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“I don’t have to do anything. Especially since you’ve been ditching our sparring sessions and avoiding me for the last month.”
“But—”
“But, I will…for you. Give me ten and I’ll be heading down the mountain.”
“Thank you.” The relief in her voice hits me square in the chest.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me regret it,” I say with a roll of my eyes she can’t see. “There better be yummy snacks.”
“Of course there’ll be yummy snacks. What kind of operation do you think I’m running here? I have to give the patrons something since the artist is conspicuously missing. Again,” Evan huffs. “The things I do for you.”
“Snacks.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got your snacks.”
“Thanks. See you in forty-five.”
Ending the call, I rush through the disguise prep, but instead of the dowdy outfit I was planning on, I opt to dress in attire that will be easier to fight in. In lieu of the brown suit, whose added fabric will hinder my movement and ease of weapon retrieval, I pick a nice pair of fitted black straight-legged slacks with a good, thick heft to them. I pair it with the matching jacket that helps conceal my tattoos and spine holster.
I choose a blousy, sapphire peplum top to go under the jacket (because I’m a freaking girl and I need the pretty). In the same vein, I pick my black leather, four-inch wedge-heeled booties with the weapon loops sewn into the inner lining. One would think I couldn’t run, fight, or walk in these beauties, but they’d be wrong. These are the most comfortable pair of shoes I own, and likely, they’re the most functional.
Shakily, I still put in the emerald-green contacts, put my hair in a bun at the back of my head, and throw in a few stainless-steel spikes as hair sticks. I love them because they are as thin as knitting needles, sharp as knives, and hide in plain sight.
Just in case the shiver of fear I feel is the real thing, I slide three thin throwing knives in the holder in my right bootie, and load and stow a Glock 19 in the specialty-made left-handed spine holster.
And Evan wonders why I don’t go outside. Wearing enough weapons to satisfy me is a production and a half.
As I head out to the garage, a cool finger of dread prickles at the base of my neck. Just in case, I step back inside and carefully open the gun cabinet disguised as a full-length mirror. Picking up a few extra mags, I stow them in the ammo loops of my left bootie.
Ready as I’ll ever be.
Let’s just hope I don’t die again.
Chapter Two
AURELIA
Screeching into my parking spot at the gallery, I turn the car off and hop out of the seat like my ass is on fire. I’m late—just as Evan predicted I would be—which is irritating. Somehow, despite my abilities, I still managed to get caught in traffic. Which is just par for the freaking course in my book.
Of course, I have about the worst ability on the planet that only seems to work in fits and spurts.
Did I know I would get caught in traffic? Technically, yes, but I thought I could go around it, having no idea that even the side roads would be backed up, too. Did I know that Rhys was four cars behind me the whole way down the mountain and parked on the street to avoid me spotting him? Yes, I did. I also know he has on mismatched socks and a Morganite knife in his boot.
But none of that information is useful, and all I’m stuck with is a feeling in my gut that I didn’t pack enough weapons.
Slipping in the hidden side entrance, I try to skirt the crowd without being noticed as I make my way to the only reason I’m here.
Food.
Assessing the spread on the snack table, I mentally give Evan kudos. Cubed cheeses, grapes, bruschetta, those cute little cucumber chive cups, pancetta cheese tomato skewers, and a bunch of other yummy snacks decorate one massive table positioned expertly next to the open bar.
I have to give it to her. The little devil really knows how to throw a party.
Speaking of the devil, Evan pops up by my side as if she materialized from thin air. Which isn’t too far from what she’s actually capable of. The jury’s still out on whether she just showed up on her own two feet, or if she appeared in a puff of smoke in front of an entire roomful of people. I’m going with option one solely based on the number of humans in the room.
While it’s great my showing is well attended, the room is far too people-y for me. But the crowd isn’t the only thing giving me pause. Despite the riot of curls and tiny stature, my pixie of a best friend is typically a little more robust than she is right now. And while I feed her until she busts every time she comes over, I have a feeling she isn’t getting sustenance from the other half of her diet—the soul-eating side.
It’s not as bad as it sounds. As a wraith, Evan eats damned souls, transporting them on a one-way slide straight to Hell. By the sharpness to her cheekbones, she hasn’t consumed a soul in a hot minute.
