39. Lincoln
39
Lincoln
Seraphina’s energy is nervous as she paces across her room, a stark contrast to how relaxed she was in the shower and in the kitchen. I know why she is acting the way she is, but I still hate it.
Hate that there’s a presence between us, one that seems to always be there.
“Sit, cierń.”
“Stop ordering me.” Did I really ever think Seraphina was the meek Gregori sibling?
She stops mid-step and turns to me. “You shouldn’t have said anything to Mitch.”
“Why?” I cross my arms, leaning back on her bed with these stupid sweatpants riding up to my knees.
“Because Mitch is the type of person who, once antagonized, doubles down.”
“He comes near you, I’ll kill him.”
“Stop saying that,” she huffs out. “No one is killing anyone. I told my parents about Mitch approaching me outside of the library, and they know about Chris. They contacted the police and is making sure that my restraining order is still active and doesn’t have to be refiled. But I know, Lincoln, I know that the best thing to do when you see him is walk away. Even if you want to punch him in the face and throw something at him, it is not worth it.”
“It would be worth it.”
She shakes her head, immediately disagreeing with me. “No. Because if you instigate a confrontation or attack him, you’re the one who will be at fault, not him. He’s the one who will press charges. He’s a manipulative, conniving son of a bitch, and while he may have slipped up once, he won’t make that mistake again, at least not where there are witnesses.”
“He came to your job and threatened you, Seraphina. He approached you when he damn well knows he can’t, and he made you feel unsafe four and a half fucking years after everything went down. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you’re safe. You’re not. He wouldn’t have showed up here unless he wanted something from you or to do something to you.”
“We need to let the police and lawyers handle it, Lincoln.”
Sitting up, I reach toward her and pull her until she’s toppling over into my arms and lying on her side next to me. “I’m not a vigilante. I’m not going to go out of my way to fuck him up. But I’m not going to sit idly by if he tries to hurt you. You can’t ask that of me.”
She burrows into me, looking down as she replies, “It scares me. After all this time, once my life finally is my own again, he comes back. Why?”
“Because he’s a fucking bastard, cierń. That’s why.” I pull her closer, hoping that whatever strength I possess bleeds into her in sleep.
—
Seraphina:
Banging outside of my room wakes me, jolting me against Lincoln’s body and forcing him to shift. We’re on top of the comforter, lying in the same position we must have fallen asleep in over four hours ago. I turn my head toward the door, and a pain in my neck stops me.
Reaching up, I finger the towel secured to my head and cringe at the knowledge that I fell asleep with the heavy microfiber towel on top of my head. Uncurling myself from Lincoln’s body, I reach up and unlatch the cloth, pulling it off and letting my damp hair hang in limp waves down my back.
The sounds from the kitchen continue, and I let my nosiness lead me toward my bedroom door. Opening it slowly, I slip out of the room and tiptoe down the hallway to see Bianca in the kitchen, a bowl of pasta in front of her.
“Hey,” I whisper, causing Bianca to jump in her seat.
“Holy shit, you move like a ninja. I didn’t hear you.”
“Sorry, I heard the banging out here and wanted to come and check it out. How was your night?”
Bianca shrugs, stabbing at her pasta with her fork. “Fine, I guess. Is Linc here?”
I nod, surveying her as she eats.
“He can stay. You know, I forget he’s a chef sometimes because he’s so fucking hot.”
“B,” I groan, not at all liking how Bianca’s speaking about Lincoln.
“Sorry, sorry. I know that’s your man, but still. It’s a good perk.” Her words are sarcastic, her typical mode of communication, but something about her voice is off.
“B, what’s going on?”
She releases a long, dramatic sigh. “What do you do when your life goes to shit, and you have no one to blame but yourself?”
“Go to church?”
“I don’t feel much like making a confession.”
“Maybe not to a priest, but what about to your sister? What’s really going on, B?”
She plays with the pasta, twirling it around on the tines of her fork before reversing, causing it to unravel. “I went to a psychic last week—and before you say anything, she was a good one, a real one, not one of the ‘boardwalk psychics’ like you accuse me of using.”
“Okay…” I hedge, sensing that whatever she’s about to say is important.
“She told me danger was coming, specifically for me.” She pauses, shaking her head before continuing, “She died yesterday, she and a client. Maybe you saw it on the news. They were murdered in the same room I sat with her last week, the client in the same chair.”
My eyes must look like saucers on my face, a mixture of fear and relief that the client wasn’t my sister. “They said it was a serial killer.” The news has been playing details about the double murder nonstop, linking it to the death of several other self-proclaimed mystics and psychics and their repeat clients in the tri-state area.
“I know. I saw. And it’s sad, it’s tragic, especially for their families. Marie was a nice little strega nona , who had relics and pictures and statues dedicated to the Virgin Mary and Jesus. She described her gift as one from God, and maybe people don’t believe in it or don’t want to entertain it, but she was kind until she asked me to leave her house.”
I pull my brows in, tossing over her words in my head. “What do you mean she asked you to leave?”
