Chapter 11 – Cassini
CASSINI
“Good work,” I say, watching Lily blink herself back to reality, her eyes searching the room for something to anchor and ground herself. “You held the connection for almost fifteen minutes. How are you feeling?”
She stretches her arms above her head, and I get in a good leer before I force myself to look away.
Her silk camisole rides up and exposes a strip of perfect pale skin above her pajama shorts.
She’s wearing next to nothing, and I can see the outline of her teardrop tits through the fabric.
I think she’s dressed to distract me, and if she is, it’s working.
My venom is obviously still flowing through her, making her want me.
She yawns. “It was good; it’s getting easier to filter out the noise and only listen to the person I’m speaking with.
I just talked to a woman called Jen, who died of breast cancer last year.
She was so worried about her daughter’s grief.
She didn’t want to let go. It was sad. I really wish I could do something to help. ”
“You won’t be able to help everyone who comes through. You know that, right? Knowing when to learn to walk away and put yourself first is important, too. You don’t owe the deceased anything.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and her bottom lip gets marshmallow-soft as she pouts.
“I know, but I like the part where I’m helping people.
Isn’t that the whole point of this so-called gift?
Otherwise, it’s just a lifetime of bad headaches and dead people floating around in my brain.
Speaking of, I reached out to Harold’s wife on Facebook, and she found the deed to the house! ”
“Who the hell is Harold?”
“Seriously? He’s the guy from the other night. The patient? The one who asked me to talk to his wife?”
I rub my temples. “You’re telling people about this? I thought we agreed you’d keep it quiet.”
She leans forward to blow out the candles, and the fabric pulls away from her body, leaving just enough of a gap for me to see down her top. I follow the path of that exquisite blue vein that marbles through her skin, closing my eyes for a moment to hear the blood pumping through it.
“I didn’t tell her I was a medium.” She laughs. “I just said that I’d suddenly remembered something Harold told me at the hospital and that I thought I should pass it on.”
I’m relieved. “Good. We can’t take any risks. Not now.”
“I won’t.”
We sit there for a moment, saying nothing, just watching each other.
She unties the scrunchie holding a small ponytail and shakes her chin-length hair free.
As it falls, the scent hits me like a punch in the nose.
It’s a heady scent of coconut, verbena, and sunshine blended like a torturous smoothie.
It’s cruel. Her hair actually smells like the sun.
It hits me in waves, and I get a powerful urge to press my nose against her scalp, to inhale it deeply, filling my lungs as I tangle my fingers into the threads of spun gold.
But I don’t. Instead, I get up and grab my leather jacket from the arm of the couch. “It’s late. I should be going.”
As I turn, she grabs my arm and gazes up at me with bottomless blue eyes, pleading with me to stay. “Do you have to? Can’t you stay for a drink or something? I’d like to get to know you better and…I really don’t want to be alone tonight.”
I consider it. I want to, but I know it’s probably not a good idea.
The more time I spend away from the shop and the Hollow, the more suspicious Lazaro gets.
But I only have a few more days to deal with Beau and get this mess wrapped up before I skip town for good.
Maybe this could be good? The closer she feels to me, the more willing she’ll be to help.
As I sink back into the couch and try to appear relaxed, I tell myself it’s purely practical, but deep down, I know there’s something that goes beyond her usefulness and heady scent, even if I keep denying it. I want to protect her, but this feeling is anything but familial.
“Sure, I can stay awhile. What do you wanna know?”
She leaps up, and she’s smiling now, bouncing on her feet.
“Oh, anything really. How you got into tattooing, where you’re from, just stuff like that.
” She heads toward the kitchen, her voice carrying back to me as I hear cabinets manically opening and closing.
“I realized I don’t know much about you beyond the whole brooding-artist thing you’ve got going on. ”
The sound of a cork popping echoes from the kitchen, followed by the clink of glass. “Though I have to say,” she calls out, “the mysterious vibe is working for you.”
She returns with two glasses and a bottle of red tucked under her arm, that little spring still in her step.
“Is this okay? I don’t know much about wine, but it’s supposed to be good.
My stepdad Pat brought it back from some vineyard trip he took last year.
I’m usually more of a beer girl, to be honest.”
