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“I questioned Declan too,” I said. “It’s not—”
“Oh, I shouldn’t be offended that you accused me of trying to murder my best friend?” His tone deepened stepping closer to the counter. “I thought I liked you, bitch.”
He thought he liked me? Interesting, because I’d thought he hated me. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just don’t like to leave stones unturned—”
“Yeah, fuck off.” He dropped his hand to the counter. “But go ahead. Cast whatever the fuck you want to.”
Declan was behind him, eyes slightly widened. A trill vibrated between his lips. “Your food’ll be ready in a couple minutes.”
* * *
Emory’s attitude didn’t diminish as I scanned his mind. He made a snide comment when I saw his memory of taking a shit yesterday morning, another when I stayed a second too long in the memory of him having sex with a woman—saying, “What, you thought the fact that I like men means Ionlylike men? Great, Declan, she’s biphobic too,”—and then telling me to go fuck myself when I apologized for overstepping in that thought.
Still, his conscience was clean. He’d done nothing but live his life over the last week. The worst thought he’d had of Misty was that she needed to consult a good hairdresser about her overgrown roots.
When I finished, he ripped his hand back and dropped it to his side. “Convinced now?”
“I didn’t think you’d—”
“Just answer the question. Am I off your suspect list?”
“Yes. You’re off my suspect list,” I said. “But can I ask you—”
“No, I have questions for you first.” He planted his elbows on the counter and grasped my gaze in his. “How do I know you weren’t the one who shot Declan?”
“Because I was with my sister.” The words poured out so fast, I didn’t realize I’d spoken them.
“What’s your theory about why Declan was shot then?” he asked.
“I don’t have one.” Again, I hadn’t thought before I spoke. “I’m playing around with different ideas.”
“What are they?”
“One is that whoever does know what happened to Misty was here Saturday night. They saw Declan and me talking, assumed Declan had a better chance at figuring it out than I did, so they wanted to take him out before he could.”
“What’re the others?”
“That it has something to do with the curse. But that doesn’t quite check out to me. If he’d choked on a piece of food, then I’d think it was a curse. If he’d gotten hit by a bus, I’d think it was a curse. But invisible guns don’t scream curse to me.”
His face screwed up in confusion. “What curse?”
“The one Declan told me about this afternoon.”
“Declan, get out here.” Holding my gaze, his head lifted slightly toward the kitchen. “What curse, Brooke?”
“The par animarum,” I said.
His expression grew more puzzled, full of disbelief, but I was steady as stone. As though I had no control, nor care, over what came out of my mouth. All that I saw and heard was Emory. Even Ria beside me disappeared.
“What about the par animarum?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” My shoulder lifted. “That’s what Declan said.”
“Declan said you were par animarum?”
I nodded.
His unblinking eyes turned from mine, and suddenly, the room was in full bloom again. I heard the music over the speakers, felt Ria shaking my arm, and saw Declan beside Emory.
