CHAPTER 49 GIGI
GIGI
The good news was that Slate hadn’t bled out. He was even still conscious! The less good news was that a Hawthorne was currently trying to kill him—or, if not kill, at the very least get in his face and deprive him of much-needed, pain-numbing booze.
Sadly, Toby Hawthorne was not one of Gigi’s Hawthornes, so she held no particular sway over the man, but that had never stopped her before.
“I think we can all agree,” Gigi said, wedging herself between Toby and Slate, who was supposed to be resting, “that Slate is the victim here, and that his abs should not be forced to bear this without a mind-altering substance of some type.”
“Bullet didn’t hit his abs,” Knox muttered.
“I’m fine,” Slate insisted.
“I need him sober.” That was Toby. He was a grizzly kind of Hawthorne, lean and strong and wholly intimidating, but Gigi persevered and snatched the bourbon bottle he’d confiscated.
“I think we can all agree that I’m going to do what I want unless someone tackles and/or restrains me.” Gigi smiled. “No takers, I see.” She opened the bottle, then tried to help prop Slate up a bit before lifting it to his lips.
Slate turned his head away. “You’re a force.”
“Drink,” Gigi told him, and this time, Slate did. Satisfied that was taken care of, Gigi looked up at Toby, who was now looming over them, all grizzled and stormy.
“He’s already told you everything,” Gigi said.
It had been hours since Knox had sewed Slate up and all of four minutes since Toby had entered the picture.
Eyeing Gigi, Eve’s father rounded to Slate’s other side and crouched, lifting Slate’s bandage and examining the bullet wound.
Toby must have been satisfied with Knox’s work, because he gently pressed the bandage back into place.
“You should have called sooner,” Toby said quietly. “The second Eve started careening.”
“I called,” Slate replied. “Not my fault you were so far away.”
“Eve didn’t want me anywhere near her after the Grandest Game.”
“Because you wouldn’t even let her explain.”
“What was there to explain?”
“Exactly.” Slate stared at Eve’s father for another few seconds, then looked away. “We went to your place. You bought the books.”
“I bought the books,” Toby confirmed. “I read them over and over again, hoping to understand my daughter, because I will never stop trying to understand her. I will never give up on Eve, Slate. So you’re going to start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
“I already did.”
“Do it again.”
“Allow me,” Gigi interjected. “Slate here needs to conserve his energy, but I would be happy to offer a dramatic reenactment of the ominous invitation I received, the cryptic things that were said when I turned it down, and also—prior to that—two very successful interrogations I conducted, complete with yet more cryptic statements about survival, spiders, and webs.”
Toby cut a glance toward Knox.
“Don’t look at me,” Knox said. “I’m just the bodyguard, and she is impossible.”
“And very hard to tackle,” Gigi added.
Toby’s head bowed. He pressed the heel of his hand into his temple, and then he slowly raised his gaze to Gigi’s. Green eyes captured hers. “Tell me everything you know.”
She did. All of it. Both times she’d been kidnapped.
The duchess. The Woman in Red. Nora. Saint Adelaide.
Calla’s necklace. The visit to Helena Thorp.
Turning down the invitation in the garden.
The Gilded Blade and the way they tested Candidates.
The whole story poured out of Gigi in not-quite chronological order.
“I said no,” Gigi finished.
“And Eve said yes.” Toby’s voice was quiet. “She sought it out.” Intensity rolled off the man in waves. “I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what Helena Thorp said about this test. Word for word.”
Gigi did her best to summon up the exact details of that part of the conversation. “She just said that Candidates are chosen and tested.” Gigi closed her eyes, willing the exact words to come. “As metal is forged, so potential must be tested.”
She heard Toby’s sharp intake of breath.
“What?” Gigi said. Toby stood and tried to turn his back on her, but Gigi leapt up and grabbed his arm. “No, sir. You know something, and I will tackle and/or cuddle it out of you if I have to.”
“Do you know what another word is for a particularly harrowing test?” Toby said. “For a trial so severe it forges you?”
Gigi’s mind whirled.
“Do you know what instrument is used”—Toby’s voice had been reduced to a rough, rough whisper—“to melt metal to be forged?”
And just like that, Gigi had it, the answer to both of his questions: “A crucible.”