I accept the drink. “This is fine. Thanks.”
She settles back onto the couch, tucking her smooth, tanned legs under her. “So, you’re not from here, right? I can tell from your accent; it’s got something to it. Let me guess, you’ve got a little Italian in you?”
I take a slow, fake sip and place the glass on the coffee table. “Good guess. I am, but I have not been there for many, many years.”
“You got family nearby?” she asks.
“No, it’s just me here.”
“Are you close?”
“Not anymore.”
It’s a blunt answer, and it kills the conversation dead, leaving us to navigate the uneasy lull together. She taps her fingers on her glass restlessly and chews the corner of her lip, like she’s thinking about what to say next.
I break the silence first. “How are you healing?”
She raises her eyebrows, not understanding, so I point to her ribs.
“Your tattoo,” I clarify. “Have you been putting the balm on? Washing it with gentle soap?”
“Oh!” she exclaims, and I hear the relief in her voice. “Yeah, it’s good. Healing well. Actually, do you want to see?”
Before I can answer, she’s standing up and tugging her shirt up to expose the ink. She holds the camisole bunched in one hand, barely protecting her modesty, and traces her fingers along it with the other.
The bottom of her breast peeks out from under the silk, and I almost start salivating. I avert my eyes and swallow. “Any flaking or itching?”
She drops the fabric, her cheeks burning. “No! God, no! Nothing like that. It’s all been perfect.” She settles back on the couch. “You did such a beautiful job; you’re really talented. How did you get into tattooing?”
When you have an eternity, you can master anything.
I’d always been drawn to art, even as a boy, but centuries of practice turned natural talent into real skill.
Back when I was human, I thought my life would go in a completely different direction—I was studying at the seminary before my father came and turned me. He changed everything.
“There’s no story there,” I say. “I was just good at art and needed a job.”
“Well, you’re damn good at it. I don’t know what my stepdad is going to think about it, though,” she says with a nervous smile. “He always told me not to get one, but I think he’ll be happy once he knows it’s a tribute to Mom. That reminds me, do you have a number or something? So we can text?”
Internally, I groan. I hate the damn things, but I take the cursed device out of my pocket anyway and hand it to her. “You can put your number in here.”
“Great,” she says, tapping on the screen. “I’m going to Pat’s tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. So I’ll text you, and we can get together next week or something.”
She’s leaving town? This isn’t good.
I try to keep the irritation out of my voice, but I can hear it bleeding in. “Leaving? When were you going to tell me?”
She reacts to my tone, frowning as she hands me back my phone and shrugs.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I know I said I’d help with Megan and everything.
It’s just…something weird happened today, and it freaked me out.
I was only planning on going to San Antonio for lunch, but I have decided to stay a little longer. ”
She pauses and reaches out to lay her hand on my arm like she’s trying to placate me.
“I’ll be back and when I am, we can go back to practicing.
As long as you need. I really want to help.
I just know she’s the key to finding out about my mom’s tattoo, and I’ve always had a thing about waifs and strays. ”
“What happened today?” I ask, ignoring her hand stroking my arm.
“I’m probably being a big baby, but I think I was followed home.” She sighs, breaking contact and leaning back. “I know it’s nothing…but I’ve been feeling weird all day. Ever since Paloma gave me that warning, I’ve been on edge.”
As her eyes dart to the window, I cup her cheek and nudge her face towards me so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
She balks when I touch her face, but she tells me everything. About how she picked up a tail on Sixth and how scared she was. I listen intently as my blood gets hotter and hotter until it’s almost boiling in my veins.
They followed her here, and now they know where she lives.
I should have known Lazaro would do this.
He must have read my reaction to her back at his office and decided to get one of his little familiars to do his daytime dirty work, knowing he could use her as collateral. Knowing it would affect me.
I take a deep breath. “What can I do? How can I make you feel safe again?”
She laughs. “I hate to let the patriarchy win, but I’d feel a lot safer if there was a guy in the house.
I keep a baseball bat in my bedroom, but you’re…
what? Six-foot something and pretty jacked.
Plus, you’ve got that whole dark-stare thing going on.
I think you could probably scare the bad guys away. ”
“Done. I’ll sleep on the couch.”