They have the same noses and golden eyes. Same deep, brown skin, and full lips. Despite their similarities, they’re astudy in contrasts: the woman with straight, white-blonde hair is wearing an expertly tailored white pantsuit, her pointed-toe heels peeking from beneath wide-leg slacks. Her companion, by comparison, has a black leather motorcycle jacket covered with silver buckles that molds to her body, and thick-soled boots that I would bet money on having kicked more than a few asses. Her tight curls sway to cover her mouth as she leans in to whisper something to Blondie, and I have an unsettling feeling that whatever she’s saying is about me. Which is clearly ridiculous.
“Welcome to Daly’s,” I say, setting down two coasters. “Just a heads up—the kitchen’s closed and we’re just about to announce last call.” Maybe if I’m bitchy enough, they’ll leave sooner. Blondie gives me a beaming smile.
Shit.
“That’s quite all right,” she responds in an airy, melodic voice.
“What can I get you two?” They look at each other and I wait awkwardly for someone to say something. Am I getting paranoid? What the hell did Misty give Carlos for those brownies? They turn towards me, mirror images of one another.
“Vodka tonic, please,” they say in perfect unison, and Blondie laughs as the hairs on my neck rise.
“Oh goodness! Usually, we try to downplay the twin thing, but it seems we’re out of practice,” she titters. Titters. I don’t think anyone in the history of Lynden has ever tittered. I don’t think anyone here even knows how.
“Right,” I stretch out the word. “Two vodka tonics, coming right up.” Eileen quirks her eyebrow at me expectantly as I join her behind the bar to start mixing their drinks.
“Well?”
“Hell if I know, I’m not sober enough for this shit,” I mutter, finishing their drinks. With their unnervingly synchronizedgazes, they track my every step until back at their table. Blondie takes a sip of her drink and hums in appreciation.
“This is lovely, thank you so much—I didn’t catch your name?” I think her smile has literally stunned me stupid for a moment because I give her my name before I can stop myself.
“Oh, uh, Nyx,” I reveal, holding back a wince when I immediately regret sharing even that harmless bit of personal information. My gut instinct is usually pretty well-honed—like when it warns me that a trucker looks like he’s one bad day away from turning me into a skin suit. These two don’t scream “it puts the lotion on its skin”, but there’s something about their Devil Wears Prada energy that makes me anxious to put some distance between us. Maybe that’s how murderers—murderesses?—secretly work. They disarm you with pantsuits and Louboutins.
“Nyx, now that’s a name you don’t hear every day,” the dark-haired siren muses between sips of her drink, and I look for my exit from this conversation, Eileen be damned. “Goddess of Night.”
“Uh, yeah. Real badass too.” Blondie gasps and puts her hand on her siren sister's arm.
“Oh! Augustine, I think we’ve found a fellow philhellene,” she says. Her enthusiasm is so surreal I almost want to ask her what medication she’s taking, because no unmedicated person could be this upbeat right now. Maybe then this situation would make more sense. “Isn’t it just fascinating how the Greeks used divine allegories to derive meaning from their universe?” She looks at me expectantly, eyes practically sparkling. I look at the dark siren—Augustine—for help. While I do happen to think Greek mythology is fascinating thanks to years of self-study, I’m nowhere near sober enough to have this conversation. My normal tactics of deflecting and distracting aren’t working on these two.
“Dial it back, Cece,” she chides, with a smirk at my expense. I hear Eileen give a very pointed cough from behind me with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and remember my mission.
“Yeah-huh. Sure. Anyway. What brings you two to Lynden?”
“Celestine and I are recruiters,” Augustine interjects with a pointed look at her sister before she can answer.
“Like, for the military?” I ask with an obvious touch of skepticism, giving their outfits another once over. Augustine snorts at my confusion.
“And perpetuate the cogs of the military-industrial complex? Not in this lifetime. No, we’re headhunters for the private sector. We interview candidates to see if they’re a good fit. Glorified human resources, practically.” Despite the haze of cheap whiskey and Misty’s mystery blend, it’s clear she’s trying too hard to convince me.
“So, not auditors then,” I confirm, and give Eileen a thumbs up. When I turn back around, Augustine is looking at me intently again and Celestine maintains her exuberant smile—neither of which reassure me in the slightest.
“We’re going to be in town for a few days in between meetings,” Celestine begins, “do you have any recommendations for things to do here?”
“You mean besides leaving as quickly as possible?” That earns a chuckle from Augustine. At least someone thinks this is funny. Celestine looks at me expectantly, undeterred by my attempt to deflect.
“There’s honestly not much in this part of town. You’d be better off driving up the main strip. It’s a bit… cleaner.” I glance at her pristine ensemble.
“I think we passed a diner on the way in. Is their breakfast any good?” Augustine chimes in.
“Yeah, Misty’s place. Best diner in town.” Also the only diner in town.
“Nothing like a strong pot of coffee and some grease to make a woman feel human again,” Augustine declares before standing up and throwing down some cash—leaving a generous tip, I notice.
“Let’s go, Cece. Let these people get home for the night.” Celestine gives me a warm, enigmatic smile before rising gracefully from her seat.
“It was lovely to meet you, Nyx. Hopefully, we’ll see each other soon.” The way she says it, like we’ve already made plans to do so, makes my stomach twist. The moment the door closes behind them, Eileen is at my side.
“What the hell was that about? You turning state’s witness or something?” she teases, but I can’t shake off the unease settling in my gut.
