Read Online Shimmer: The Rephaim Book 3 by Paula Weston - Free Book Online Page B

pass through another building, another hallway. Mya is waiting at the end of it in front of double doors, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. As we get closer, I hear clinking cutlery and low voices in the room beyond. The commissary.
    ‘So you do still have friends,’ she says, nodding at my clean clothes. She checks Jude over, meets his gaze fleetingly and then opens the door.
    I’m expecting a boarding-school–style dining room. By now, I should know better than to make assumptions about the Rephaim. Jude and I prop in the doorway. His jaw drops a little.
    The room is modern, airy and huge . On one side, floor-to-ceiling windows give a clear view of the pine forest; on the other, an open kitchen bustles with activity. Men in chefs whites line up behind steaming pots, ladles in hand. White laminate tables are grouped together in long rows, set with silver cutlery, wine glasses, miniature lamps and fresh purple flowers. The chairs are made from funky curved timber and the floor is covered in dark slate. A wall of wine dominates the back of the room, dwarfing a polished timber bar. The air is heavy with roasted tomatoes, basil and garlic. My mouth waters. Apparently not even high levels of anxiety kill my appetite.
    It takes me a moment to realise the chatter has stopped. Completely. My eyes skim over faces of Rephaim I don’t know but vaguely recognise from the chapterhouse, and then Daisy—thank god—and Micah, Malachi…more strangers…and finally a cluster of Outcasts in the far corner. They’ve pushed three tables together. Jones waves us over.
    We cross the room, pretend everyone’s not staring at us. I flex my fingers, try to coax out this constant tension, but I’m still acutely conscious of each footstep.
    ‘Who pays for all this?’ Jude asks.
    ‘Nathaniel and a fleet of financial advisers.’ Mya says the last four words as if they taste bad. ‘He has more money than he can spend, and this is what he does with it: provides a luxury mountain resort for these bastards.’
    I think about the cramped quarters the Outcasts use in Dubai: stuffy, hot and stinking of charred food and sweat. It’s a long way from this. A long way from the place they once called home.
    Jones and Seth move down the table to make room. I sit between Ez and Jude, position myself opposite Zak—his shoulders are so broad I’m effectively screened from most of the room. Mya sits at the head of the table. Of course.
    ‘All good?’ Zak asks.
    Jones nods. ‘So far.’
    ‘That could be about to change.’
    Malachi is headed our way, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. Apart from the faint shadow of a bruise around one eye, there’s barely a sign of our brawl. He looks up and down the three tables. ‘Why aren’t you eating?’
    Jones half-turns towards the hostile crowd of Sanctuary Rephaim. ‘We’re trying to work out if it’s an “act of aggression” if we all get up at once to eat. Not that I mind a good melee, but I don’t think it would go down well with the kitchen. I am peckish, though.’
    ‘Just grab a plate and go to the counter,’ Malachi says, weary, and walks away.
    Jones rubs his hands together. ‘You heard the man.’
    Chairs scrape on the slate floor. I catch Daisy’s eye, briefly, before we approach the service counter in a pack. There, a young guy with curly black hair sticking out from under a chef’s hat points to each dish and explains them to us. In Italian. I glance at Jude. He doesn’t understand a word of it either, which I find a strange relief. The chef is talking to me now, asking me something. There’s recognition in his eyes: he knows me. I shake my head, embarrassed.
    ‘That’s goat ragu with pappardelle pasta,’ Ez says beside me. ‘This one is gnocchi tartufo —the gnocchi’s made from parmesan, truffle and potato—and that’s the best onion soup you’ll eat this side of the French border.’
    I accept a bowl of ragu, earning an approving smile from the