The only abundant thing around the place are the plants, thriving and vibrant, a breath of fresh air in the otherwise bleak apartment. There are fresh flowers in a vase, artfully arranged. Pink roses and daffodils and irises.
Love. Gratitude. Hope.
It’s protection, I realize. The only one she could afford for her home.
But not anymore.
I pull my phone from my pocket and step back toward the couch, keeping my voice low even though she’s still out. “Ottavio.”
He answers on the second ring. “You need me there?”
“Yes. Bring a bag.”
"A body bag or---"
"Just a fucking bag."
He gets to the apartment in five minutes.
The cat wastes no time throwing a hissy fit at the sight of him, too. "Shit," Ottavio goes. "That a demon?"
"Possibly."
"Fuck. Is the bag for him?"
"Of course not." I glare. “I need you to pack her things. She’s coming with me.”
He finally notices Rose on the couch. "I take it she's breathing, then."
"One more stupid question and I'll let the cat have you."
He shivers. "Fine, fine. I'll be a tomb." He looks around, taking in the ratty studio apartment in its entirety. It takes little more than a glance. “She doesn't own much, does she?”
“No, she doesn't." The admission sits wrong inside me. A woman like Rose should have everything she wishes, and yet here she is, living alone in a moldy shoebox in the worst part of my territory. "Pack it all.”
“Understood." Ottavio's gaze flits uneasily over to the couch. "And the cat?”
As if summoned, the one-eyed menace hisses at him again, back arched, tail flicking.
I want to say no. But Rose already has so little, and if she woke up somewhere unfamiliar and without her cat, I suspect she wouldn't be very happy.
“Yes.” I grit my teeth. “Even the cat.”
7
ROSE
Iopen my eyes and I’m immediately hit with confusion.
The ceiling above me isn’t cracked plaster stained with old water damage. It’s smooth, pale, too high, with light filtering in from somewhere I can’t immediately place. The air smells clean. Not like bleach or rot or reheated leftovers, but something neutral and expensive.
My heart slams into overdrive.
I sit up too fast, breath tearing out of me, and the first thing I notice is green. Leaves. Pots. Familiar shapes clustered around the room like they’ve staged an intervention.Mypothos, trailing exactly the way it always does. The snake plant I keep forgetting to kill. Evenmydramatic calathea, sulking in the corner like it’s personally offended by the lighting.
My plants.
My stomach drops.
