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The air had reeked of human discard and the sticky-sweet smell of blood.
That was the night I had hunted down and killed my first rogues without sanction of the council. I had found them and done things to them no warrant would have ever allowed for. If I’d thought they could be made to live on, forever wincing in remembrance of that night and frightened of their own shadows, I would have found a way.
Death had been too kind. It had been a kindness I’d been forced to visit on those twelve empty shells.
I gagged.
Desmond sat straight up, surprised by the sudden reaction. I did it again and he moved to help me, but I placed a hand on his chest to stop him.
“What is it?”
I closed the book and wiped a stray, unwelcome tear off my cheek. I didn’t remember it happening on my birthday. Somehow, I’d disconnected the two things in my head so my birthday wouldn’t be tainted by the horrible deaths of a dozen people. But I had all the important points in front of me now, and all I had to do was draw a line.
If Holden stood accused of killing a protected elder on that date, I could prove he didn’t do it. He’d been violating a different set of laws that night, by helping me dismember a sect of rogues and bury the skeletons from their closet.
I pushed the book away from me, letting it fall with a thump onto my carpeted floor.
“Get dressed,” I whispered. “We need to go. ”
I left Desmond behind, still struggling to get his left shoe on, and was halfway down the block when he caught up with me. I stopped walking and did an about-face, nearly colliding with him.
“Wha—?” He looked confused.
I had dressed in such a hurry I was wearing my shorts from earlier in the week and the discarded Yankees shirt Desmond had left at my front door. This had forced him to grab the first shirt he could find in his duffel bag, so fresh there were still fold marks in the white cotton tee. The button on his jeans was undone, and his hair stuck up to one side in fond remembrance of the pillow we had just left.
I brushed past him, digging through my purse. “Hold,” I said as I handed him my gun, which he took but held uncomfortably. I knew Desmond could handle a weapon because he’d taken mine from me in the past. I think it was the idea I was carrying a 9mm pistol in my purse that made it so off-putting for him.
I found what I was looking for and hauled the keys out of my purse. With one push of the key fob, a pair of headlights blinked at us, and my car announced itself with a chirpy honk. I’d almost forgotten I had the stupid thing.
“Is that—?”
“I’m borrowing it. ”
We looked at each other, and he handed the gun back to me. I checked the safety, then slid it into the back of my pants, letting the looseness of the shirt hide it perfectly.
“Lucas would look pretty goofy in a yellow convertible,” he said, moving around to the passenger side. Farther down the block I could see his vintage Dodge Challenger sitting forlorn in the night.
I doubted I’d ever get used to being able to drive places in the city. New York was a town ruled by pedestrian law. Drivers ranked below cyclists in the hierarchy of the streets.
I got into the driver’s seat and the car purred to life.
Then again, there was nothing not to love about that sound.
Twenty minutes later we were pulling up to the Plaza Hotel, and I was loathing New York streets and cursing myself for not walking. I handed the keys off to the eager valet, while Desmond clambered out the other side, having survived the diatribe of my sailor’s tongue the whole way here.
At the front desk a stout woman with water-colored eyes and a painfully tight bun of mouse-brown hair stared at the pair of us. Her expression was like a visual sigh.
“Yes?” she deigned to address us. She would have gotten along swimmingly with Melvin over at Rain Hotel. We had skipped right over the Welcome to the Plaza, how may I assist you today? and directly into the condescending glares.
“Residential elevators, please. ” I knew I was in the right place, although I’d never had to make this particular visit in the past.
“Residential…” She looked perplexed by my question.
“I need to get to someone’s apartment. ”
“No one—”
“I don’t have time for this,” I grumbled.
