27. TROUBLE WALKS IN
TROUBLE WALKS IN
EMbrY EXITED THE SHOWER TO A CLOUD OF STEAM AND THE heady aroma of curry wafting up the staircase—Rye was early.
Embry rushed through her skin care routine as fast as she dared, ran through the barest of nonmagical makeup—concealer, blush, mascara—but left her hair wet in favor of making sure she’d beat Daddy (and any questions he had for Rye about their investigation) down the stairs.
Not that Lazarus should be traversing the stairs in her opinion, but she also didn’t trust Rye not to ascend said stairs to check on Daddy because that was just something he’d do.
When she arrived at the kitchen, Rye was folding brown paper sacks into the recycling bin in the trash closet, his own hair also wet and curling about his ears as he turned around, a Raven’s Head crew sweatshirt swaddling his clean skin in gray gone threadbare at the elbows.
Seeing Rye in that moment was like diving into the ocean this time of year—as invigorating as it was shocking.
Yes, Embry had seen him by the light of day after they’d exited the Ravenwood Police Department duct maze.
Yes, they’d made plans for dinner and a dissection of what they’d found.
Yes, she’d looked him in the eye and said she’d see him later, slipping through the front gate of her childhood home while watching his broad back and bent head trudge toward his own.
But seeing him now? After her mind and body had rested enough to be aware of him?
Embry had known Rye her entire life. Yet the feeling unfurling in her chest at the familiar sight of him was something brand-new. Still, she punched down that nascent emotion like bread dough before its second rise, plastered a quizzical smile on her face, and blurted out, “Is that a cheesecake?”
Embry inclined her chin toward a big wedge of pale cake, topped with crimson cherry glaze and draped in toothpick-propped cling wrap, nestled among the to-go containers of chicken tikka masala, vegetable korma, mutter mushroom, naan, rice, and tamarind chutney.
“It truly is the perfect food.” Rye ran a hand through his damp hair, somehow both messing it up and improving it at the same time. “I had some, so I thought I’d share.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
She shrugged and he shrugged back, both attempting a dance they’d never done on unsure feet. Almost as if tugging on a lifeline, Embry’s attention snagged on the hand falling to his side. She came around the counter, caught his hand, and flipped it over. Not even a faint scar.
“Good as new,” Rye confirmed softly.
Embry nodded. She didn’t know what to say, because she didn’t want to rehash the kiss that shouldn’t have been.
Even if she did really, really want to know how well her skin perfector salve worked on a non-Stitch.
It was a relief that it had threaded together his skin cells, at least on the surface.
It was basically medical glue but improved via spellwork.
It couldn’t heal something like Daddy’s wounds, but appearances it could do.
Yet even with a blank slate, even though it wasn’t there when she’d checked before, Embry was sure she could make out the shape of her lips where they’d touched his skin.
It purpled around the edges of her vision like a sunspot.
A mark. It was so strange—she’d kissed and been kissed, and even with the recent memory of chaste pecks traded with Balthazar weakening her knees, something about that unguarded moment had stained her mind like a brand.
Like a before and an after.
Rye toyed with a lock of her hair and that’s when Embry realized she was still cradling his other hand.
An odd flavor of guilt rose within Embry and her own hands fell away—not so much dropping his palm as fleeing it.
Rye didn’t budge, the repaired heart line still flashing up at her, held there under his own power.
As if it were waiting for her to come back.
Embry turned around, physically putting distance between them as she’d done more than once that day, busying herself by retrieving plates and cups from the cabinet while Rye grabbed spoons for each container. “How’d you have just the right thing to fix me?”
“It’s one of my bestsellers. Stitches love it.” She offered him a plate. “It’s even more popular than the stain remover I used on the blood splatter.”
Rye accepted the plate but stopped her from rounding the counter with a palm on her shoulder. “I know I’ve demeaned your potion sales in the past, but please believe me when I say I was wrong. Those potions are good work, good magic.”
Embry looked Rye straight in the eye and raised a brow, eager to find footing in the tap-and-jab of their normal acquaintance. “I believe you called my potions a hustle and a way for me to make a profit off the less fortunate.”
“Um, yes, that. Wow. Sorry.” He did look it.
“You’ve plied me with Indian food and given me a compliment, so you’re forgiven.”
Embry’s stomach audibly growled as she ladled the delicious curry onto a bed of basmati rice and swiped a triangle of warm, buttery naan through a ribbon of wayward sauce.
“I move that we eat up, then go over the autopsy results once our stomachs have settled.”
Embry squinted at him, swallowed the naan, and snatched another piece. “I feel like we might be doing this in the wrong order. Like eating before swimming.” Her stomach growled again, as if in protest to her protest.
“Your gut is correct,” Rye said, ladling some of literally everything onto his plate. “We need the sustenance just as much as we needed a little sleep first.”
