“Fair enough. Do you want your client back?”
“No.”
“All right. I’ll leave him with Brix and give you the afternoon off. That okay?”
“It’s fine.”
“Good.” Lena started to move away, but seemed to think better of it. “You should know, though, I don’t keep secrets from Brix. So if there’s anything he doesn’t know, you should tell him today.”
Sunday marked the fifth morning in a row Brix had woken to find Calum already up and outside with the chickens.
“You’re going to turn Bongo into a lap hen.”
“That a bad thing?” Calum didn’t look up from the chicken dozing in his arms. “She came to me this morning and butted my leg until I picked her up.”
Brix’s chest warmed, and the early-morning breeze faded away. “I’ve had a few like that. Mary Killigrew was my last one.”
“Mary what?”
“Killigrew. Long story. Starts with ancient pirates and ends with my aunt Peg.”
Calum shook his head slightly. “I feel like I just met you.”
The comment seemed out of context, but Brix got it. He’d spent far too much of the past few days searching for the cheerful young man he’d used to know. Perhaps the change in Calum was all in the beard. Dark and moody, it added something that Brix had never seen in him before.
Couldn’t deny it was fucking hot, though.
Stop it.
“I had a chat with Lena last night,” Brix said.
“Yeah?” Calum set Bongo down as his shoulders tightened. “She tell you I’m a fly-by-night tea leaf or some shit?”
“No, she said leopard man yesterday was one of your clients from London. She didn’t say much else, but I knew your place had closed down because she told me when the client booked in.”
Brix left out the blanks the client had filled—the boarded-up doors and trashed interior. He couldn’t quite work out what Calum’s old studio had meant to him, but he didn’t fancy telling him that anything he’d left in the place had likely been half-inched or destroyed. Unless he already knows. But Lena hadn’t seemed to think he did. “He looked shocked, Brix, and pretty fucking freaked out. That bloke’s gotta story, I’m telling you.” Brix couldn’t disagree, but most folk who worked at Blood Rush had a past they didn’t want to talk about. Why would Calum be any different?
“What do you want me to say?” Calum folded his tense arms across his chest. “I already told you—and Lena—that the shop wasn’t mine.”
Brix didn’t like Calum’s defensive stance. It didn’t suit him. “I don’t want you to say anything. I’m just letting you know you can, if you want to. I ain’t gonna judge you if you’re in trouble. Lord knows, I’ve had my fair share of shit-storms coming from my clan.”
“‘Clan’?” Calum tilted his head to one side. “I heard on the street yesterday that you come from a family of gangsters. You kept that quiet back in the city.”
Brix snorted. “‘On the street’? In Porthkennack? Pull the other one.”
Calum looked as convinced as Brix felt every time Calum deflected his questions. “I haven’t seen much of the place except ink and chickens.”
“Easily fixed. I’ve got some mates coming for grub later, but I can show you around a bit this morning if you like?”
“You mean the beach?”
“And the rest. Get that crappy new coat of yours and I’ll show you the magic.”
“Crappy?”
“Aye. That bundle you picked up at the charity shop looks good on you, but it ain’t gonna keep you warm if you’re still around come winter. The wind is vicious here. My ma used to say it carried the demons ashore.”
“Even yours?”
