’s…it’s amazing…” I barely get out as I admire the delicate brush strokes.

“Look at the signature…it’s stunning.” He leads me around to the back of the case.

Poor lighting makes seeing the marking difficult.

Leaning to get a better look at the signature, pain racks my spine as my vision begins to blur. Willing my body to stand, I try to push my body upward. A second strike of searing pain across my head sends me reeling. My knees buckle under the weight of my body as the room tilts.

“I’d say sorry, my dear, but we both know I’d be lying.” Lennox’s voice sounds through the haze as though it’s underwater.

A trickle of warmth rolls down my neck. The smell of iron invades my nostrils. A fuzzy shadow in the distance moves closer. Anxiety and panic seize my chest, but my body refuses to move. A pair of brown loafers with tassels enters my line of sight before fading to black.

Fucking tassels.

35

There has to be something in here that’s fucking useful. My eyes begin to blur over the pages of the file on the missing girls. The only thing this file seems to have in common is that the missing girls look alike. Dark hair, under 5’5” and very fair skin. Other than that, they lead completely separate lives.

I should have known Patience would capture his attention. My chest tightens just thinking about how she looked that night. Sending a silent prayer that I’ll never see her in a bloodied state again, I turn my attention back to the girls. I know I’m missing something. Standing from my desk, I head downstairs for another cup of coffee. As much as I despise the bitter fluid, I have to admit it has helped clear my head a bit today. Whatever is in that tea needs to be used in insomnia treatments.

When I lift the cup to my lips, a skittering sound from the corner of the room startles me. My muscles seize, sending the liquid sloshing over the sides of the mug, burning a trail across my fingers. Placing the mug down, I shake off the burning sensation. Gerald rises on hind legs, letting his arms gyrate in front of his chest. Cheeky bugger.

“How are you liking your new place, sir? Hopefully, it meets your standards.”

He tilts his head to the side as if he understands the commentary. He dashes over to my pant leg and tries to climb up, and I catch him halfway up and pull him off. Cradling him next to my chest, I look down to see visible claw holes where he’s punctured the pants. Holding him close to my face, I peer into those beady eyes, which hold far more intelligence than most human beings I’ve had the misfortune of meeting.

“We must discuss respect for fashion, young man…”

His nose twitches in curiosity.

The front door closes, startling Gerald. The fuzzy ball of energy wriggles from my fingers, before scuttling across the floor in the opposite direction of the door.

“Ethan?” Mark shouts near the door.

“In the kitchen.”

My brother has a tendency to forget his manners. Leaving a plethora of diseases, bacteria, and feces in his wake upon my floors. The sound of the cabinet closing has me releasing a breath in ease. A moment later, he rounds the corner, carrying two cans of his energy drink. His eyes roam the length of my body, taking in my current state. He grins as he walks past me, before hopping onto the counter. His legs dangle over the side as an idiotic grin pulls across his face. Child.

“Is sleeping beauty still grumpy?” he says, turning his lips down in a mocking pout.

I can’t help the eye roll at his stupid quip.

“I’m not grumpy. I’m hungover,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “At least it feels that way.”

“Yeah, being low dose poisoned with a hallucinogenic flower will do that to you.”

My eyes nearly hit the ceiling, and I groan.

“What?”

Mark’s cocky smile does nothing to cool my temper.