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I hurried out, running down the posh hallways as if Ambri were chasing me. But he kept his word and let me go. A thought chased me instead, almost as unsettling.
He’s right…about everything.
ten
I got as far as Flood Street.
The cold wind seemed to rip right through me. The hour was too late for cabs; the only things moving on the streets were the shadows and me. I hunched into my coat and trudged against the gusting wind until I couldn’t go any farther. Didn’twantto go any farther.
What did I have waiting for me? A tiny shoebox of a room with a broken window. No fireplace. No heat. Black walls and a hot plate.
And an empty bed.
I stopped and squinted into the wind, back to Ambri’s building. To comfort and warmth andhim.
“An actual demon?”
That possibility was a question I couldn’t answer. But what had me turning around was exactly what Ambri had said it would be. Curiosity. Creativity. Inspiration. His human beauty stirred my blood like no man had in a long time, but his “demon” form was like a drug I wanted more of. To draw or paint him, not for whatever so-called riches he promised, but because my art had been dying and now it was revived in him.
And if he kills you?
I shivered, remembering the bridge. The black water. It scared me down to my soul that I’d been there, but living without the fire of my craft was a kind of death all in itself. Without it, I was nothing. What, honestly, did I have to lose?
Inside the lobby, Jerome was still manning the front desk. The concierge must’ve been pushing eighty, but he stood ramrod straight at his post. He gave me a small nod and picked up the phone.
“He’s returned.” A pause. “Very good, sir.”
Jerome hung up the phone and gestured toward the elevators. I started for them and then stopped.
“Jerome, my name is Cole Matheson. I live in a shit flat in Whitechapel. My landlady is Ms. Thomas. My best friend is Lucy Dennings. She lives in New York City.”
He arched one white eyebrow.
“Just in caseUnsolved Mysteriescomes to interview you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind,” I muttered and headed for the elevators. “In for a penny and all that.”
At Ambri’s door, I knocked, thought about turning right back around, knocked again.
“Come in,” came the faint reply.
I stepped inside to find he’d changed into black silk pajamas—a robe over pants, loosely tied, revealing the V of his chest as he lounged on the couch.
That bastard.
He shot me an arrogant, triumphant smile. “I would sayI told you so,but I have better manners than that.”
I forced myself to look at his eyes and nowhere else. “Before…anything happens, we need some ground rules.”
“If you insist. Wine? Brandy?”
“No, thanks. This is surreal enough as it is.”
Ambri languidly moved off the couch and poured a crystal glass full of amber liquid. “As I mentioned, it does nothing for me, but I like to keep up appearances.”
“Of being human?”
