Chapter 43
In the departures hall at Koropi, the heliport of Athens, Eve stares impatiently through the plate glass doors at the sky.
Weather conditions over the Aegean, and particularly over the Cyclades group of islands, have made helicopter flights impossible for several hours.
In that time Eve has drunk three cups of pitch-black Greek coffee, checked the local weather forecast on her phone every quarter of an hour, and dragged her cabin case the length of the hall more times than she can count.
I’m starving, but the refreshment counter’s only got sweet things.
There’s a whole tray of baklava, pastries made with pistachio nuts and honey, and although that’s not really what I feel like I may well end up ordering a couple out of sheer greed.
In fact, unless my flight’s called in the next minute, I definitely will.
I feel terrible about Jack Demerell, who hugged me so hard when I left Philippa’s place, and looked so broken, and still managed a grin to try and make me feel OK. He’s a good man, but I have a terrible record with good men. And Philippa, my favourite witch. What to say? I’ll miss her so much.
But right now, I can’t think about them.
Right now, I’m aching for Oxana, and though I know that she’s terrible, and a bad person through and through, I also know, in a way that overrides all sense and logic, that we belong together.
So there’s that. Not that I’m not going to be incandescently fucking furious when I see her.
I am. She’s not going to get away with her lying ways for a single second longer, evil little bitch that she is.
But there’s no getting around the fact that she is, and always will be, my evil little bitch.