I smile at him. “I’m not talking about Henry.”
Slowly, he reaches into a back pocket, pulls out a set of handcuffs, lays them on the table between us.
“Those look pretty official to me,” I tell him. When he frowns, I say, “I get that you want to be the hero here, but I don’t need you to save me.” Carefully, I set my palms against the tabletop and lean down. “I’ve had enough of the male ego to last me a lifetime. Thank you for giving me a heads-up, but let me give you a warning in return. If you lay so much as a finger on me, I promise you will seriously regret it.”
He sighs, wiping his palms across his thighs and looking away. When he turns back, the hard lines of his face have softened. Beneath the testosterone-fed exterior, I realize a little boy is lurking, wounded, afraid, empathetic. “You know, it was my sister who told me you weren’t dead. But even if you were, she didn’t think I should feel sorry for you because it meant you were finally free. And she would know. My sister is the one who got it the worst out of the three of us. She grew up with a twisted sense of what love was supposed to look like, fell into one bad relationship after another. The last one nearly killed her. Without my help, I don’t think she or her beautiful daughter would be here today. I did what I did for her not as a cop but as a brother. And I’m sitting here before you now, not as an investigator but as someone who cares about what happens to you, who is concerned for your safety. You don’t have to listen to me, but aside from him, I’m the only one coming for you.”
“I wouldn’t say that’s true.”
The voice is such a shock that the water glass slips from my hand, shattering into dozens of jagged pieces across the floor. She stands in the doorway of the cabin, leaning against the frame. How she opened it without anyone noticing, I’m not sure. But an edge of wariness steals over me, the knowing that among our kind there are gifts, unique abilities that can’t always be explained, like Myrtle’s night vision.
Her hair is pinned up at the base of her neck, a soft golden-streaked knot of smoothed-over curls. The suit is Chanel. Black and white, with a long skirt and pockets she will never use. The leather boots gather up her calves, heels like ice picks. But it’s her eyes I can’t look away from. One second blue and the next green, radiant, as if backlit, impossibly large. They are set into her caramel skin like beryls. She smiles and the sun seems to rise with the corners of her mouth, brightening the cabin.
Emil Reyes immediately scrambles to his feet. He holds a hand out, but she doesn’t take it. “Have I seen you before?” he asks, eyes scrunching up.
She puckers a lip. “Perhaps,” she says mysteriously. “They are always taking my picture without permission, plastering me in the magazines and papers. Who can say?”
I glance from him to her and back, noting the way his eyes widen as something registers behind them.
“I have seen you!” he says with a snap. “You’re that Spanish film star! My sister loves your movies.”
She gives him a cursory nod. “That was many years ago in Barcelona,” she tells him demurely. Her eyes lock suddenly on mine, as deep and unforgiving as the sea. “I’ve brought your aunt a gift.”
32Rabbit
I am afraid to be alone with her. I nearly reach out for Emil Reyes when he politely excuses himself before remembering that my touch could destroy the very life I once saved. But his lingering gaze tells me he doesn’t intend to leave the area. Not until he ensures my safety. I follow him to the door and point to the ring of spare cabin keys Myrtle keeps hanging on the rack. “Pick one. They’re all clean. You can stay on-site as long as you promise to keep away from me.” It might be a foolish, split-second decision, but this way I can keep him close, instead of worrying when he’ll turn up unannounced. His presence might at least keep Henry at bay, if he finds his way up here.
He slides one off the ring—three.Holding it up, he tells me, “Think about what I said.” Then he steps out the door.
“You do the same,” I reply, watching him go.
I turn to stare at the glamorous figure so elegantly out of place in Myrtle’s rustic kitchen. The Barcelona venery must be doing quite well for itself. Somehow, her presence is more unnerving to me than the Saranac Strangler’s. She carries herself like a panther, sleek and self-assured, the world parting as she passes. And her beauty, however undeniable, is like that of an ice sculpture—as unforgiving and inhospitable as deep space. But it is the secrets I must keep from her that leave me breathless in her presence. I wasn’t ready to confront the venery—anyvenery—yet. My work is still undone.
“How old are you?” I ask her.
“How old do you think I am?” she returns. This is something she’s good at, this game of questions. The flirtation, the coy dance. They are likely part of her specialty.
“Thirty-five? Forty at the most,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. “But you made it sound like your acting career happened a long time ago.”
She smiles and moves slowly through the kitchen to the living room, looking at the odd decorative item, picking up the old photo of Myrtle and the other bane witches, taking in the view from the windows. “I have lived more years than my face has recorded,” she says with a laugh. “And acting careers are very short for women.” She turns to face me, the sun beaming in around her silhouette. “I age exceptionally well. It’s in the genes.”
“You’re the contact from the venery in Barcelona, the one they wanted to carry in a delivery?”
“You can call me Emilia.” A small purse on a gold chain hangs from one shoulder. She slides it off and opens the clasp, pulling out a brown paper bag that’s been rolled closed.
“NotDaisyorRoseor some other flower?” I ask flatly.
She grins. “Americans are so strange. We don’t hold to such traditions where I’m from. Our venery is older, less bothered by such details.” She passes the bag to me. It’s then I notice the black gloves on her hands.
“You’ve been feeding,” I note as I take it from her.
Her smile is wicked. “I am always feeding.”
I unroll the bag and glance inside. A spate of red berries greets me, glowing orange in the light. “How did you get these on the plane?”
Her eyes follow my every gesture, independent of the rest of her. “I have my ways.”
I bet she does.
