Chapter 30
TOLL
Bronte
“What’s the verdict, V?” I ask my half-sister as she refills a pot of black for our debrief of her evaluation with Poppy.
“You already know my answer, B.” Virgil swings a melancholy smile over the shoulder of her black lace pantsuit. Her sepia cheeks plump beneath her hazel eyes crowded by her long mane of ivory waves. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. My lips are sealed.”
It takes Herculean restraint to not roll my eyes at the bullshit non-answer.
After dropping Poppy off at Virgil’s home on Essex Street this morning, I tended to a few errands, then wasted the rest of the afternoon driving around the city. I couldn’t sit still, not while Poppy was being evaluated by the only person I trust.
When we settled in Salem, Virgil pursued her PhD in psychotherapy and opened her own private practice to help people caught in the underworld’s clutches.
People like Poppy, who is supposedly unwinding from the session in V’s enclosed greenhouse attached to the small cottage.
Which I can’t see from this oversized leather armchair in the living room on the opposite end of the fucking house.
“Keep your impatient ass seated, B.” V wears a steely lour as she walks a steaming cauldron mug over to me, jabbing in my face an accusatory finger topped with a black nail that looks more like a claw. “Let her come out on her own.”
I sink back down with a hissing sigh. “She doesn’t even know I’m here.”
“Trust me, she knows. In fact, I’m betting you woke up Deaf Delilah next door from her afternoon nap with how hard you pushed that V-eight up the street.”
“There was snow on the road.”
“And your first instinct was to drive like a maniac?”
“Has to get plowed somehow.”
“Plowed.” She snickers, drifting to the kitchen sink and refilling a spray bottle. “You’re lucky you didn’t get plowed.”
I’m too on edge to attempt a witty riposte as she tends to her Venus flytraps, black bat flowers, cobra lilies, and all the rest of her carnivorous and poisonous plants nestled in handknit nets from the rafters.
Virgil’s home is a historical cottage having once belonged to a supposed witch during Salem’s infamous trials.
Leather and velvet furniture fill the space.
Doctoral plaques and several framed awards hang proudly on the cherrywood walls.
Crochet projects are nestled in the standing bookshelves stuffed full with religious texts not unlike those Mama once possessed.
Crystals and Tarot decks contrast the old tomes with pops of color.
All wearing gold silhouettes from the dim candlelight warming the dull January dusk.
Setting my mug onto the stout coffee table beside me, I rub my brow as candles burn the saccharine scent of warm apple pie up my nostrils. “What can you tell me about Poppy, V?”
“Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask, B?”
My molars grind. “Will she get better?”
“If she prioritizes herself, possibly.” Virgil trades her bottle for a mug and leans against the dining table. “If she doesn’t, not a chance in hell.”
Fear freezes my veins shut. The thought of that beautiful little devil being tortured by anxiety for the rest of her life…
“How can I help her?”
Virgil sips her coffee, steam curling in her hazel eyes. “You are already doing everything humanly possible. A bit of advice, if you’re willing to listen?”
“Oui.” I nod, my neck stiff.
“If her hallucinations grow any worse, or she becomes combative during her states of delusion, be prepared for what must be done.”
The memory of a gunshot ricochets in my mind. I run a hand through my hair. “I…”
Words escape me when I catch movement in my periphery. I know without looking it’s her.
Poppy peers into the living room from the kitchen, baby blues brighter than any flame flickering around us.
A few days have passed since that night in the graveyard, our time spent resting as we both waited impatiently for this visit.
Sleepless bruises blotch beneath her lashes.
Her fringe is freshly trimmed, half her pastel pink strands loosely knotted atop her head.
Even exhausted, she’s as beautiful as a new dawn.
Virgil gives her an encouraging nod.
And then she’s moving.
The moment Poppy reaches me, she beams brighter than any sun. “Good news: no padded rooms anytime soon.” She grabs my wrist and hauls me toward the front door, chirping, “Au revoir, Dr. V!”
Virgil’s chortles echo behind us. When I look back, though, her smile is wan and sallow. As if an unseen force is taking its toll. I recognize what I’m seeing a moment before she closes the door.
Fear. Fear for me as I walk a ruinous path that can so easily lead to my own doom.
