It was difficult, she thought, being the adult at the center of this web, holding things together. "Okay. Sit tight, I'm going to Silva's place right now. I'll let you know."
Silva's adorable little apartment had been locked.Okay, that's good. No signs of forced entry.Ris knocked at the door, to no avail. Her calls to Silva's cell went unanswered.Maybe you should call the police. Maybe you should check with the super, see if they'll let you in. Or . . .She'd cocked her head, considering.
Brogan worked at Saddlethorne, which ironically had turned out to be Lurielle's wedding venue. Ris knew him from the various bars around town, and if there was one universal truth about the big minotaur, it was that he was always reliable. He was a reliably good fuck. He was a reliably good time. And most importantly, he was a reliably good guy, who had once boasted to her that he had taken up lock-picking as a teenager and there was no door, padlock, locker, or safe that he couldn't defeat.
Brogan was reliable, and Ris was unsurprised that he responded quickly to her text, assuring her that he would be there in ten minutes time, which meant fifteen minutes later, she was standing in Silva's living room, waving silently to the big Minotaur as he shut the door behind her.
"Silva? Silva, are you in here? Honey, are you okay?" There was no trace of anyone in the living room or kitchen. Ris walked down the tiny hallway, poking her head into the dark bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when the tub was empty. "Silva,pleasebe alive."
She was in the bedroom, curled on the bed like a kitten, bundled under a throw blanket. Her head raised a scant few inches on Ris's entrance to the room, dropping in disinterest half a heartbeat later. She didn't turn around again and said nothing.
"Un-fucking believable! You couldn't say something so I knew you weren't dead?! I came over here assuming I was gonnafind . . . You know what, never mind. Silva, are you okay? You haven't been to work in weeks. People have been calling you, why haven't you answered? Iliterallythought you were dead!"
Her younger coworker seemed listless, and not at all interested in sitting up and having a conversation.
"Silva, you have to —"
"He's gone." Her voice, normally a sweet little chirp, was a hoarse whisper, rough with disuse. "Tate. He's gone. I – I don't think he's coming back."
The drive to Greenbridge Glen was silent, for the most part. Ris was able to get out of Silva what the younger elf was willing to say, which wasn't much.
"We went to a wedding at the winery."
Ris nodded from behind the steering wheel, glancing over to where Silva sat curled in the front seat as if the act of sitting up was beyond her ability. "I remember. You told us that night at Gildersnood. Tate said you were crashing a wedding."
Silva nodded slowly. "I – I don't know what happened. I think I must've blacked out, or something? Maybe I had too much to drink?"
Ris's eyes slid Silva once more. Her voice was slow and stilted, as if she were trying to make an image come together in her mind and couldn't.
"I remember talking to the bride and then . . ." Her wide green eyes filled with tears. "I don't know what happened. I don't remember, but I feel like it was something bad. I'm afraid to even remember it. And then Tate brought me home. We were talking, but I barely remember that either. When I woke up the next morning he was gone. We were supposed to —" her face crumpled, her voice breaking off on a sob.
Ris took her foot off the gas, pulling off the berm of the rural highway. She stretched out her hand to place on Silva's arm, but the younger elf flinched away.
What the fuck happened to her?
"He was going to meet my Nana. I was going to tell her . . . but he never showed up. I got home and I tried calling him, but —"
"Everyone has been trying to call him," Ris cut in. "Ainsley, his chef. He's not answering for anyone."
Silva nodded. "That's because he left his phone on my dresser. So unless he has another one and they have a number that I don't, he's not going to be answering that phone anytime soon."
Silva's willingness to continue talking extinguished at that point. She'd curled back up against the seat, staring listlessly out the window as Ris continued on to the resort hamlet. Ainsley was pacing in front of the building, when they arrived at the Plundered Pixie. Silva made no move to get out of the car.
Thessa, Ris realized, was the tiefling who had served them that very first weekend when they had come for brunch. She was sitting on the curb in front of the bar, her legs crossed at the ankle, her distressed jeans showing more of her skin than they concealed. "He's gone, Ains. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself."
"What happened," Ris asked urgently, putting her hand on Ainsley's arm to slow his pace. "Did you all find out where he is?"
"He's gone," Thessa repeated. “He had his shit all packed up, I saw it. Boxes and trunks, stacked in the kitchen, instructions on where to send them. The car is in the back, up on blocks. The bike is in the hallway. He just left."
Ris whipped around to ensure Silva had not followed her. "Where did he go?" she hissed. "Are you fuckingkiddingme?! What kind of a piece of shit just leaves without telling anyone? Not telling his girlfriend? Without telling his managers?!"
The tiefling shrugged, looking a bit lost. "Back to Ireland? I have no idea."
"Where's Shona?" Ainsley's voice was pulled thin, like a rubber band that had been stretched beyond its capacity, ready to snap back painfully
"Back at Clover."
Ris cast a glance back to where Silva still sat in the car, staring out the window without seeing, before hastily following Ainsley who had taken off on foot in the direction of the bistro, up the block.
