Page 32 of Queen of Nothing

But then, I haven’t exactly been enthused about the whole thing. So maybe Serena decides to leave me out of the greater plans.

Guess she doesn’t trust me with all the information at once. It’s what she’s been doing since the start of all this. Breadcrumbing me.

The annoyance of it sags me against the wall.

I cross my arms over my chest. My sweatshirt pulls with the gesture, stretching and tugging, and I can’t wait to get it off of my body.

After being in the car for so long, sleeping in it, sweating in it, I feel unclean.

I stare at the glass paned door, as though if I look hard enough at the shadows flickering beyond it, I can will them back—and Sofía will become a semi-decent host and lead me to the bathroom, where I can at least shower.

But she is gentry, after all, like her cousin.

I’ve heard nothing about a rogue in Isabella’s family through the gossip vine. So it must have been buried deep to preserve the reputation of Desmond’s wife, and thus, the Vasiles.

All pointless, now that Serena is a rogue herself now… and me.

My heart sinks to the dread in my gut.

A rogue in the Craven family.

Shame heats my cheeks, and I drop my head, as though Mother and Father are standing opposite me now, their disapproving, devastated stares fixed on me.

But all that stands opposite me is a sort of bookcase. Only, it houses jars of pickled and preserved things. Tiny animals, like foetuses, maps unfurling over shelves, dreamcatchers and charms and animal skulls.

For a shield witch, Sofía collects a lot of ritualistic items. She might be part of a coven of rogues, or one of those witches that risks the dangers of stepping outside of her print, trying to expand her power.

But that would be crazy—and just as I think it, the door opens.

Steps thud on the creaky floorboards. But only Sofía comes inside a few steps.

“This way,” she says, and gestures me over with a wave. “I’ll show you to your room.”

My Spanish is rusty—and her dialect is off. But I understand and scoop the bags up from the floor.

Over Sofía’s shoulder, Serena gives me a tight smile, one that doesn’t make me feel wholly welcome, but not entirely unwelcome either. Like it’s a chore to tend to me now.

I bite down on the edge of my tongue, and start making my way through the clutter.

The escape can’t come soon enough.

It stinks in here, reeks of smoke and dust and incense and lavender and tea, and something spicy, and something sweet, and something menthol.

This room would trigger one of Oliver’s migraines, no question.

I reach the door, but Sofía doesn’t step aside.

“Let’s settle my fee first,” Sofía smiles around her words, and it’s slimy. “Get it out of the way.”

She turns that smile over her shoulder to Serena in the doorway, whose face is harder than stone.

Sofía says, “Fifty thousand euros, thank you.”

That’s too much, way too much compared to the cash we have.

“Fifty thousand?” I echo, and my voice hitches.

Sofía blinks softly at me. “Family rates.”