Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
Never expose the supernatural community to human scrutiny.
CIPRIAN
I zip my suitcase with difficulty as the prehistoric window unit wheezes and coughs behind me. Calling it an air conditioner is too generous. It sounds like an old man with a head cold. The ancient appliance can’t get to me today, though. Neither can the shitty water pressure.
Torn between worry for Sheena and absolute amazement that my crazy plan worked, I’m far too amped to be distracted by minor inconveniences. Hoisting my suitcase off the bed, I lock the apartment behind me even though there’s not a damn thing left here worth stealing.
This is the best chance I’ve had to uncover what happened to Roscoe.
Dad would piss himself with excitement if he knew .
. . so I’m not sure why I kept it from him.
When I checked in after Luca dropped me off at my car, I lied and told Dad there were no updates.
He lectured me for ten minutes, and I never came clean.
My stomach roils, anxiety pitching around in there. I frown, throw my suitcase in the backseat, and slam the car door harder than necessary. I’ve been telling a lot of lies lately. It’s starting to get to me. Hiding who I really am from Celine is a necessary evil.
But if she knew the truth, she might understand.
There’s another lie.
Thrumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I load the address Luca gave me into my navigation system and pull out.
Celine’s apartment isn’t far—only a few blocks.
Squinting, I ease my car past a red curb that could use a fresh coat of paint and parallel park in the only remaining space.
Celine’s bike is parked further down, making me pretty confident this is the right place.
Grabbing my suitcase from the backseat, I jog up the stairs, double check the number, then knock on the door and wait.
I have no reason to be guilty. Secrets are more common than slot machines around here. I’m positioning myself in Celine’s home under false pretenses, but I’m not going to slit her throat. I have a job to do. That’s it. Returning to the compound with another fuckup under my belt . . . I can’t do it.
My heart beats a little quicker as I hear footsteps approaching. Then the door swings open and Celine’s face is looking up at me.
“Hey, roomie,” I say, grinning to hide my nervousness.
She shakes her head and holds the door open slightly to usher me in. “Behave,” she warns.
“Me?” I sketch an imaginary circle over my head in a halo motion. “I’m always behaving.”
“Behaving like what exactly?” She closes the door behind me, and I smile.
Celine is quick with her comebacks. I respect that.
And her home . . . I whistle as take in the neat apartment, with its careful organization and cool, inviting tones.
She plants her hands on her hips and stares at me expectantly.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing, I’m waiting for the joke.”
“What joke?” Does she think I can’t be serious? I’m not sure why that feels especially awful today. She wouldn’t be the first.
“The one about how angels are uptight.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t know any of those,” I say. “Are they normally knock-knock style or what?”
Celine rolls her eyes. “Please. Like you haven’t heard the rumors about angels.”
“I’m a demon, hot wings—we’re not known for being easy breezy ourselves.”
Her brow furrows, and she pushes a strand of flame-red hair behind one ear. “That nickname . . .”
“Is perfect?” I lean over and steal a whiff of her scent. It’s the perfect balance of sweet and spicy, like a cardamom bun rolled in cinnamon sugar.
“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever been called,” she says frankly. “And I’m a stripper on the Fringes, so that’s saying something.”
I clap my hand over my heart and dip my head in a low, sarcastic bow. “Earning a superlative . . . on our first day as roommates? I’m honored.”
Her lips twitch, but she pivots before I can watch the smile overtake her face and turn it from merely beautiful to breathtaking.
“I’ve only got one bathroom, unfortunately. You’re on the couch.” Celine looks around her tidy living room, and her shoulders dip. Something tells me she’s imagining my dirty socks wedged between the cushions.
“I’ll do my best not to make a mess,” I assure her, keeping my tone serious. She seems about as uncomfortable with this as I feel when people enter my family’s home.
“Luca is getting settled in the guest room, but we’ll have to head to the club soon.” Her phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, and she turns to glance at the screen. “I need to respond to this,” she says awkwardly.
“You don’t need to worry about me.” I give her my most winning smile. “You’ll know I’m here, but I won’t be any trouble.”
Celine nods crisply, then disappears down the narrow hall, hips swaying as she walks.
Gods, I want to feel her move all that sexy, sensual grace against me. A memory flies into my head of her flawless tits under the stage lights at the Naked Fang. Fuck, she’s perfect. If only—
Luca steps out of a room halfway down the hall, eyeing me with his steady, suspicious stare.
