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Jackson stopped at the desk and looked down at the trash can. I’d forgotten to empty it. He glanced over his shoulder at me and marched out of sight down the hall.
“You won’t like what you find in there any better,” I said, grabbing the can as I followed him. It was overflowing with empty bottles of bourbon and vodka. I heard him open the refrigerator door in the kitchen as I threw the recyclables in the can outside, and when I came back, he was lining up the bottles he found in there onto the counter.
“Four, five, six. Six,” he said, turning around to face me. “This is all you have in your refrigerator. Six bottles of booze. Oh, and two containers of stale Chinese. Jesus, Rebekah. Is this all you’ve been eating?”
“I eat. I just haven’t gotten to the grocery store this week.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re a bad liar.”
“I’m not lying,” I protested.
“I can smell it when you lie. I’m a werewolf, remember?” He grabbed the first of the six bottles and unscrewed the lid, turning towards the sink.
“What are you doing?”
He tipped the brand new bottle of vodka upside down and started pouring its contents down the drain.
“No, stop!” I dashed across the room and made a grab for his wrist, but he switched hands, and held the bottle out of my reach.
“This is ridiculous. You’re not doing this. If we’re going to work this case together, you’re doing it sober.” He set the empty bottle down and reached around me to grab two more.
“Stop. Please. That stuff is expensive,” I begged, snatching the remaining three and shoving them back into the fridge.
He set the bottles down and rested his hands on the counter. “You can’t do this, Rebekah. I only agreed to leave because you promised me. You promised that you’d take care of yourself.”
“I’m fine, Jack. You’re worried over nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?” He turned and leaned his back against the counter. “If I’m worried about nothing, then why don’t you tell me why you werereallyin the cemetery tonight? Since when do you meet clients at four in the morning? Did ya kill her?”
3
Penance
I threw my head back and laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not. Did you kill Nadia?”
“You really think I’m capable of something like that?” I asked, clenching my fists. I hadn’t taken off my jacket or my gloves, but I could still feel the pressure of my nails cutting fresh crescents into my palms.
He held up a bottle. “If you’d have asked me that a year ago, I would have said no, absolutely not. But now? You’re drinking. You’re lying. You’re breaking into cemeteries. I don’t know you anymore.”
“I’m the same person I always was,” I said, sitting down at the end of the kitchen table.
He sat in the chair to my right. He wasn’t going to let this go. “Tell me what really happened.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Nadia wasn’t my client. Two days ago, she came to me asking for help, but I kicked her out.”
“Why?”
“She thought someone was trying to kill her, and she didn’t like it when I told her there wasn’t. We argued for a while, and then she asked me to teach her blood magic. Which you and I both know is illegal. So, I kicked her out. I thought she might be someone from the Inquisitors trying to catch me breaking the law.”
“Then why were you in the cemetery?”
I glared at him. “Is this an interrogation?”
“Does it have to be?”
“She called me. Said it was a matter of life and death,” I said. “Don’t ask me why I even answered, but she sounded scared. Likereallyscared. I couldn’t say no.”
