A subtle moan came in response.
Time to test the waters. Standing, I teetered like a drunk before finding my footing.
I found Emory lying in a pool of his own blood, his clothes torn and his face unrecognizable. The fight had taken us into the alley, and that’s where we were, hidden from the occasional passerby. The apartment and the café were my only two choices at the moment.
Carefully lifting his body, I carried him all the way to the café.
Every eye turned in our direction when I kicked the door open. Colette stood behind the counter, and when she saw me, the glass cup in her hand fell to the floor with a crash.
“He needs help.”
It took a moment for the place to wake up from the shock, but once they did, people converged. One woman claimed she was some sort of medical personnel, and I left her to it. Another girl behind the counter went straight to the phone, calling for help.
Grabbing Colette by the arm, I pulled her to the side. She stared between the paper I handed her and my face.
I sniffed, inhaling fresh blood. “Stop looking at my face and tell me what it says.”
She nodded, opening the folded piece of paper. One of the five had left it on Emory’s chest, pinned there with a tack. A pool of blood tainted the cream paper.
Her eyes scanned the handwriting. “It is threatening. Demanding that you stay out of the business. Or else.”
“Or else.”
“Or else, each time will be worse. Until they kill you.” She thrust the paper at me. “Look at the bottom.”
“ON.”
“Olivier Nemours,” she said.
“Emory. They tried to kill him.”
“He does not care. He is a man who threatens the Genie for the wish and gets it. Emory was in the way. Family or no.”
“Tell me what he wants from her.”
“To dance. He wants her to dance.”
“In the tomb.”
Her head tilted. “I think on a larger scale. She has the potential he is addicted to. As long as you do not stand in his way—” she shrugged “—he will not complain. Much. I do not think.”
“That’s a lot of information in one short letter.”
She smiled, a fearful, awkward smile. “I know men like him. I know his circles. I hear things.” Her attention shifted behind me, her eyes narrowing. “The authorities are here. Do not tell them who did this. If you do, it will be worse.”
The authorities. I almost roared with laughter.
“À présent,” she said, nodding to the paramedics. “You need attention.Vous êtes une bête sans beaucoup de la belle aujourd'hui.A beast without much of the beautiful today;you are all frightening.”
Chapter Fifteen
Scarlett
Something wasn’t right. I woke up not long after I thought Brando had kissed me—he fiddled around with my hands and then fixed the covers. Or so I thought.
I still wasn’t sure if he had truly done any of it. I had been immersed in that confusing time right after sleep starts to slip through consciousness. That time when the mind is beginning to numb and truth gambles with lies.
The key for the apartment was still on the dresser, his (my) leather jacket gone from the peg next to the door. In a hurried frenzy, I dressed in an over-sized sweater, sweat pants that hung loosely, and a pair of thick socks. Brando had always burned like a furnace next to me—even when he was chilled—and the warmth had somehow become addictive again.
