“How generous of you,” Dantë drawls, drawing her attention to him, “but if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be his friend.”
Poppy blinks at my brother as if she’s just now noticing his presence. “Dantë Bourbon? Is that you?”
Ignoring my perplexed stare, he grins. “In the flesh.”
“Kuso.” She chortles, shrugging off her jacket and revealing a masterpiece Japanese dragon in black and pink ink coiling up her right arm. “How’s Margot? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Très bien,”Dantë lies without losing his leisurely smile. “We’ve been busy living the dream.”
“Good for you,mon ami.” Poppy flicks her gaze to me. This close, I can see every shade of blue in her eyes: sky and sea, cobalt and sapphire. Hints of silver thread through her irises like spools of unraveling starlight. “So, this is the recluse coroner who never climbs out of his shell? Brontë, right?”
I refrain from lancing Dantë with awhat the fucklook as I manage a tight, “Oui,that’s me.”
A curious smile tugs at her lips. She scans me from boot to brow, latching onto the runes on my knuckles, then the army of angels and demons sprawling up from theVof my shirt to the edge of my jawline. “Nice ink.”
“Merci.”I nod toward her own skin art. “VeryGirl with the Dragon Tattoo.”
“You know, I didn’t care for that book. Couldn’t figure out what made Lisbeth so special aside from her tat.”
“It’s not about the ink. It’s about how her persistence helped to solve the investigation of a serial killer.”
I realize I’m about a thousand shades of stupid as Poppy cants her head, her small smile fading. “Is that so?”
Dantë clears his throat, lashing me with an admonishing glare. “Did I ever tell you about Brontë’s Etsy shop, Bourbon Binds?” He pulls up my small business page on his phone.
Poppy’s umber eyebrows hike the further he scrolls. “You take custom orders?”
Not from killers.
Dantë’sdon’t be suspiciousstare drills into my profile.
“Oui.” I nod. “The queue is long, but I can be persuaded to take on a new project for a fellow bibliophile.”
A squeal unlike anything I’ve ever heard bursts out of her, and she commands me to stay put before darting into the kitchen.
Feeling eyes on me from the opposite corner full of criminals, I casually lean toward Dantë and, with a stiff grin on my face, growl, “Care to explain yourself, brother?”
“The Morgensterns own Salem, Brontë. You need to know what you’re dealing with, and this is the only way to do it. If you want justice against the heiress of the most infamous family in this city, you need to play your cards right. So, stop acting shady and take this golden opportunity to learn thy enemy.”
Poppy reappears, carrying an ancient, decrepit copy ofInfernothat I’d personally burn just to put it to rest. “It’s obviously on its deathbed, but it has sentimental value. Any chance you could work your magic and resurrect it for me?”
Such a hypocrite, this devil who takes lives asking for me to breathe life back into, of all things, a fucking book.
Learn thy enemy.What a joke. I’ve learned enough.
Perhaps justice will be her hide wrapped around the story of a man traveling to hell.
I offer my palm. “Let me have a look.”
Poppy passes over the worn tome. Her bittersweet scent of coffee and cotton candy blankets me in an intoxicating cloud. I hold my breath as her slender fingers brush mine. I feel every scar flecking her digits. The wounds are old, unmistakably made by blades. There are as many embedded in her skin as there are marring this heap of coffee-stained parchment barely clinging to its broken spine.
Only killers have that many scars.
Checkmate, you little devil.
Gently dusting the cracked front cover, I grin in the face of the murderer I’ve spent the last decade of my life chasing. “If Frankenstein did it, so can I.”
KARMA
