Quinn doesn’t show affection often. So when she rushes over to me and embraces me as tightly as she can, I’m too shocked to return it with anything other than a surprisedoof.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffles into my shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”
My arms close around her. Every unspoken truth radiates between us. I should’ve confided in her what was happening between Poppy and I. She should’ve told me about Leviathan and Scull.
There will always be secrets between us. Some, though, are better left unshared.
After a long minute, she pulls away, wiping at her eyes. “Can I interest you in some pizza? My treat.”
“I’ll buy if you call.”
The smile that dawns her freckled features patches the wound in my chest with her name on it. “Pepperoni?”
“Meatlover’s. I’m fucking famished.”
“Coming right up,” she chirps, dialing the number.
Too much time has passed since everything feels as it should. I know it won’t last, but I bask in it for as long as I can.
SHRAPNEL
Poppy
Cotton candy smoke billows from my nostrils as I sloth in a candlelit bath and twirl the black candle between my fingers.
Mama’s words play on a loop in my mind, louder than the March rain slamming its wrath against the windows. Her gift to me, my proverbial death as criminal royalty, has been crowding my mind. I haven’t even been able to think about Leviathan’s persistent radio silence. I’ve been too focused on this stupid candle.
I don’t know how long I sit here, spiraling down the rabbit hole. Long enough for Jezebel to nudge the bathroom door open, whiskers twitching as she sniffs the air. As if she cansmellmy emotional turmoil. She sits on her haunches beside the tub and chuffs. It sounds like,Talk to me.
I let it all fall out, searching her eyes as if they hold the answer. Those bright, blue oceans are as vast as the possibilities I can’t even comprehend without suffering a wave of nausea.
This is the last dilemma I should be concerned about. Although no other innocents have lost their lives since that ominous phone call with whoever had answered, the threat is still there. There’s a blade in the wind, and we’re merely waiting for it to drop on our necks.
Papa’s empire is a pile of rubble, but I’m still set to inherit it.
The question is: What doIwant?
That noxious wave returns as Mama’s words circle me, leading my mind around and around like a carousel that won’t stop spinning.For whenever you’re ready,she said as she handed me both salvation and damnation. The former, because I’ll finally be free from the clutches of this depraved life; the latter, because my father will never speak to me again.
“I’m not ready,” I croak, my throat burning. “Not yet.”
Jezebel nudges my cheek with a gentle purr, offering quiet comfort as I let the tears slide free. That’s when I feel it: the unbearable pain of a period cramp.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I gripe as little warriors with little swords carve their little warpath through my guts. “Kuso!”
Jezebel yowls and darts out the door. I would, too, if I had supersonic hearing and had my eardrums blown out by a shrieking harpy.
Moments later, boots cross the bedroom floor in long, confident strides. They stop short at the door left slightly ajar. “You all right in there,Petit Diable?”
“I’m fine,mon ange.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Well, I am.”
“I’m coming in.”
A cramp stabs my innards, and I snarl, “Cross that threshold, and I will flay you alive and make you watch as I bumblefuck my way through wrapping your hide around your boring book.”