He’s dressed in a ragged tank top with his biceps on display and I have to fight the urge to rile him up for the fun of it.
He’s more levelheaded than a lot of the shifters I’m used to, but every so often I see the familiar flash of animal instinct in his eyes. I’m dying to know what he is.
“If you get lonely in the guest room, I’ll be happy to join you,” I say, giving in to the urge to tease him.
Luca snorts, pointing at the door he came through. “Have you seen the size of that bed?”
I shrug, grinning as I check him out. “Who says we have to use the bed?”
“Good gods.” Luca shakes his head, raising his voice to say, “Celine, I’m going to cook something for dinner.”
“Okay.” Her voice is muffled but easy to hear. This is a small apartment for four adults.
“You cook, too?” I lean against the back of Celine’s couch, giving Luca my full attention. It’s fun to rattle him. Even more fun than messing with my brother, but in a very different way.
Ignoring me, he pulls a bowl out of the cabinet and tosses me a menacing glare. “Stop flirting with me or I won’t feed you.”
“Harsh.” I sigh. “But I can accept those terms. Where’s the bathroom?”
Luca’s head is buried in the fridge. “Through Celine’s room,” he says, his hazel eyes peeking over the open door. “Knock first.”
“Obviously.” I shoot him the bird. “What kind of asshole wouldn’t knock?”
I head down the hall before he can respond. The greenish-colored walls are covered with art, each piece meticulously hung. I don’t have a level handy, but I’d be willing to bet these paintings are even to a fault.
“Celine.” I knock gently on her closed door. “Can I use the bathroom?”
She doesn’t respond, but a second later the door swings open. I blink in surprise, absolutely fucking dumbfounded. Slathered head to toe in lotion, coconut oil, or gods know what, she looks like an entire soccer team ran a train on her.
“Don’t say a word,” she snarls.
“A-are you okay?” I sputter, unsure how the goop isn’t getting into her eyes and blinding her.
“Can you piss already and get lost?”
Ignoring her demand, I lean closer and sniff, fascinated, a sick curiosity building in my gut. It’s amazing how thoroughly she’s covered in this stuff. From her bare feet to the top of her forehead—even the curves of her ears are iced. “You’re a glazed donut,” I say, unable to help myself.
Celine sighs. “I see you can’t be mature about this. You have thirty seconds to get it all out.”
“Starting now?” I blurt, eyes widening.
“Already started, you’ve wasted seven seconds.”
“Did you have a run-in with a flock of lactose-intolerant birds?” Her lips purse tightly.
“Or maybe you’re thinking of trying out life as a human candle.
Is your hair the wick?” I sniff her face again, inhaling the herbal smell, then shake my head.
“Honestly, you should have told me to preheat the oven. You’re clearly marinated and ready to roast.”
“And your time is—”
“Choo choo!” I make a chugging train engine sound with the last of my breath.
“Up,” Celine finishes, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me into the bedroom. “Honestly, I expected better from you.”
“Damn, babe. I can’t bring my best material while I’m actively in shock. In fact, do you have one of those aluminum-foil-looking blankets humans use after car wrecks lying around? I think I need to sit.”
“You can sit on the toilet.”
I scoff. “I don’t sit when I pee.”
“Not my problem,” she snaps. “Tuck it in or something.”
“Tuck it in?” I look down. “This monster? No can do.” I run my finger through the thick layer of slime on her shoulder. She swats my hand away, leaving a snail trail along my forearm.
“It’s a long-lasting magical moisturizer and pore reducer,” she says. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my appearance pays the bills, and witches are damn good at what they do.”
“Spells?” I ask, my eyebrows rising to my hairline.
She groans. “There is more to witch magic than spells. Were you raised under a rock?”
“Close enough,” I admit, picturing the stone walls of the compound I grew up in. There were witches behind those walls with me, but they weren’t big on sharing trade secrets, and I never once saw one flopping around like a trout freshly plucked from the stream.
“Hurry up,” Celine says. “I need to wash it off in seventy-eight seconds.”
“Roughly,” I joke, wondering again if she has a clock ticking in her head at all times. While fascinating to think about, that sounds exhausting. Anyone as magnetic as Celine should be able to kick her feet up and zone out when she wants to.
“Ciprian,” she hisses, and I jolt into action.
