“Of course,” Georgia purred, rapping her long nails against his shoulder.
"You said you wanted something to drink," Samar said. He looked around the room before retrieving a small little bottle that could pass as a bottle of Jack from Visha’s medicine cabinet. "You should try this out. It hits pretty well."
Georgia laughed. "I like the way you think. Now we're talking. But only if you have some first."
To Samar's credit, he didn't falter. "All right, but only a little bit." He tipped his head back and made a big performance of taking a swig. He then handed it to Georgia. She finished the bottle off. She grinned sloppily into his face.
"You're pretty," she slurred before collapsing on the ground.
Kit could no longer hold his laughter in. It came out in a loud boom.
"Shut up," Gentry murmured from Visha’s bed as Samar opened the door, the collar of his shirt mussed from where Georgia had been roughing him up. Kit laughed harder.
"Don't you say a fucking word," Samar said.
"You said you were under siege by the Weavers, and they sent you an apprentice?"
"She's a fucking menace," Samar defended himself. "She drinks everything in sight and flirts with everything that moves. Not to mention she's gotten all of the recruits gambling and acting like this is a fucking frat house."
Kit sobered with some effort as he tried to focus on the real risk here. Apprentice or not, Georgia was a direct line to Clea, and they were screwed if the fabled mad tracker of the Weaversgot a bead on where they were. "Will she know she’s been drugged?”
"No, she's been drunk as a skunk for days. She'll be out maybe three, four hours. She'll probably just think that she was hungover as long as I move her back to her bed. Now come on, help out."
Kit helped Samar move Georgia back to the guest bedroom and arranged Visha’s house back to its usual state: medicine put up, wine bottles spread throughout on the coffee table and on the bedstand so that Georgia would take the hint. That done, they sat at the kitchen table. Kit then proceeded to tell Samar every little detail about the job and why he was now bound to Gentry.
The dark-skinned man let out a low whistle. “Now that’s a damn story. Can’t particularly make myself feel bad for you either. You should’ve told Visha to eat rocks when she pulled that shit.”
Kit blinked. “But the coven—”
“—we were about to ex-communicate her,” Samar interrupted him, “then the Weavers would’ve reaped the debt from her alone. I’d been going through the books after a few deals fell through. She’s been making all kinds of promises she can’t keep.”
“But what about Raja? Sam, he was like a father to you too.”
“So? I loved Raja, Kit. That’s why I let Visha run things for so long. Thought she was grieving and would snap out of it. But she hasn’t. She’s a grown woman who’ve I have tried to help, and she hasn’t shown any signs of changing.”
Not knowing what to say, Kit looked down at the kitchen table, the usual plans and maps strewn across it. Only then did Kit realize that most of the documents bore Samar’s handwriting — not Visha’s. God, how long had he let that woman pull the wool over his eyes?
"You two can stay here for three more hours. I’m sorry I can’t offer more," Samar said, not unkindly. Kit looked at his friend with new eyes. He’d known that the other man had held things together while he’d taken care of the Redbacks, and knew he’d been a silent supporter when he’d broken things off with Visha.
“Thank you,” he said, for more than one reason, “we really shouldn’t stay any longer, anyway. Visha knows we came here. I'm not sure if she'll try to call Clea back over here, so we can't stay too long." Although Kit was willing to bet that Visha assumed Gentry hadn't made it. She'd seemed so confident that only she knew her medicine stash. What other secrets had she kept from him?
Deciding he’d never let that woman waste more of his life than he already had, he focused on the next steps. Gentry needed rest, and a bit of food before they left. He wasn’t quite surewherethey’d go, if Gentry’s plan included any new leads to follow now that her father was dead, but there was always the plan Visha had rejected. The Wilds. They could run to the Wilds.
But he couldn’t make any decisions with her sleeping. It drove him a bit crazy, seeing as he’d raced over here with a dying girl. Made him restless, like there was still a fight to be had.
“The Trapdoors,” he said, “do you need help dealing with them? I’ve a bit of time to pay them a visit.” It wouldn’t be a pleasant task, but once they realized he’d been the intruder over their airspace, they’d drop the pitchforks.
“No need. I’m about to call their coven leader. I let the one who followed you here go with only a couple broken bones, so we’ll likely be fine”—his friend smiled at him—“how about you check on the magic-less girl?” Samar asked, 100% fucking with him.
Kit rose to the bait and stood up. “I’ll do that.” Secretly, he felt a bit disappointed. Samar had more medical training and he wanted Gentry to have the very best care. Whether it wasbecause she was a gorgeous girl or because he felt guilty as hell about his ex poisoning her was anyone’s guess.
But he wasn’t ready for what he saw next when he walked into the guest bedroom.
Gentry was awake. She was sitting up in the bed, her green eyes blinking owlishly at him.
"I feel funny," she announced, her voice far younger than what he was used to hearing.
"Is that so?" Kit asked, amused. Whatever antidote he'd given her had clearly made her loopy. If she was sober, he suspected that she'd be giving him hell about Visha poisoning her.
