Page 87 of Blood Lovers

“We… we don’t.”

Syrsee and I just stare at each other. She blinks first. Then she’s laughing. “We don’t. So why are we still here? I get that you have a job, but there’s no law that says you have to live at your work, right?”

I look around. It’s pretty. I’ll give it that. But she’s right. This place is boring and the people are kind of unsettling. And while Paul did leave me in that room and insinuate that I was going to live there while I did his remodel job, he never specifically ordered me to do that. So I shrug. “Well. Maybe we should move.”

“Are you asking me to run away with you?”

I’m pretty sure she’s the one who came up with this idea, but if she wants me to make the next move, I will. “Yeah. I’m asking you to run away with me.”

Her eyes search mine, like she’s thinking very hard. “Did I ever ask you if you were a serial killer?”

“I’m thinking we decided you were the serial killer, remember?”

She taps her chin with a fingertip. “That’s right. We did decide that. So, you’re OK with running away with a serial killer?”

“I think I can take you.”

She guffaws. “Do you think that?” There’s a little twinkle in her eye. Like she really might be some kind of jujitsu expert.

I take a step and close the distance between us, placing my hands on her hips as she stares up at me with a whole lifetime of expectations in those green eyes of hers. “I’m not a serial killer.”

Which is technically a lie, but also the truth. I have killed plenty of people over the decades, but I’m not hunting them. Well, there is that missing witch, who I am hunting. But Paul never told me to kill her. He said to bring her in. So I’m thinking that telling Syrsee that I’m not a serial killer is just a little white lie and not a mortal sin.

“Oh, my God.” She’s shaking her head. “I would pay good money to know what you’re thinking right now.”

“What? Why?”

“Whatever internal conversation you were just having with yourself must’ve been good. You had a look of tortured angst.”

“Angst?” Now it’s my turn to guffaw.

“No. Not just angst. Tortured angst.”

“Anyway.” But I’m smiling so big. Where has this woman been all my life? She really does feel like my best friend from back when we were twelve. “So. We’re running away?”

“I’m so in.”

“Do you wanna get your shit?” I point to the second floor of the hardware store.

“I think I’ll leave it.”

“Hedging your bets already?”

“Nope. Fresh start.”

“Oh.” I nod because that makes sense. “Do you want to drive?”

“Nope. I’m leaving the truck too.”

“Really?”

She slowly nods her head up and down. “Really.”

Her tone has changed, this one word coming out low and almost whispered. Like this is not some joke to her, but something very real.

“OK.” My tone matches hers. Then I say it again. “OK. Let’s run away. I’m driving.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - SYRSEE