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“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insisted.
“You don’t seem to know much of anything, do you?” she retorted. “You’re just a little errand girl.”
Her leer grew, and I bristled.
“Maybe I don’t know everything yet,” I rasped, stepping up to her, my fangs elongating again. “But I promise you, Maisie, I will find out.”
Her scorn diminished slightly.
“You better do it fast, little Abigail,” she purred, turning away. “Before it’s too late.”
Tittering, she disappeared into the night, her wings expanding to carry her off toward the moon. I stared and watched her, terror seizing my gut.
Is she going to tell Orson about Elijah?
She wouldn’t if she had something to hide, something like she was running girls on the side and didn’t want Orson to find out. But Elijah being here could cause trouble for her, too.
I needed to warn Elijah that someone else knew he was in town.
With trembling hands, I pulled my phone out of my backpack, but when I dialed out, the phone went through to voicemail.
I didn’t bother leaving a message and instead left him a text to call me.
I can’t just go home and hope for the best. Maisie’s out there plotting… something. I have to do some defensive work.
Etta. I needed to go to Etta.
Racing across town, I ignored the jeers and calls of the stoned addicts on the stoops, some of whom tried to accost me, but none of which had the fortitude to succeed.
Panting and sweating, I landed on Etta’s door.
“Abby? What’s wrong?”
It was hard to take her seriously, her pixie-like face coated in a brown mud mask, her black bob twisted into tight corkscrew curlers.
“I need your help, I think,” I choked, looking frantically inside. “Is Orson home?”
She shook her head. “Poker night at the club,” she reminded me. “He won’t be home until dawn.”
Relief shot through me, and I almost collapsed in the marble foyer.
“Oh, honey! What happened?! Are you hurt? Were you attacked? Should I call Orson?” Etta’s voice rose an octave in panic, but I shook my head, catching my uneasy breaths.
“No, no, no!” I rasped. “I just need a minute. Give me a minute.”
“Of course, sweetie. Come and sit down here.”
She led me into the fancier of her two sitting rooms and sat me on the antique settee.
“Just relax. I’ll have Hanah bring you a drink. Hanah!”
The maid appeared half a second later. “Get Miss Abigail something strong—full glass.”
“No!” I objected, still reeling from my last intoxication. “No liquor. Just water.”
“You sure?” Etta asked worriedly. “You look like you could use a drink.”
I nodded, and Hanah hurried off to oblige. Etta took a seat on the coffee table in front of me, reaching for my hands.