“Where to, Petit Diable?” I ask Poppy as we settle into the ‘Vette and pull out onto the street. “My place or yours?”
“For what, mon ange? Are you trying to get into my pants again?”
“I’m not trying anything, Poppy. If I wanted to fuck you right now, I’d be doing it.”
I don’t intend to sound harsh. As much as I’d like to continue what we started in that crypt, there are more pressing matters than sex.
We have yet to move the needle on Leviathan since discovering the catalyst to their war with her family.
We need to figure out a plan before there are any attempts on my life or my brother’s.
Or worse, hers. I’m surprised they haven’t tried anything in the weeks that have come and gone since Quinn’s little gift.
Poppy falls silent, her expression unreadable. Her palm slides over my hand on the shifter, her fingers squeezing mine. “I missed you.”
For a moment, I imagine myself bathing with that fucking toaster.
“I am the one who missed you.” I lift her knuckles, kissing each knob of bone. “Forgive me. There’s a lot on my mind, and I know there’s as much on yours. We need to talk.”
“We do.” She sighs, rolling her lips as she squints out the window at the passing city lights.
“I’ve been thinking about what we found in St. Aurelius’s tomb.
I told my parents about Sebastian, not that it changed anything.
Papa knows as much about Leviathan as us.
I truthfully have no idea where to go from here. ”
“What about Quinn?”
“You already know my stance on that subject.”
“Oui. But we’ve surpassed the point of pussyfooting around Leviathan. She’s a loose thread, and we need to pull it.”
“Your pal Scull already did all he could: tailed her, rummaged through the campus library, combed her house from top to bottom. Short of kidnapping Quinn and tying her up for questioning—which will only end badly—she’s not worth pursuing.
Unless you truly wish to harm or possibly kill your own friend… ?”
There’s a pang deep in my chest as I imagine putting a bullet in Quinn’s brain. “She’s not my friend anymore.”
“Easier said.” Her fingers pulse mine. “Trust me on this, Bronte. Something about her being a member of Leviathan doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean? You saw the same video I did. We caught her red-handed.”
“You said she was raised by a cop and does most things by the book unless otherwise requested by a close friend like you. Why would she be willingly involved with a cult whose ideals are the very opposite of hers?”
I shake my head, not entirely following. “What are you saying, Poppy?”
“I’m saying you know what it’s like to be forced by Leviathan into doing things you wouldn’t normally do. What if she’s living the same nightmare you and your siblings were in Sleepy Hollow?”
I never considered the possibility, but there’s no evidence to support her claim. “Quinn isn’t in captivity like we were.”
“No, but blackmail is a powerful weapon to wield and achieve the same results. What Sebastian did to his students is proof of that.”
The raging beast inside me doesn’t want to hear it, but she could be right.
“I’ll try talking to her.” Noting her frown, I add, “Calmly and at work, where nothing can happen.”
“Fine, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Poppy snickers, nibbling on her bottom lip. “There’s someone else I want to chat with after seeing his ancestor in the crypt.”
“Mm. Does this someone happen to be a Russian merc who’s lucky to be alive and not sitting beside his cousins on a lonely housewife’s shelf?”
“I know you don’t like him, but he deserves to know about Katerina.”
“You aren’t concerned that shedding light on his legacy status will turn him against you?”
“If it does, then”—an audible swallow—“I guess I’ll have to kill him.”
The prospect sounds as enjoyable to her as killing Quinn sounds to me.
“Or,” I counter in a lighthearted drawl, “you can watch as I tear off his balls and shove them down his throat.”
Poppy snorts, jutting her chin at the traffic light ahead as she sends several texts. “Take a right. We’re going to Indigo first.”
“And after?”
“Are you working tonight?”
“No.”
“Is Quinn?”
“No.”
“Then we can go back to your place.” She releases my hand in favor of my thigh, grinning when my dick jerks to attention. “That is, if you think we’ve talked enough…?”
This fucking woman. Her hunger for me is only driving me feral for her.
At the red light, I pull the e-brake and snare her by the nape, swallowing her surprised gasp with a long, deep kiss that leaves her moaning into my mouth. “Oui, ma reine. We’ve talked enough. Tonight, you’re screaming my name when you’re not choking on my cock.”
Poppy giggles, the sound filling my world with music. “Deal, mon roi.”