Are people starting to notice how he’s fixated on me? Was her threat made out of familial concern… or something more?
A glimmer of recognition lights in my head. The way she was talking—the threatening texts I’ve gotten were fromher, weren’t they? That’s the hint she’s saying I haven’t taken.
Not that I’ve been encouraging Salvatore’s obsession, but Simone doesn’t seem interested in hearing my side.
My innards wobble as if Arachne’s woven them into a new configuration.
If the text messages were from Simone… She mentioned “whoever else” wanting me gone, presumably referring to the recent murder attempt, as if she didn’t know who was responsible for that incident.
Why would she lie rather than bragging about just how close she’s already come to ending me?
However much she’s threatening me, it doesn’t sound like she’s behind the poisoning. Which would mean the texts have nothing to do with Other Elodie’s killer.
I swallow hard and push my locker door shut with a clang.
It doesn’t matter what I’ve misjudged. I’ve set the pieces of this plan in motion—I’ll just have to see what my net catches.
And hope I haven’t made some horrible miscalculation along the way.
Forty-One
Salvatore
Where you at? Feeling lonely tonight.
I grimace at Simone’s message and the kissy-face emoji she added afterward before shoving my silenced phone into my jeans’ back pocket. My perch in the big oak across the street from Elodie’s house makes the gesture a little harder than usual.
I lean against the trunk, legs sprawled on the broad branch that juts out over the sidewalk, and pop a shrimp cracker into my mouth. The snap of it breaking apart and the briny, fishy flavor are satisfying enough to override my irritation with my distant-cousin-with-benefits.
Formerly with benefits. I told her last week I wasn’t interested in hooking up anymore. Seems like I might need to say it a few more times to get the message to stick.
Maybe I was thinking a little too much with my dick when I started things up with her.
My dick isn’t what’s keeping me in this tree through the drumming of raindrops against my shell of magic. Not that Little Salvatore isn’t interested in what Elodie Devine has going on. But my mind’s hooked on her too, like it’s never been for any girl before.
I squint through the thickening night. The glow of the nearby streetlamp wavers with the falling rain. Light shines through a few of the curtained windows on the Devine house, mostly on the upper two floors.
Is Elodie’s bedroom that one overlooking the front drive, or is hers around back? If I wasn’t so wary of the kinds of magical security her dad must have in place, I’d have already snuck in one day to find out for myself.
I’m not going to be much of a guardian devil if some fancy enchantment gets me arrested.
So I’m settling for this vantage point which should give me a view of anyone coming or going from the house. That’s what’s most important. No more toxic assholes are getting to my girl on my watch.
Someday she’s going to invite me in. I’ll be right there in that bedroom with her—probably to her dad’s horror, but he’ll just have to deal with it.
Another shrimp cracker crunches between my teeth. Would Elodie want to share them?
My relatives on both sides wrinkle their noses when they see me with a bag, but that’s part of the reason I like them so much. No chance of anyone stealing my stash when they’re rummaging through the kitchen during my parents’ regular “business” meetings.
As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone vibrates again. I yank it out. When I glance at the screen, the cracker sours in my mouth.
It’s my dad.I’ve got a job for you. How soon can you be home?
How about never?
I glare at the text for several seconds, debating how to answer. In my hesitation, the phone vibrates again with an incoming call from him.
Fucking impatient. Like I exist just to jump when he hollers.
