I could feel his burning stare as he turned toward me. “Even harder to look past the very real injuries to the very dead body you purged, sin-eater,” he gritted out. “Or was that somehow a shapeshifter’s fault as well.”
Huffing out a breath, I had to admit he had a point. “Fine, not a shapeshifter then. Magic of some kind, though, but I’ve never heard of anything that made people do impossible things, then erasing their memories of it ever happening.”
Ruadan flinched. “Unless… possession?” he said, his voice a horrified whisper.
“You mean ghosts?”
“Or demons.” There was something about that word—demon—that felt right.Tooright. We shared a long look, both shuddering at the thought.
My skin had gone cold and clammy, nerves wound tight until I thought they might snap. What the hell had I been dragged into? “Well, case closed, I guess,” I said sharply, shoving my chair back fromthe table and rising to my feet, ready to be done with the whole thing. “Have a nice life.”
“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?” Ruadan asked, smoothly rising to block my route to the door.
“Where do you think I’m going? I was a suspect and now I’m not.” I pointed at myself. “I am neither ghost nor demon. Good luck with your little investigation, but I’m going home for that bath now.” I tried to step around him, but he shifted on the balls of his feet, surprisingly nimble for a man his size.
“Oh, no, no. You might not be the culprit, but fate put you in my path for a reason, I can feel it. You’re involved in this case one way or another; I just need to figure out which side of it you’re on. And since I don’t trust you for a second, where you go, I go.” His lips spread into a sultry smile. “Besides, I promised you dinner, and I’m nothing if not a man of my word. What do you want to eat? There’s a great pho place just down the street. We’ll pick it up on the way to your place.”
No matter that we didn’t trust each other for a second, I was still not immune to his damn charm, my insides warming. Dammit. I took a long breath to steady myself. “I’ll take three of the most expensive item on the menu,” I snarled as I shoved past him out the door.
His laughter followed me out.
Chapter 7
Ruadan
“Shoesoff,”thesin-eaterdemanded as we stepped into his apartment. I watched as he kicked off his own, using his toes to scoot them off to the side, before I followed suit.
I looked up and came to a dead stop, stunned beyond words. The sin-eater’s apartment was tiny, but that wasn’t what shocked me. It was the riot of chaos and color. It was overwhelming—but not necessarily in a bad way. Everywhere my eyes landed, there was something to observe. A delicate teapot, painted by hand with the petals of a violet iris. An incense burner made from clay, shaped like the body of a man curled over his bent knees, his muscular back on display. Foreign coins, in gold, silver, copper, from countries that no longer existed, hand-stamped and uneven, worth more now than they ever were before.
I kept my expression neutral as I browsed the row of shelves along one wall, even as my curiosity bubbled beneath the surface. I had so many questions—I was the god of spying, after all, but this was not the kindof mystery I could solve on my own. The sin-eater was nothing like I would’ve guessed from his appearance, and I hated how much I loved his space. Reaching out carefully, I lifted the lid of a small box, made from intricate gold filigree and chips of tortoiseshell, and the stale aroma of tobacco still lingered inside.
“The snuffbox was a gift from Lord Albert Prescott, in 1837. His wife died suddenly of a fever before the priest could arrive, and he feared for her mortal soul. The very next day, he had me run out of town, complete with torches and pitchforks.” He sighed as I replaced the lid, knocking over a glass figurine of a little girl with an umbrella. “Try not to break anything,” the sin-eater grumbled as he carried the paper bag of food toward a doorway, which I assumed led to the kitchen. “You’re like a bull in a china shop.”
I was reluctant to follow when there was so much to see, but my grumbling stomach insisted. I took one last look around the small living room, seeing it through a fresh set of eyes. “So, all those trinkets…” I said as I ducked through the narrow doorframe into the outdated kitchen.
“Payment, yeah.” He set the food down on the two-seater table in the corner and began to unload the food.
“Why wouldn’t you sell the items if they were payment? Some of these are priceless relics, worth more than I could guess. Museums would pay a pretty penny to have anything here be a part of their collection.” He could easily afford to live somewhere far swankier than this place, if he so chose. At least somewhere with a better view from the window, instead of the brick wall of the building next door.
He shrugged, opening a utensil drawer and grabbing us each a spoon. “It doesn’t feel right to profit off someone’s death.”
“It’s a job,” I said as I pulled out a chair at the table. It creaked dangerous as I lowered into it, and Ulysses snorted.
“Why don’t you shift into something a bit less… rugged,” he suggested, waving his spoon at me, “before you break my furniture. Don’t feel like you have to keep up the pretense of being all big and burly for my sake. I’m not some sucker for a pretty face, I won’t fall for your manipulation. You’re probably five-foot nothing in real life, aren’t you. With a combover and buck teeth.”
I let his snide comment about my appearance wash over me, before leaning back in the chair, provoking it to let out another warning groan. I broke out in a shit-eating grin as I realized he was deflecting. “You think I’m hot,” I teased.
“What? I do not,” he grumbled defensively, barely able to look at me as his cheeks pinked up. He tried to turn his attention to his pho, adding an aggressive amount of hot sauce.
“You do,” I drawled, flexing my pecs to make them pop a few times, his attention zeroing straight in on them before he could stop himself. “Well, I hate to tell you this, but this is all me, sin-eater, no magic about it. Why mess with perfection?” I taunted, trailing a hand down my chest and drawing his gaze lower. The poor boy’s face was practically glowing with heat. “If it’s making it hard for you to focus, though, I could switch to something else. A woman, perhaps? The pope? A yeti? Just as long as they have opposable thumbs, cause I’m starving,” I said, leaning forward and grabbing a spoon, breathing in the fragrant steam coming off my bowl before dipping in my spoon.
He paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “So you can change into anyone? Anything?”
I shrugged, a little smug. “Sure.”
“What about a rock?” he asked.
“I have, in fact. It’s great for a stakeout. Nobody suspects a rock.”
