Page 20 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Doppelgangers.

“Ladies,” one said.

Faith smiled warmly at them. “Thanks boys.”

They handed her the key fobs in perfect synchronization.

She turned to us. “Nishi take one and grab Tegan. Salima, Eve, you’re with me.”

Nishi’s voice came from behind us. “I’ll meet you at Andel’s.”

Faith looked up. “You got the address?”

“I did,” I said.

Faith looked at me. “Good. Just making sure you weren’t distracted by undead.”

I stared at her. “I was chased by a corpse in a bathrobe. Forgive me if my schedule management is off.”

Eve snorted, quick and quiet.

Faith’s expression softened a fraction. “Get in.”

We split.

Nishi slid into the driver’s seat of the first vehicle and pulled out with smooth efficiency, disappearing around the corner.

Eve, and I climbed into the second SUV.

Faith took the driver’s seat. Eve sat behind her. I slid into the front passenger seat and tried not to think about how quickly my life had shifted from “quiet basement suite” to “field mission with people who could kill me with a glance.”

Faith started the engine.

“What’s the plan once we get there?” Eve asked.

“We talk,” Faith said. “We listen. We try not to die.”

“Solid,” I said. “Very detailed.”

Faith glanced at me. “You want more detail.”

“Yes,” I said. “I like details. Details keep you alive. Details also keep me from spiraling into the thought that I might end up as a snack.”

Faith’s mouth tightened. “Fine. We get answers from Andel. If he’s involved, we restrain him. If he isn’t, we use his knowledge to identify what’s different. If it’s an artifact, we need Tegan. If it’s a tether, we need to find the hand holding it.”

I exhaled. “Good. That’s better.”

We pulled out of the alley and into the city streets.

Ravenholde looked like it had been dropped into a disaster movie. Police lights flashed in the distance, blue and red streaking across storefronts. Sirens wailed, overlapping, then fading, then returning. Cars crawled through intersections like confused insects. People stood in clusters on sidewalks, phones out, pointing, talking too fast.

That, right there, was the real nightmare.

Not the undead.

The mundanes.

Because once mundanes got a story in their heads, it was like trying to stop a stampede with a polite request. They wanted answers. They wanted explanations. They wanted someone to blame. They wanted to film it, package it, share it.