Chapter 23
FIDDLE
Bronte
“How many condoms do you need, crétin?” I mutter, hefting the trio of boxes sporting the telltale Trojan helmet from the front porch. Of course, a gaggle of elderly women out for their Saturday morning walk spot me and cackle like crows.
I fucking hate people.
Glaring at them as they wobble away, I shove through the door.
Pause. Turn around.
Drop the boxes.
Rip the poppet of twine, bone, and feathers from the handle.
“Fuck,” I hiss, crushing the abomination in my fist. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Confirming Dante is still asleep upstairs, I lean against the kitchen island and tap into the house’s exterior camera feed on my laptop. I’m not surprised to find them scrubbed clean, a loop of snow falling to the street playing all night.
Leviathan is clever, but not enough to completely blind me.
I find uncompromised footage from the non-cellular trail cams monitoring the property.
Checking each SD card is a bitch, but worth it when I find what I’m looking for.
The vantage point is from the classic red terracotta roof pitched low over the ivory stucco body of the house, angled to watch the street.
A hooded figure slinks in the cam’s periphery, poppet in hand.
A blast of wind snags their hood, whipping it back.
They catch it in time, but I note the lack of a Leviathan mask.
They scan the empty street, briefly revealing their profile concealed by a gaiter before dropping down and disappearing from view.
A moment later, they’re climbing up the roof again, backtracking their covert route.
I replay the video and freeze it on the sleuth’s profile. My heart pounds a war drum in my chest as I stare at a doe eye and a single untamed ringlet. The image is grainy, but I know who I’m looking at.
“Quinn Wildes,” Emi says minutes later, fingers flying across her keyboard from the other end of the phone plastered to my ear. “Age: thirty-one. Occupation: forensic scientist. Hobbies: hiking, camping, baking. She’s active on social media and has a normal digital footprint.”
“Any connection to Margot?”
“Not that I can see from a quick search, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to find. Want me to keep digging?”
“Hai,” answers Poppy before I can speak. “Make it a deep hole.”
My blood thrums at the sound of her voice. “Eavesdropping, Petit Diable?”
“I’ve been here this whole time, fuck you very much.” Angels, I miss her fire. “You’re friends with Quinn. What do you know about her?”
“Everything.” I glance at the paused video on my laptop. “Or, at least, I thought I did.”
“Anything will help,” Emi says, clicking and clacking away.
“Quinn’s a local. Her parents passed when she was still a kid. She was raised by her grandfather, who’d been a retired cop before he passed away a few years ago. She’s a fervent justice-seeker, but she sticks to the law. She’s pulled some strings for me in the past, though it clearly bothered her.”
“What kind of strings?” asks Poppy.
“The kind that led me to you.”
Realization sinks deep the moment the words are out my mouth.
I’ve been played like a goddamn fiddle.
By my own fucking friend.
A beat of silence passes, punctuated by Poppy’s quiet curses. Then Emi sighs. “Shit.”
“What?” Poppy barks before I can.
“Quinn volunteers at an academic library most weekends.”
“Academic library?”
“Mhm. Want to guess which campus?”
I grab my keys, halfway down the steps when Poppy says, “Stand down, monsieur. I’ll handle it.”
“The fuck you will.”
“Don’t be a fool. You can’t stalk Quinn in broad daylight.”
“I can, and I will.” I slam the car door and key the engine. “This is personal, Poppy.”
“As if nothing that’s happened thus far has been fucking personal,” she seethes, her voice darkening as her fury rises.
“This isn’t an attack against you, Bronte.
It’s an attack against me. Leviathan is aware we’ve been working together.
They know what you—” She cuts herself off, but I can guess what she was about to admit.
They know what you mean to me. “They know how valuable you are to my hunt for them.”
“Then they won’t see me coming.”
“Listen to me, you bullheaded prick! We finally have the upper hand. Neither Quinn nor Leviathan knows we caught her in the act. If you go chasing after her right now, you’ll waste the only ace we have.
Besides, Quinn is an active member of the community.
People will know if she goes missing, and we don’t need the cops breathing down our necks, either. ”
The leather steering wheel creaks beneath my grip. I know she’s right, but I don’t want to hear her logic. I want to find Quinn, throttle her senseless, and get answers.
“What do you propose we do?”
“I need to speak with my parents. They're expecting me today anyway for a family gathering in honor of my grandpapa. In the meantime, I can spare some guards to keep an eye on you and your brother.”
“We can protect ourselves.”
“Oh?” When I don’t indulge her unspoken request for me to explain, she asks, “Would you like to come with me?”
“Where?” Surely, not her parents’ with a house full of criminals…?
“I’ll drop a pin. See you at Morgenstern Manor, mon ange.”
Click.
I expel my lungs, dropping my head back. “Angels fucking bless me.”