Once the Place des Vosges was behind me, I returned my attention to my phone’s screen and clicked on the first article:Isaac Adler and his prizedstallion.
I scrolled down until I landed on a picture of a young man—not much older than Jarod—with a head full of out-of-control brown curls and shiny blue eyes. So this was the infamousuncle?
I studied his features for similarities to Jarod’s. Their cupid’s bow mouths were the same, as well as the faint squint with which Isaac looked out at the world. But where the squint lent Isaac an impression of youth and carefreeness, it gave Jarod an impression of snark anddisdain.
I read the article, then researched the murder, and read as much as I could stomach. Had the man who’d murdered Isaac’s wife and horse ended up in Abaddon, or had his cruelty earned him a triple score? The Ranking Room didn’t offer information on past sinners, but perhaps, one of the guild workers would know what had happened tohim.
For all his talk about being a liar, Jarod had spoken the truth, and that comfortedme.
As I was about to tuck away my phone and concentrate on not getting lost, it started to ring. I picked up immediately, because the only people who had my number were members of the guild and a few of the sinners I’d helped back in theStates.
“You turned down my driver.” Jarod’s voice almost stopped myheart.
“How—how did you get mynumber?”
“I guessedit.”
“No youdidn’t.”
“Fine. I didn’t.” Something rustled on his end. “Amir retrieved it for meearlier.”
So that’s what they did to personal effects left in their custody . . . They rifled through them. Had they also planted a tracker in mybag?
Didn’t matter. I’d be in a Channel on my way to New York in notime.
“Why are you calling me,Jarod?”
“To check that you haven’t been attacked at knifepoint. It’s the newest thing in this city. Crazies stabbing you for noreason.”
I checked the street, my pulse quickening. Getting stabbed wouldn’t be pleasant. Until I completed my wings, I’d bleed like a human but heal quicker. I stopped at a deserted crosswalk, watching the glowing red hand of the pedestrian traffic light instead of scanning my surroundings like a skittishgirl.
“You really expect me to believe you care about my safety? You’d probably reward the person who did thestabbing.”
For a moment, there was no sound on his end. “If by reward, you mean quarter him, then yes, that’s exactly what I’ddo.”
The red hand turned into a white stick figure, and yet I couldn’t get myself to cross the street. “Why?”
“Why what,Feather?”
“Why do you care what happens tome?”
“Because my city isn’t safe. Because you’re a woman walking alone at night. Because you left my place angry, and for some inexplicable reason, your anger makes me feel guilt. I don’t feel guilt overanything.”
I pursed my lips, finally setting off across the zebra stripes even though the white stick figure was blinking. It wasn’t as though there wereanycars. No, actually, that wasn’t true. There was one car. I squinted to see the driver behind the tintedwindshield.
“You’re having me followed?” Isputtered.
“I’m having you guarded. For yoursafety.”
“You’reunbelievable. . .”
“I’m told that often but usually after I’ve bedded a woman. Not before.” His voice had taken on a husky quality, which combined with his words, made my stepsfalter.
“You’re never going tobedme,” Isaid.
“You know what I like more than justice? Challenges. I love challenges. So I accept yourchallenge.”
Although the river was still a block away, the sound of itwhooshedagainst my eardrums. “That wasn’t me challenging you. That was me telling you I wasn’tinterested.”
