Chapter 20 #3
“This conversation is breaking all the bounds of propriety,” I grumble, returning my attention to Medusa, the only one who ever really listens. She rests her big head in my lap and sighs, bits of garbage stuck to her face, now stuck to my shirt, which feels like a metaphor.
“Remember in the old days, when you knew how to have a good time?” Oliver asks.
Warren rolls his eyes. “This guy? Good time?”
“Well, there was that one party, anyways. And that girl… what was her name?”
They’re clearly enjoying themselves, entirely at my expense. There has never been a girl. Not in the way they’re implying.
An old, familiar guilt twists like a knife, and I wonder if I could summon enough demonic will to incinerate myself.
“We’re not going,” I say instead, with as much finality as I can muster, considering I’m now wearing half the kitchen bin. “It’s too dangerous and too pointless, and I’ll not have you risking your safety over a hunch. We will figure something else out, and—”
“Listen, Dr. Sutherland,” Miss Bonnivarde says. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me. But you’re still keeping secrets, and I don’t like it.”
My insides burn. “What secrets?”
“Like, apparently we have an actual apocalypse to prevent? And as much as I’m down for the magical misadventure, I could really use you on my side.
All of you. But that requires trust. Trust that you seem determined not to give me, no matter how hard I’ve worked, or how badly I’ve tried to prove myself. ”
“I do trust you, Miss Bonnivarde,” I say, surprised to hear the words, but knowing they’re absolutely true. “It’s just—”
“No.” She shakes her golden blonde head, adamant.
“Trust requires sharing knowledge. It requires hearing me out. It requires acknowledging when I have a good fucking lead and a good fucking idea because not only am I a Bonnivarde witch, but I’ve got a woman’s intuition and a lifetime of experience with bottom-feeding men trying to pass themselves off as respectable.
So when I tell you that Nathan Killroy is involved in this up to his clenched and dusty asshole, you need to back me up.
If that’s too much for you to manage? Then we’re done here.
” She rises from her chair, blazing like a star.
No one moves as she gathers up her things and heads for the door.
Warren kicks me under the table. Hard.
“Miss Bonnivarde…” I sigh. Rub my eyes. “Wait. Just… give me a moment to think.”
“All you do is think, Professor. I’m done giving you moments. I am going to that gala. I’m going to figure out what the guy is hiding. And you’d better watch your ass, because I’m a witch on a mission, and I just might find out what you’re hiding, too.”
“That… won’t be necessary.” Another sigh. A feeling as though I’m about to sign my own death warrant, though my so-called mates are highly entertained. “You’re right, Miss Bonnivarde. You deserve my trust. You’ve more than earned it. I’m… I’m sorry I made you doubt it.”
Just like that, her smile returns. “So glad you’ve finally seen the light, Dr. Sutherland. So here’s the plan.”
“You’ve already got a plan?” Of course she does.
“We’re all going to the gala. We’re going to suss him out, suss out his creepy associates, search the place, figure out his angle, whatever it is.”
“And what will you tell your sisters about our attendance?” I ask.
“That I randomly stumbled upon three smoking hot demons ready to take us all out for a nice fancy night on the town?” She laughs. “No. You guys will just have to meet us there, in your human forms, in formal attire. Leave the logistics to me. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I think we can handle that,” says Warren. “I’m just not sure we can handle you. For fuck’s sake, are all the Bonnivarde witches like this?”
“We’re each our own, special kind of pain in the ass. Variety, spice of life, etcetera.” She laughs again, glowing from the inside out, as usual. “Nice meeting you guys—I need to get over to the bookstore. Dr. Sutherland, I’ll be working in the basement tonight if you want to check in later. Okay?”
I nod, and off she goes, and the room lets out a collective breath.
The scent of her lingers, sweet and floral, and suddenly I’m jealous that they’re breathing it in, too. I don’t want to share her. Any part of her.
“You all right, Merri?” Warren asks. “You look a little… bulldozed.”
“Why in the seven testicles of Azakiel did I just agree to this?” I mutter.
“Would you like the truth, mate?” Oliver asks.
“That depends. Is your version of truth going to inspire me to violence?”
“That would only prove my point.”
“Which is…?”
“Your hot little witch has you wrapped around her hot little finger. Not only that, but I think you like it.”
“You have never been more wrong. Your implication is… it’s disturbing, is what it is.”
“Is it, now?” he goads.
“For one thing, she’s my student. Any sort of intimate…
anything… would be highly inappropriate, not to mention a complete distraction from the mission.
Then there’s the fact that she steamrolls me at every turn—as you’ve so clearly just witnessed—rarely giving any consideration to logic and reason.
Impulsive, is what she is. Reckless. Do you know she dragged me to that dive bar last night?
I told her one drink, but did we stop there?
No. There were shots, Oliver. Beer. Something called nachos, for the love of all that is unholy.
By the end of the night, the woman could barely stand.
” I sigh, remembering the walk home. The warmth of her.
“She’s actually quite smart, despite her tendency toward overindulgence.
To be perfectly honest, I feel it’s all a coping mechanism developed in adolescence as a result of parental abandonment, which makes sense, when you consider… well, at any rate. You were saying?”
There’s an epic, monumental silence. Deafening, as the saying goes.
“I guess we were wrong, Oliver,” Warren finally replies, offering a smirk I wish he’d choke upon.
“So wrong,” Oliver concurs, shaking his head. “Why, he’s hardly given her a moment’s thought.”
“I’m actually relieved to be this wrong.
” Warrens drains the last of his coffee.
“Now I can be her date to the gala without feeling guilty. Dinner beforehand, a private little afterparty to follow. Do you think she likes back rubs, or is she more of a front rub kind of girl? Because I would love to get my hands full of—”
“I’m showering.” I bolt up from my chair. “You’ve got ten minutes to clean up this mess, then we’re leaving.”
“Where are we going?” Oliver asks.
“Down to Manhattan to find a bloody tailor, you imbecile. Apparently, we need tuxedos, and I don’t trust anyone in this town to get my measurements right.”