Bianca pushes her bowl aside and leans back. “She told me she saw death in my future, a symbol that could either mean literal or figurative death, and that I was the cause of it. Whatever she read in her cards freaked her out so bad she asked me to leave and told me to go to church.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure how else to respond right now.
“I’ve been trying to forget about it the last week, and that’s why you saw what you saw on the couch.” Bianca looks down, not meeting my eyes as she speaks. “I’m sorry for that, but I just wanted to forget, at least for a little while.”
“B,” I whisper, my heart breaking for the pain and confusion I see in my sister’s face, the very real “what if I were there?” game she must be playing in her mind.
“I got a call from the police today. I have to go to the precinct and give a statement and my alibi.”
“What? Why?”
She looks up, tears trailing down her face. “They’re interviewing all repeat clients.”
“How many times have you gone?”
“Five.” Her voice is hushed, embarrassment lacing the word, even though going to a psychic shouldn’t evoke that emotion. “I haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, but Rafe knows since it’s his precinct.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to tell Mom and Dad.”
I can’t hold in the chuckle at my twin’s no-nonsense response to Bianca’s very real problem. “He’s probably right.”
“He’s probably a dick.”
“He’s definitely a dick, but he’s right that you need to tell Mom and Dad.”
“Haven’t they been through enough? Ava’s stabbing, you being a martyr and then getting socked in the face, and now this? I always thought Rafe would be the pain in the ass since he’s the moodiest one out of all of us, but even after the military, he’s fine.”
“It’s life, Bianca. But nothing is worth your safety, and that means you shouldn’t go down to the precinct without two of the best lawyers in the area with you. Even if Rafe was in the room with you while you gave your statement, there’s only so much he can do.”
“I know. It’s just scary, okay? Two weeks ago, my only concern was that I had a less active social life than I did last year, but now murder? It’s like a bad movie that keeps throwing useless plots at the audience.”
“I know, but you need to call Mom and Dad.”
“I will, but they’re going to freak as soon as I tell them.”
“Probably.” I shrug, offering no false words of comfort. “But still, you have to tell them. They’ll do everything they can to protect you. And give them a little credit; all they’ve done over the years is support the four of us.”
“I hate it when you’re sensible. I should have called Ava.”
I shake my head, reaching out to draw my little sister into a hug. “Ava would have told you the same thing. Why don’t you call Mom now so she knows to meet you tomorrow? I’ll clean up.” I motion to her bowl of half-eaten pasta.
Breaking from my hold, Bianca pushes the stool back and stands, turning her back toward me as she walks to her room. I watch her as she retreats, pausing only long enough for her to say, “Thanks, Sera,” before she disappears into her room and shuts the door behind her.
My mind is overactive as I clean the discarded bowl and wipe down the counter, thinking about all the misfortunes surrounding us. There are happy things, of course—like Ava and Grey’s engagement and their wedding planning—but the clouds over us seem to cast a shadow on the excitement.
Throwing the paper towel in the garbage, I shut off the light behind me and tiptoe back into my room, pausing at the light beneath Olivia’s door. She must be up if her light is on, and I could tell her about my run-in with Mitch and Lincoln’s encounter today since I wasn’t able to tell her this morning.
Sighing, I knock on her door, knowing it’s better to get it over with than let it fester more than it already has.
Liv opens her door in a matching sleep set. “Everything okay?”
“Not really. Can I come in?” She opens the door wider, giving me space to walk inside. “I know you’re probably exhausted, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to you this morning. I, uh…” I clear my throat. “Mitch came up to me in the library’s parking lot yesterday after my shift.”
“What?” Her voice is loud, bouncing off the walls in the room. “Did you tell Rafe?”
“No, I haven’t spoken to him. I told my parents and Lincoln.”
“God, I hope that asshole gets spit roasted by Satan.”
I squint at the visual she just presented and shake my head to rid the mental image. “Lincoln saw him today when he went to brunch with his parents and confronted him. I don’t know what’s going on or why he’s suddenly everywhere, but I want you to be careful, okay?”
“He’s like a cockroach that won’t go away.” She huffs, leaning against the wall beside her closet. “Is Lincoln here?”
I nod, biting down on a smile. “Yeah, he’s sleeping.”
“Good. Make sure he takes care of you, okay?”
“And Rafe?” I hedge, lifting a brow at Liv.
“Rafe is Rafe,” she offers by way of explanation, and I make a mental note to call my brother in the morning to tell him about Mitch’s reappearance and to figure out what the hell is going on between the two of them. “Go back to bed, Ser. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m not working until Wednesday.”
My eyes light up, brightness in an otherwise dim conversation. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Night, Livvy.”
“That stupid nickname. Good night, Ser.”
I slip out of Olivia’s bedroom and walk across the hall to my room, carefully opening the door slowly to not wake Lincoln up. My efforts prove useless when his voice breaks the stillness.
“You okay, cierń?”
“I don’t even know how to answer that question,” I respond truthfully, not trying to feign strength in front of him. I see him nod in the darkness and pull back the covers he slid under.
“Come back to bed, Seraphina. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”