“To stalk our first suspect, of course.” At my questioning look, he grins like a wolf. “The owner, Poppy Morgenstern, has pink hair.Which you’d know if you ever went anywhere aside from here and work.”
I blink twice. “You could’ve led with that.”
“Andyoucould’ve told me about your obsession sooner. At least I didn’t wait ten fucking years.”
Fine. Even I can admit I deserve that.
As he strides past, I catch my brother’s arm. “You’re not helping me with this.”
“I don’t recall asking for your permission.”
We’re the same age, born fraternal twins within minutes of each other. Technically, his albino ass was the first of us to see the world, yet I’ve been stepping into the role of big brother our entire lives. A role I wouldn’t have ever needed to take on if Mama hadn’t died and deserted us and our older half-sister, Virgil, with a Purple Heart jarhead drowning in untreated trauma and deadly grief.
My job has always been to protect my brother. Even from myself.Especiallyfrom myself.
“Dantë.” My grip tightens. “This is dangerous.”
His smile melts like hot wax. “You fumbled your shot with Quinn. Who, in case you didn’t notice, wasn’t remotely interested in helping you to begin with. To make matters worse, she’s familiar with Beelzebub’s. She’d know of Poppy and should’ve given you at least that single lead instead of her ‘there’s nothing more we can do’ bullshit. You work with dead people and are an antisocial hermit. So, the way I see it, I’m all you’ve got. I’m not letting you do this alone.”
Before I can protest, he pulls away and treks downstairs, whistling an offbeat tune that sounds suspiciously like Rockwell’sSomebody’s Watching Me.I sigh and follow, lighting a cigar to burn what little remains of my guilty conscience to ash and smoke.
REUNION
Poppy
My motorcycle drifts across the threshold of the old tactile plant at the heart of the city, cutting the engine and rolling to a stop. Plopping my helmet onto my lap, I absorb the scent of burning chemicals and the sound of heavy guitar riffs blaring from the wall-mounted speakers.
I should be feeling some sense of comfort in this familiar place I chose to rendezvous with the assassins I’m assigning to my family’s saboteur problem. Instead, the raving beat of death metal only urges my heart into a thundering stampede as trepidation dumps into my veins.
“Evening, Lollipop!” Baxilian Kemp waves enthusiastically, beaming at me with every ray of his sunshine as the tall, svelte street chemist and his sidekick, Jett Proctor, pour a bucket of colorful crystals into an unmarked cask.
“Evening.” I point to a speaker above a shelf of rocking mason jars labeled: Boom-Boom Powder. “Bax, what is that?”
“Homemade fireworks.” Bax pushes his safety goggles up from his ivy eyes, pinning back his boyish blond curls as a grin slashes a mischievous curve across his cherubic features. “Special order for some unlucky bastard in Boston. Requested by hisveryvindictive ex.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Inspiring. Could you maybe turn Alex Terrible down a smidge before you blow us all straight to hell?”
“Relax, boss,” he drawls, slapping the bucket until the last luminescent rock tumbles. “It won’t blow without an ignition source.”
I fling a hand toward the boiling liquids twoveryshort feet beneath the rattling jars. “Seriously?”
Bax sighs, drawing his phone from his hoodie pocket and tapping the volume down to a tolerable rumble. “You’re no fun.”
“Iamfun. Just not on days where I need to meet with the Volkovs.”
Bax’s easy smile slips at the same time Jett fumbles with the bucket, tin clanging a cacophony against the floor. Both are entirely reasonable reactions. After all, the three remaining Volkovs are our most infamous mercenaries. Not to mention, they hail from the family who lost everything to mine.
“How’s the anti-anxiety juice?” Bax asks, recovering first. “Need a refill before they get here?”
I pat my jacket until I find my vape and pull the abysmally low cartridge out. “Got any more of your cotton candy blend?”
“Fairy Farts, coming right up. I’ll even throw in a few extras if you promise to try Unicorn Cum. Tastes like a rainbow shot straight from a magical cock. Right, Jett?”
“Uhh…” Jett’s sepia cheeks flush crimson as she averts her gaze, dragging her glossy black coffin nails through her acid-green pixie cut. “I plead the Fifth.”
Bax jabs an accusing finger at her. “Those wereyourwords.”
Jett flips him off and pivots to the crystals, stirring them with a fire iron and dutifully ignoring his sniggering. “Anything else we can help you with, boss?”