Embry chewed a heavenly bite of curry and rice. It was perfect. Warm, wonderful, and spicy enough to numb a taste bud or two. She ate several more bites and cut into the cheesecake—it really might be the perfect food—before her body perked up and she began to push for working while eating.
“Now that my stomach won’t interrupt, why don’t we revisit the suspect list over dessert so we don’t waste any more time.”
Rye frowned as he dug into his own cheesecake slice.
“Oh! Did you check your mirror? Any news—”
A creak of the floorboards cut off Embry’s sentence and snapped Rye to attention. Lazarus Woodcross appeared in the doorway, long navy robe open and trailing over a white undershirt and pajama pants. He stepped into the kitchen, one hand up and aimed their way.
“Just needed some water,” he announced. “Don’t get up.”
Embry shot to her feet anyway. “Daddy, I could’ve gotten that for you!”
Lazarus waved her off. “No, no, it’s good for me to get out of bed.”
Embry snatched his elbow, despite his protests. It was so much warmer than before—not feverish, just not clammy and sliding into worse. Thank the Goddess for magical healing spells. Her heart flailed in a happy, uncoordinated rhythm, even as she chided him, “But the stairs—what if you fell?”
“I didn’t. So nothing to worry about.” Then he manipulated her grip until he was pulling her into his arms for a hug. He smelled of magical salves and tinctures, modern medicine, and underlying perspiration. “Except for you two. I worry about you. Rye—”
“Yes, sir?”
“You and I need to have a frank discussion about your judgment because it was certainly lacking this morning when you took Embry off the grounds. You know better.”
Shit. Daddy had remembered Rye’s inclusion in Embry’s explanation.
Yet if Rye was surprised by Lazarus’s disappointment, he kept that emotion deep down.
Instead, he nodded in agreement. “I do know better. Which is why I’ve lulled Embry into complacency via takeout.
She has no other choice but to watch the John Hughes classic of my choice on the couch.
” He flashed that charming grin of his that worked very well on everyone but Embry. “Safe at home.”
Lazarus made a face that showed that he wouldn’t accept that answer so easily. Still, he kissed Embry on the temple. “Go, sit back down. Enjoy your dinner.”
Reluctantly, Embry squeezed his hand and returned to her seat just as Rye lifted the remainder of the curry, though the delicious scent painted a picture worth a thousand words more than a to-go container.
“Are you sure you don’t want any, Daddy?
If you pair the chicken tikka masala with just a little bit of the rice, it shouldn’t upset your blood sugar too terribly.
And you’ve been in bed for so long, it would be good to eat something. ”
“No, just the water, hon.” Daddy reached into the cabinet and pulled out a clean tumbler.
He turned to the water dispenser built into the fridge, filled the glass, and then approached the pair without taking a sip.
He hovered over where they sat, perched on barstools.
He wore what Embry called his lawyer face—stern, curious, implacable.
“You two aren’t up to something, are you? ”
“Nope,” Embry answered, maybe a smidge too fast. “Just Indian food, cherry cheesecake, and some schlock from the 1980s.”
“John Hughes is not schlock,” Rye countered automatically. He was right, it wasn’t; but she was hoping their banter would placate Lazarus’s renewed interest in their plans.
Daddy took a sip, his gaze appraising them the entire time. When he was finished, he moved toward the doorway but paused. “You definitely look like you’re up to something.”
“Besides… dinner?” Embry asked, mostly because she didn’t want Daddy to be the one to follow up by spelling out what he meant by something.
He did anyway.
“Em, you know what I mean. You look suspicious. Both of you.” Lazarus turned his attention to an easier mark. “Rye? Because you just claimed to know better, I’d love to hear your thoughts on why I feel like you’re about to rob me.”
Rye swallowed his mouthful of curry and managed the most honest face possible thanks to four glorious years in the Raven’s Head drama department.
“Nothing suspicious except that this one said she was going to share this with me and she’s already on seconds.” This was all an obvious lie, especially if Lazarus took the initiative to peer in the containers, but Rye smacked Embry on the arm and played it up. “I think she’s got a hollow leg.”
Embry pretended to swipe at him with a triangle of naan, playing along, even though she’d only scarfed half her plate, tops. “Hey, you were trying to get me to eat, remember?”
Rye was always good at improv. “I was but now I’m regretting loading you down with carbs. Should’ve gone for a sleeping draught.”
Embry scrunched her nose. “I mean, I don’t appreciate either, but the morning after a sleeping draught is rough. So thanks for the bread and rice, I guess.”
Rye stole the naan from her hand, tore it in two, and offered her half. “You’re very welcome.”
Though Embry was quite sure their lifetime of bickering made their banter quite believable, Lazarus spent a much longer time than usual reading the situation.
So long, in fact, that Embry nearly cracked, sure that Daddy knew they’d planned to review what they not-so-legally found that day the minute they were alone.
But then, like the smallest of miracles, Lazarus Woodcross nodded.
On cue, Rye beamed, and Embry rolled her eyes, and Lazarus decamped with his water glass. “Good night, kids.”