Chapter 36
Electra
My screen darkens as it tosses Gael Monta’s call to voicemail.
When it lights up with his name a second time, I frown. “I should probably take this,” I say, as Cillian pulls out of me.
I reach above me and grab my cell, then swipe to accept the incoming call. “Hello?”
“Evenin’, sweetheart.” Gael sounds downright chirpy. “I’m just about to land in Boston.”
“Okay…” I say, my brow pleating. Is he angling for a meetup?
“I just got hold of some priceless intel.”
Cillian watches me as he wads some paper towel, dampens it, and returns to wipe me down.
Even though there’s nothing sexual about the act, it makes my core tingle, which is really the last sensation I want while on the phone with my biological parent.
I wait until Cillian has finished his task before speaking again. “Concerning?”
“The Holy Hunters. Since you told me you’re interested in helpin’ eradicate those roaches, I thought you might want to hear what your brother just found out.”
“What did Dorian—”
“Your real brother,” Gael snaps, an edge to his voice.
“What did Alexander find out?”
“He got word about a front where they move information through sandwich orders. Want to ride with us to check it out?”
“Absolutely!”
I swear I can hear Gael smiling on the other end of the call. “I’ll pick you up on my way from the airport in an hour, and we can head there together.”
My heart begins to thump. No, to clobber my ribs. “Send me the address. I’ll meet you there.”
“Only if you swear not to go inside until I arrive.”
“I swear.” I’m sensible enough to know that even armed to the teeth with weapons and magic, walking into a wasps’ nest without backup would be madness.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. They have mine-dust bullets—”
I switch to Atlantean to reply, “I won’t go in without backup. I swear.”
“Fine. I’ll text you the address. Send street footage when you arrive on site.”
Cillian’s brows tilt low.
“Will do.” I disconnect and hop off the countertop.
As I turn my leggings outside in, he asks, “Did something happen?”
Since Gael was speaking in Atlantean, even if he heard anything, Cillian wouldn’t have understood.
“No.”
“Then why are you getting dressed?”
“First off, I can’t exactly walk around pantless.”
“I disagree.”
I smile as I yank on leggings.
“Second, I need to go pick up a sandwich for my—” I catch myself before speaking a word that might be genetically accurate but not emotionally so. “For Gael.”
“What about our dinner?”
“Would you mind if we ate a little later? I should be home in like, two hours?”
Gael’s text flashes on my screen.
“Where are you going?” Cillian asks.
I stay vague by giving him only the neighborhood.
“Then I’m going with you.” A ridged vein bumps the arm of his glasses. “Because that part of town is seedy as hell.”
“I’d prefer—”
“I’m coming. I’ve got a car. You don’t.”
“How do you know I don’t have a car?”
“You’re always calling cabs. And there are never any vehicles parked on the Penthouse spots.”
“Maybe I park it elsewhere.”
“Do you?”
“Fine. I don’t have a car, but you’re still not driving me.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I huff.
He dips his chin and crosses his arms. “You’re going to have to give me a better reason than because.”
I’m about to use magic to make him drop it and wait for me here when I decide to use compulsion later, after he drops me off. “Fine. I could use a ride.”
I head to my room to collect my gun from my bedroom safe, then hook a fanny pack across my torso and conceal the weapon inside.
As we take the elevator down to the garage, Cillian asks for the exact address so he can input it into his phone’s GPS. I give him the deli’s name.
His thumbs hover over his screen as his gaze snaps to mine. “We’re going to a fucking delicatessen?”
“Best tuna fish sandwiches in the whole of Boston, apparently.”
He lowers his phone. “If you wanted a tuna fish sandwich, I could’ve made that instead of sea bass.”
I smile. “Gael wants tuna fish. I want your sea bass.” I roll up onto my toes and peck his hard mouth before gasping, “Did you turn off the oven?”
“I did.” His teeth don’t separate around the words. “But I’m serious, Electra. If Gael wants a sandwich, I’ll gladly head to the supermarket right now and grab all the ingredients to make it.”
“Gael really wants one from there.”
Cillian’s jaw tics, evidently annoyed I won’t take him up on his offer. Does he consider it a slight to his obvious mastery of cooking?
The elevator dings.
It’s only once we reach the vehicle that he says, “Just checked ratings. The place has a one-star average. Customers report seeing rats.”
Since I’m not going for the food or ambience, I push magic into my eyes. “Stop fighting me on this and just drive me there.”
His lids spasm. His throat works. And then he’s obediently drawing my door wide and jamming the unlock button to unseal the rest of the doors. After he drops into his seat, he sticks his phone in the suction holder.
Cillian barely glances at the GPS during the drive. It’s like he’s got the map memorized. I’m guessing he has a photographic memory.
Unless… “Is it the neighborhood you grew up in? Is that why you look so irritated about my destination?”
“Does Gael not know how to use Uber Eats?”
I decide to drop the subject since nothing I can truthfully tell Cillian will dissolve his sulkiness.
Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of an eatery with a flickering neon sign that reads: Freddie’s Delicatessen.
“Never got e-coli, but I’ve heard it’s not fun,” Cillian grumbles.
I snort.
Before I can compel him to drive off, he’s unfolding his broad body from the Volvo.
“Wait,” I call out.
He snaps his door shut.
I scramble out. “Cillian, wait!”