It takes about thirty seconds to take care of my business.
I wash my hands, then use my remaining time to poke around in her stuff.
Militantly organized, the cabinet under the sink is designed for maximum efficiency.
I’m most impressed by the fact that she’s managed to slather herself in a magic potion without spilling a drop.
With about six seconds until my deadline, I open the door and smile at her shiny face. “I bet you’d be unbeatable in a wrestling match right now. Want to give it a try?”
“I would crush you like a grape, demon.”
I shudder, not sure if I’m more scared or turned on by the unshakable confidence in her voice. “It might be worth it.”
“Get out of my bathroom.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I salute her and leave, feeling energized by the exchange. Celine is inflexible, antagonistic, and guarded. Getting her to trust me will be about as easy as climbing a tree with no branches. I love a challenge.
As I meander toward the kitchen, I tilt one colorful abstract painting about a sixteenth of an inch to the right. Most people wouldn’t notice, but Celine is exceptional. I bet she spots it as soon as she leaves her room.
“Have you seen Celine’s skin lube in action?” I ask conversationally, leaning against the counter that runs about half the length of the kitchen. Luca is standing over the stove with his back to me, shoving something around with a massive spatula.
“What?” He pivots, one eyebrow lifting effortlessly.
“I know,” I say. “Some kind of witchy goop for perfect skin.”
“Interesting.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“Not really, I was trying to get you to drop it.” Luca turns back to the stove to continue herding the food around. Steam fills the air with the mouthwatering smell of rosemary, garlic, and melted butter.
“Harsh. Dinner smells good.”
“Don’t expect much,” Luca says. “It’s just one-pan chicken and veggies.”
My stomach rumbles. It’s pathetic, but I haven’t had a home cooked meal since I came here. The idea of consuming a dinner that wasn’t frozen ninety seconds before it reached my mouth is ridiculously nice. I keep that thought to myself.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, seeing a text from Sheena. The tone of her message is flat. I silently curse my brother for taking so long to figure this out. With the grumpy fae getting involved, it shouldn’t be this hard.
I clench my hand around the phone, wishing, ironically, that I could do more.
I’ve offered to come back and help—ten times now—but Sheena won’t let me.
The feeling of helplessness won’t go away, and I wonder if I would have been better off not caring.
Her friendship is the best thing to happen to me in years, but if I lose it?
A chill rolls over me, even though with the stove on, it’s plenty warm in here. Pushing my worries to the back of my head, I half hope they’ll get lost and decompose before I’m forced to confront them again.
“Is your friend okay?”
I look up from my phone, a bolt of energy shooting through me as I find Luca’s hazel eyes fixed on me. Surprise follows my unease, joined by something I can’t identify. He remembered.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I say. It’s true, if you’re free and loose with your definition of fine, but this secret isn’t mine to tell. It is, however, mine to keep, and I would relive the year I turned fourteen a million times before I would betray Sheena.
“Dinner is almost ready,” Luca says, turning back to the stove. “And it’s mostly dark. I bet we can expect”—a brisk knock interrupts him, and he shakes his head—“Alistair to be here soon.”
Shaking off my stress, I walk to the door and work my way through the deadbolts. There are three. That’s a lot, but I’d actually like to multiply it.
“It’s a little toasty out here,” Alistair says through the door, tension in his tone.
“You should have waited until it was dark,” I call back, unlocking the final lock then swinging the door open. Alistair’s face is visibly red beneath the hoodie he’s wearing. “Gods, get in here, you maniac.”
I step out of the way, and Alistair darts inside, letting out a deep breath once the dying rays of the setting sun can no longer reach him.
“Are you trying to broil yourself?” Celine snaps, appearing in the hall, hands on her hips, no goop in sight.
“I’m fine,” Alistair insists, his tone biting enough to call him a liar without anyone else having to go to the trouble.
Luca shakes his head as he plates the food, deliberately meeting my gaze. I shake my head. Is he trying to call me out for claiming the same?
Alistair picks up his bag and heads to Celine’s room, his fingers brushing her cheek as he passes. “Your skin is softer than rose petals,” he murmurs.
I shake my head—what a corny fucking line—then laugh out loud when I see the triumphant look Celine is leveling me with.
“Choo choo,” I call out as they disappear down the hall together.
“Fuck off,” Celine shouts. “And don’t touch my paintings again.”