making it happen. After what Ulric had seen, he probably realized it, too.
“I always knew you were trouble,” he said, as though proud of it.
I smiled feebly and hurried to get to the car, out of the sun and his embrace that much sooner. Not that the hug felt bad. That was the problem. I was seriously in need of some distance. I was with Bobby. Ulric was an assignment, nothing more.
Lily’s phone beeped at her as we got into the car, letting her know she’d missed a message at some point. She checked it as I pulled out.
“Gavin and Byron are fine. The police must have finished with them just before they came for us. They’re hanging out at Gavin’s place,” she reported. “They want us to come by.”
“I’m done in,” I said, “but I’ll drop you all there.”
I was relieved, actually. One stop rather than three meant I could get to Agents Stick and Stuffed and my doctored blood that much the sooner. Get some answers, report on Rick’s rage, maybe even feel Bobby’s arms around me. I needed that in a way that my totally self-sufficient self didn’t want to face.
Once the goth trio disappeared—into a remarkably normal looking whitewashed brick house—I drove like I was headed for a BOGO sale at Bloomies. Probably I should have driven in some kind of crazy, evasive pattern, just in case the police were tailing me or something, but the direct route meant I had a better chance of making it to Stick and Stuffed before I burst into flame. Already my eyeballs were on fire. Note to self: invest in some serious shades, maybe Dolce & Gabbana.
I called ahead to beg Agents S&S to raise the garage door for me so that I could drive right in, but it was Rick-the-rat who answered the phone, snarled at me, and hung up again. I was so relieved to see the doors slide upward at my approach, though, that I almost didn’t want to hurt him.
As darkness closed in on me, I said an instinctive “Thank you, God!” even though I was pretty sure he’d blocked my calls when I went over to the dark side. I prepared to face Rick, who was glaring from the doorway of the house that he and Bobby shared with the Feds like one big, happy, dysfunctional family.
“We have to talk,” I said, glaring back at him.
“Right,” he sneered.
“No kidding,” I continued. “ All of us.”
He called into the house, “Good thing you’re all here. Her royal highness has summoned us to an audience. All hail the royal slayer of innocents.”
I brushed past him, accidentally swinging an elbow toward his solar plexus. All the air ooph ed out of him.
“First of all, I didn’t slay anyone,” I informed him. “And second, your guys were attacking my peeps, so don’t even try playing the innocent card.”
Three sets of eyes were staring at me as I entered the eat-in kitchen, which was right off the garage. Agent Stuffed had barricaded himself behind a wall of two laptops, a printer, and a stack of paperwork a mile high. Couldn’t be much actual eating being done at that table, not without getting crumbs in the keyboard. Agent Stick poked her head out of the fridge to stare and then blink, shake her head, and stare again. But it was Bobby and his baby blues that really arrested my attention. He was looking at me like I’d just stepped out of a slasher film carrying a bloody chain saw.
“What?” I asked.
“You … you’re kind of, um, hot ,” Bobby said, rising from his place at the table beside Agent Stuffed.
I blinked. “Well, duh, but—”
“No, I mean you’re smokin’, as in an actual fire hazard. And your skin is kind of, ah, peeling.”
My hands flew up to my face, and I screamed. My skin felt like the outside of a fire-roasted marshmallow.
Agent Stick—Maya—shut the door of the fridge, grabbed a towel from the bar on the front of the stove, and took it to the sink to run cool water on before handing it to me. “Here, try this. I’ll start you a cold shower.”
Hands covering my deformity, I followed her
“I always knew you were trouble,” he said, as though proud of it.
I smiled feebly and hurried to get to the car, out of the sun and his embrace that much sooner. Not that the hug felt bad. That was the problem. I was seriously in need of some distance. I was with Bobby. Ulric was an assignment, nothing more.
Lily’s phone beeped at her as we got into the car, letting her know she’d missed a message at some point. She checked it as I pulled out.
“Gavin and Byron are fine. The police must have finished with them just before they came for us. They’re hanging out at Gavin’s place,” she reported. “They want us to come by.”
“I’m done in,” I said, “but I’ll drop you all there.”
I was relieved, actually. One stop rather than three meant I could get to Agents Stick and Stuffed and my doctored blood that much the sooner. Get some answers, report on Rick’s rage, maybe even feel Bobby’s arms around me. I needed that in a way that my totally self-sufficient self didn’t want to face.
Once the goth trio disappeared—into a remarkably normal looking whitewashed brick house—I drove like I was headed for a BOGO sale at Bloomies. Probably I should have driven in some kind of crazy, evasive pattern, just in case the police were tailing me or something, but the direct route meant I had a better chance of making it to Stick and Stuffed before I burst into flame. Already my eyeballs were on fire. Note to self: invest in some serious shades, maybe Dolce & Gabbana.
I called ahead to beg Agents S&S to raise the garage door for me so that I could drive right in, but it was Rick-the-rat who answered the phone, snarled at me, and hung up again. I was so relieved to see the doors slide upward at my approach, though, that I almost didn’t want to hurt him.
As darkness closed in on me, I said an instinctive “Thank you, God!” even though I was pretty sure he’d blocked my calls when I went over to the dark side. I prepared to face Rick, who was glaring from the doorway of the house that he and Bobby shared with the Feds like one big, happy, dysfunctional family.
“We have to talk,” I said, glaring back at him.
“Right,” he sneered.
“No kidding,” I continued. “ All of us.”
He called into the house, “Good thing you’re all here. Her royal highness has summoned us to an audience. All hail the royal slayer of innocents.”
I brushed past him, accidentally swinging an elbow toward his solar plexus. All the air ooph ed out of him.
“First of all, I didn’t slay anyone,” I informed him. “And second, your guys were attacking my peeps, so don’t even try playing the innocent card.”
Three sets of eyes were staring at me as I entered the eat-in kitchen, which was right off the garage. Agent Stuffed had barricaded himself behind a wall of two laptops, a printer, and a stack of paperwork a mile high. Couldn’t be much actual eating being done at that table, not without getting crumbs in the keyboard. Agent Stick poked her head out of the fridge to stare and then blink, shake her head, and stare again. But it was Bobby and his baby blues that really arrested my attention. He was looking at me like I’d just stepped out of a slasher film carrying a bloody chain saw.
“What?” I asked.
“You … you’re kind of, um, hot ,” Bobby said, rising from his place at the table beside Agent Stuffed.
I blinked. “Well, duh, but—”
“No, I mean you’re smokin’, as in an actual fire hazard. And your skin is kind of, ah, peeling.”
My hands flew up to my face, and I screamed. My skin felt like the outside of a fire-roasted marshmallow.
Agent Stick—Maya—shut the door of the fridge, grabbed a towel from the bar on the front of the stove, and took it to the sink to run cool water on before handing it to me. “Here, try this. I’ll start you a cold shower.”
Hands covering my deformity, I followed her
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