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“The thing you found today. We need it.”
“What thi—”
Serge’s eyes darkened with impatience.
“Oh. That thing.”
“Yes. The thing,” Serge insisted, his tone drenched in meaning as though they had discussed this brand new “thing” a dozen times before. Why was she still surprised that he knew about it already?
She shook her head. “I didn’t find it. Jackson gave it to me.” More like ambushed her with it in the Gazette’s parking lot. To, as he put it, “explain what you’ve gotten yourself into better than I obviously can.”
Serge clapped his hands together with giddy delight, sprinkling dry seaweed in the process. “Excellent. Excellent. Where is it?”
“Jackson gave you something?” Samantha sounded apprehensive.
“Only never-ending aggravation.” She dug into her bag. Serge bounced on his toes, vibrating with eagerness, but his enthusiasm wilted when she pulled out a tattered old book. It had been pilfered from Garrett Striker’s private collection, if Jackson was to be believed.
Serge’s face went slack.
“Well, that’s what he gave me. What were you expecting?”
“A weapon, of course.”
Samantha’s hand went to her chest. “We need a weapon?”
Serge gave her arm a brief pat and took the book. “We will soon.”
“You’re such a comfort,” Cassidy grumbled.
Book firmly pressed to his breast, Serge made for the door without so much as a glance at Gil. He must have seen nothing in the man’s aura that was relevant to their current situation. Cassidy allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was her father bungling around in the middle of a supernatural battle.
“Do you have a lot like that down here?” Gil wondered.
“Like what?” Samantha asked, all doe-eyed innocence. Cassidy was too surprised to respond. Gil couldn’t possibly know what sort of entity he had just encountered, could he?
“You know.” He twirled a finger near his temple, and she relaxed.
Samantha smiled, relieved. “Eccentrics. Yes, we do have our share.”
And the next one was on his way. The thrum of Dominique’s nearness swelled in her awareness moments before he opened the door. Unlike his water-terrorized mentor, Dominique had rinsed off the remnants of his sandy lair. The muscles of his bare torso and arms glistened with moisture, his ebony hair lay smooth against his head and neck, and the wet polyester gym pants hugged his hips in a way that left little to the imagination.
“Oh! Well. Wow,” Samantha said, gaze first darting down, then up, and finally off into the kitchen. Color burned in her cheeks as she busied herself with the groceries again.
Dominique closed the door and looked Gil over, his expression revealing nothing.
“So. You must be Jackson,” Gil said, returning the scrutiny. “Or you better be marrying my daughter if you’re going to walk into her house dressed like that.”
Cassidy bit her tongue to stop herself from charging to Dominique’s defense. She wanted her father gone, not justify her living arrangements to him. Not that he would do anything more than scoff at the notion of soulmates, which was as close as she could explain their relationship without straying into the otherworldly.
Dominique gave her a thoughtful look before addressing her father. “I am not Jackson. Cassidy is my soul, and I am her heart. This is our home.”
In the kitchen, Samantha sighed wistfully.
Cassidy bristled. What are you doing? Stop chitchatting and make him go. Now.
“Is that so?” Gil said, gaze narrowing.
“That is so,” she said. “Jackson and I split. Now I’m with Dominique, and I’m happy. Now make me even happier and show yourself out.”
