“There was snow on the road.”
“And your first instinct was to drive like a maniac?”
“Has to get plowed somehow.”
“Plowed.” She snickers, drifting to the kitchen sink and refilling a spray bottle. “You’re luckyyoudidn’t get plowed.”
I’m too on edge to attempt a witty riposte as she tends to her Venus flytraps, black bat flowers, cobra lilies, and all the rest of her carnivorous and poisonous plants nestled in handknit nets from the rafters.
Virgil’s home is a historical cottage having once belonged to a supposed witch during Salem’s infamous trials. Leather and velvet furniture fill the space. Doctoral plaques and several framed awards hang proudly on the cherrywood walls. Crochet projects are nestled in the standing bookshelves stuffed full with religious texts not unlike those Mama once possessed. Crystals and Tarot decks contrast the old tomes with pops of color. All wearing gold silhouettes from the dim candlelight warming the dull January dusk.
Setting my mug onto the stout coffee table beside me, I rub my brow as candles burn the saccharine scent of warm apple pie up my nostrils. “Whatcanyou tell me about Poppy, V?”
“Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask, B?”
My molars grind. “Will she get better?”
“If she prioritizes herself, possibly.” Virgil trades her bottle for a mug and leans against the dining table. “If she doesn’t, not a chance in hell.”
Fear freezes my veins shut. The thought of that beautiful little devil being tortured by anxiety for the rest of her life…
“How can I help her?”
Virgil sips her coffee, steam curling in her hazel eyes. “You are already doing everything humanly possible. A bit of advice, if you’re willing to listen?”
“Oui.” I nod, my neck stiff.
“If her hallucinations grow any worse, or she becomes combative during her states of delusion, be prepared for what must be done.”
The memory of a gunshot ricochets in my mind. I run a hand through my hair. “I…”
Words escape me when I catch movement in my periphery. I know without looking it’sher.
Poppy peers into the living room from the kitchen, baby blues brighter than any flame flickering around us. A few days have passed since that night in the graveyard, our time spent resting as we both waited impatiently for this visit. Sleepless bruises blotch beneath her lashes. Her fringe is freshly trimmed, half her pastel pink strands loosely knotted atop her head.
Even exhausted, she’s as beautiful as a new dawn.
Virgil gives her an encouraging nod.
And then she’s moving.
The moment Poppy reaches me, she beams brighter than any sun. “Good news: no padded rooms anytime soon.” She grabs my wrist and hauls me toward the front door, chirping, “Au revoir,Dr. V!”
Virgil’s chortles echo behind us. When I look back, though, her smile is wan and sallow. As if an unseen force is taking its toll. I recognize what I’m seeing a moment before she closes the door.
Fear.Fear for me as I walk a ruinous path that can so easily lead to my own doom.
“Where to,Petit Diable?” I ask Poppy as we settle into the ‘Vette and pull out onto the street. “My place or yours?”
“For what,mon ange?Are you trying to get into my pants again?”
“I’m nottryinganything, Poppy. If I wanted to fuck you right now, I’d be doing it.”
I don’t intend to sound harsh. As much as I’d like to continue what we started in that crypt, there are more pressing matters than sex. We have yet to move the needle on Leviathan since discovering the catalyst to their war with her family. We need to figure out a plan before there are any attempts on my life or my brother’s. Or worse,hers.I’m surprised they haven’t tried anything in the weeks that have come and gone since Quinn’s little gift.
Poppy falls silent, her expression unreadable. Her palm slides over my hand on the shifter, her fingers squeezing mine. “I missed you.”
For a moment, I imagine myself bathing with that fucking toaster.