My boyfriend must be dead-set on getting this trip over and done with, because he’s sailing inside the deli. My heart stutters, and my blood chills. I wasn’t going to head in, much less with a mortal sidekick, but what choice do I have now?
Before the deli’s glass door settles, I lunge after him, remembering to yank off my hair tie since Holy Hunters don’t mistake our runes for body art.
Two patrons share a table—a woman with the most crumpled face I’ve ever seen, and a skinny man with an apron, who I assume must be the cook.
The old lady apparently didn’t get the memo about the cigarette ban in restaurants, because she’s tapping the ash off the tip of her tobacco wand in an ashtray overflowing with lipstick-smudged butts.
“They’re closed.” Cillian shrills like he’s yet to hit puberty. He places his hand on my lower back and leans over to whisper, “Even the atheist in me believes this is a sign of God that we’re not supposed to consume food from this establishment.”
“What was that?” the smoker rasps.
“Nothing,” Cillian mutters, ushering me toward the door.
I twist around before he can steer me through it and whisper. “Go wait in the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”
His Adam’s apple jostles as though he’s fighting my compulsion. For a beat, I wonder if his anguish to leave me behind will defeat my demand, since strong emotions can hinder the effect of our magic. But the pressure on the small of my back vanishes, and he steps out.
“Place is closed, girlie,” the woman tells me just as the door settles in its frame.
I keep my gaze trained on Cillian until he’s tucked safely inside the station wagon. “I’d like a sandwich.”
“What part of—”
“It’s okay, Luce.” The man stands, rubbing his palms on his apron that’s streaked with Gaea only knows what. The stains run the gamut from yellow to green to pink to burgundy. “What do you want on your roll?”
“Tuna fish,” I say, since Cillian thinks that’s what I drove halfway across the city for.
As he sets about making it, Luce drapes an arm on the back of her chair, observing me from underneath her mascara-laden lashes. “How’d you hear about this here deli?”
“Word of mouth,” I tell her.
“Word out of whose mouth?” she asks.
“A friend’s.”
“The one in the car?”
She obviously missed Cillian’s disgust-kinked lips. “No. Another friend.”
When her eyes flick to the cook, mine go there too. The man is dutifully slicing open a roll with a long serrated knife. I drum my fingers against my thigh, magic at the ready in case—
The jingle of the front door has my pulse ratcheting.
Cillian stalks back in. “The engine won’t start. Wouldn’t happen to have any jumper cables and a car with a working battery?”
“Jumper cables…?” Luce’s thin eyebrows arch.
“I got some in my truck,” the cook says, smothering the cut sides of the roll with a hearty dose of tuna salad. “It’s parked out back.” He digs a key fob out of his apron. “Here.”
“I’ll just wait until you’re done.” Cillian doesn’t just grip my hand, he throttles it. “How much for the sandwich?”
“The rate’s double outside of business hours, so twenty,” he says.
Though Cillian’s eyes all but bug out of his skull, he flattens two tens on the countertop.
“You don’t have to pay for Gael,” I murmur.
“Can we just get back in the car?” he grumbles.
“What do you think this place is?” Luce’s raspy voice scratches the air. “A drive-through?”
“I’m not expecting the sandwich to be hand-delivered. I’ll come back for it. Just going to walk my girlfriend back to the car.”
The Zumba coach might’ve gone to juvie and lived on the street, but if this is a nest of Holy Hunters, then these people will have weapons that could hinder me before I can save him.
“Your girlfriend?” Luce’s lurid lips quirk. “How sweet.”
Her comment throws me for a loop. Why in the world does she care about our relationship status or think it sweet?
“Come on.” Cillian tows me toward the door.
Just as he shoves it wide, a light turns on at the far end of a short hallway.
“Those motion detectors are so darn sensitive,” Freddie grumbles—loudly.
Since motion detectors are activated by motion, I draw us to a halt.
“Creed must be back from his stroll. Can you check, Luce?”
Luce stands, and I’m struck by how short she is. At least two heads shorter than I am. “If your cat just brought in a dead pigeon—again—I’m done with your deli, Freddie.”
When she starts down the hallway, I finger the zipper of my fanny pack for easy access to my weapon.
Butcher paper crinkles. “Here you go,” the cook, and I guess the owner of this deli, considering the name, slides the sandwich across the counter. “If you still got engine troubles, boy, I’ll get my car. Just honk.”
Cillian lets go of me to grab the roll. “Thanks.”
Luce suddenly gags and shuts the door she’d just peeked through. “That’s it!” She heaves. “I’m done.”
“Another pigeon?” Freddie grumbles.
Luce clutches her throat and heaves again. “Half a pigeon.”
As Cillian finally ushers me out of there, I frown, not so sure about this place being a front. Unless the two inside are exceptionally good actors.
“Swear not to sample that sandwich.” Cillian scowls, drawing the passenger door wide. “Not even if Gael pushes you to, okay?”
His concern for me is so sweet that I find myself smiling.
He does not return my smile as he rounds the station wagon, jams his key in the ignition, and revs up the engine. It’s only as he pulls away from the curb that I recall his demand for jumper cables.
I don’t bring it up, but I think of nothing else as I set my eyes aglow and compel him to drop me off around the block. I study his features as I coerce him to forget about this trip and drive straight back to his place.
His eyes are open wide, his pupils dilated. He might be able to fake the size of his eyes, but not of his pupils.
Right?