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ThatI can state without a splinter of uncertainty. Even if both my sister’s legs had her limping around, she’d be doing it at the height of grace The press hasn’t nicknamed herThe Vanguard Valariwithout good reason. Whether she’s simply ordered another car, run into old friends, or met a new person with which, in her words, to canoodle, she’ll land on her feet with more polish than a pantheress.
When we arrive at Cole’s, the place is shockingly sparse for this hour on a Friday night. We’re also surprised by the staff’s eager smiles—in downtown LA, practiced diffidence is an artform as much as it is in New York. But instead of enjoying the friendliness, I fight a wave of sadness.
“Business must be really bad since the quakes.” I sneak a hand beneath my borrowed coat to rub at the morose indigo hue taking over my belly. Despite the dark color, I sigh in relief. It’s the first shade to come back since our earlier lovemaking. I’ve been worried that the jump into Z’s alternate realm might have done something to the sprout. Admittedly, it’s likely the initiation into a lifetime of stresses, but I’m grateful it’s smaller for now. “So maybe we’d better order big and tip bigger,” I add to my first comment, to be answered by my man’s gruff chortle.
“Ah. Good plan.” He winks as if he can actually hear the new snarl from my stomach over the alt rock hit that’s blaring from the kitchen. “I mean, even if we don’t plan to eat itall.”
“I’m sure a few of their to-go boxes are clamoring for a new home.”
In the end, we’ve inhaled two plates of garlic tots, a large French dip, and half a grilled cheese sandwich with soup. By the time we leave and head for Maximus’s place, I’m glad for the chance to walk off a little of my sex and food coma. But only by a fraction. My sleep-deprived brain is looking forward to hitting the pillow as fast as possible since I already anticipate some early morning texts from Veronica. Our wardrobe choices for the EmStars will likely have to be reconfigured because of the engagement announcement.
For now, as we turn onto the street in front of his building, I hold steady at basic counting-the-blessings mode. Since there’s not even a lone photographer lingering out here despite the balmy breeze in the palm and fig trees, logic leads to a calming conclusion. Mother has chosen to go the traditional route for the freshest Valari scoop, supplying our engagement news to select media outlets first. Or perhaps—hope of all hopes—she’s being super strategic and waiting to collect a few more juicy details from Maximus and me.
If so, that gives us several hours of tomorrow to be transparent hermits in our downtown retreat. I smile a little, daring to look forward to more sunshine and coffee on the balcony.
But first things first.
As we leave the elevator and approach his front door, every pore of my skin is elated about a naked bask between his silky sheets. Less than twenty more steps, and it’ll be reality. But the fantasy has dug in so well, I stumble a little across his foyer.
“Hey.” Maximus pivots and cups my elbows before I fall all the way over. “Easy there, sleepy one.”
“You mean sleepwalkingone?” I take advantage of getting to sag into him. “Just point the way to the bed, please.”
“How about one better?” He squats low and hooks his arms beneath my back and knees. I’m sighing at once, tucking my forehead against his neck.
“I hereby worship you for the rest of my days,” I mumble.
“Impossible. I’m already checked in atyourtemple.” He uses a foot to scoot out a chair from the table. “Sit tight,” he instructs. “Just going to grab us some waters from the fridge.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” I return dreamily, though a narrow needle pricks the back of my brain. As long as I’m right here, I might as well check on—
“The grimoire.”
The words hurt as they burst up my throat and past my lips, natural effects of sheer panic. But I force myself to pull in a deep breath, ignoring the wild new array of light that starts flashing from my midsection.
“It’s okay, Sprout,” I whisper. “It’s going to be fine. I’m sure there’s a logical reason for this.”
Thisbeing the fact that no amount of my prodding, sliding, and searching is yielding the book at my fingertips, lodged in the tight space where it should be. Nor does a visual sweep of the table’s underbelly, along with the floor underneath.
I sit back up, now flattening a hand to my sternum in a fight to calm my sprinting heartbeat.
“Kara?” Maximus slams the water bottles to the counter after clearing the kitchen archway. “What’s—”
“The grimoire.” Though I pray my repetition is less desperate, it’s a lost cause. “Did you do something with it?”
“I don’t follow,” he utters. “I know where you put it, which means someone would have to upend this place to find it. Much better than the sock drawer or under the mattress.”
I gulp hard. Blink back tears. For what reason, I have no idea. “Apparently not.”
A rough huff makes it up his own gullet. “Huh?”
“It’s not there, Maximus. I think…the grimoire’s been stolen.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAXIMUS
“You’re sure you’ve looked everywhere?”
