I take a deep breath and plow forward. “I couldn’t afford it. Not yet. So I put up the cameras, but I haven’t bought the rest of the system yet. I know that could void my insurance if I had a break in, and it’s at the top of my to-do list for when I have extra cash flow, but there’ve been a lot of expenses, and that one just . . .” I meet his gaze. “I lied about the camera on my insurance application. I don’t have footage for last night. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he says. “I’m sorry. I recommended a very expensive system without ever pausing to consider whether you could afford it.”
“I should have admitted it. It was just . . .”
“Awkward.” He takes out his phone. “Don’t worry about the insurance. I’d never deny you a claim for that. I’m going to make a note to investigate lower-priced options that better suit your needs, while resisting the urge to offer to buy it for you.” He glance up. “Unless you’d allow me to—”
“No, Aiden. Please.”
Color touches his cheeks. Of all the things that can drive a wedge between people, money tops the list. But to me, that means different money styles. I couldn’t be with someone who’d ring up debt and expect me to cover it. I also couldn’t be with someone who’d deny me every luxury or splurge. But this is another kind of money issue, when one person has it and the other does not, the gulf so incredibly wide that it seems to taint everything.
I scrape together pennies to pay for big-ticket items that Connolly could cover with a swipe of his black card. For him, overcoming the awkwardness means swiping that card. For me, it means not allowing him to.
“So the police were fake,” I say. “While it’d be nice to have their photos, I’m not sure it’d help. We’ll know them if we see them again. I don’t think we want the actual police investigating.”
“That’s what I told my lawyer. I was able to be honest with her. She’s part of the magical community, so I could tell her it was connected to a cursed painting, and she understands discretion is the preferred course of action. However, it does beg the question of who sent—”
My phone jangles with an incoming text. It’s a Boston address.
Msg: Painting 2.
“Oh, for god’s sake,” I say. Then I pause. “Literally in this case. I’m guessing this message is for Mercy. Who did not leave any way of contacting her.”
I’m about to ask Connolly for advice when the bell jangles.
“Really?” I say. I push open the door and nearly crash into Athene. She barrels past me and finds herself face-to-face with Connolly.
“You are not my sister,” she says.
Connolly only looks at me, as if to say he has no idea how to answer that. Athene reaches to move him aside, but he plants himself, arms crossed.
She sighs. “Marius’s boy, I presume. One of the Connollys that he’s taken an interest in.” Her gaze darts up and down him. “The older one. The responsible one. Adrian?”
“Aiden,” I say. “And you missed Mercy, but—”
She turns and strides for the door. I run into her path.
“Hey!” I say. “You’re not walking away this time. Yep, I’m a mere mortal and beneath your notice, but I have questions, and I think I deserve answers.”
She frowns. “You are not beneath my notice. Who said such a thing?”
“If I’m not, then you’ll stop treating me like the corner postbox.”
Her frown grows. “I don’t understand.”
I wave my phone. “I’m the messenger. A way of getting to Mercy and, possibly, you. It’s a truly shitty job, one I did not ask for, and I’m going to demand compensation in answers. Mercy thinks she knows who’s behind this, and she’s gone to confront them. But she must not have caught up with them yet, because they’re threatening to release another painting.”
“Which one?”
I stare at her for a moment before saying, “That’s your question?”
“Each painting has a different curse. The crying girl is the least of the hexes. Which painting has been released dictates how I should react, based on the statistical harm probability.”
I glance at Connolly, who nods. “She means that, with the crying girl, there was a very low probability of immediate danger. The painting must be placed. It must activate. It must scare someone poised in a precarious position, such as on a balcony or stairs, where they might fall to their doom. If it was a curse like that, it might be best to wait for Mercy to handle it.”
I take out my phone.
Me: Which painting?
Msg: The Eldest Daughter.
I show Athene.
“We must go,” she says, striding to the door and flipping my sign to Closed. “Follow me.”
“Uh . . .” I say.
She turns on her heel. “You want answers?”
“Yes.”
“You want to be treated as more than a mere ‘postbox’?”
“Yes.”
“Then come. I do not require your assistance, but you may join me anyway. You will do as I say. You will not question my orders. I will keep you safe.”
“Er . . .”
I glance at Connolly. He grimaces and shrugs. In other words, he doesn’t much like her attitude, but it’s better than being left on the sidelines again.
“Aiden has a car,” I say,
“As do I. We will take mine.”
“He’s a really good driver. And by ‘good,’ I mean he’ll get us there fast, with minimal regard for traffic laws.”
She shakes her head. “I take the driver’s seat. Always. Now come.”
“Adventure awaits,” I say.
Athene wheels again, so sharply I almost bash into her. “It is not an adventure. We are recovering a painting and saving lives, and that is not supposed to be fun.”
“Saving lives isn’t fun?”
She pauses. “All right, it’s a little fun.”
She wheels again and we follow her out the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Nineteen
I don’t know what I expected Athene to drive, but this fits. A very nondescript, very functional sedan. Connolly tries to take the back seat, but it’s small, and I’ll fit better, so I beat him to it and tell him he’s in charge of navigating. My job is interrogating the goddess of wisdom.
“Mercy says the paintings were from the fifteenth century,” I say as soon as she’s out of Unstable.
“Yes.”
“So they weren’t painted in the nineteen seventies?”
“I believe the answer to that is self-evident, Kennedy.”
“It’s not a question. It’s a prompt for you to explain.”
“I do not require ‘prompts.’ If you have a question, ask it.”
“Tell me the true history of the paintings.”
“Be more specific.”
Connolly glances back at me, and I roll my eyes.
“I saw that,” she says. “You really are Mercury’s child, aren’t you?”
“I feel like I’m feeding data into a computer,” I say. “You are human, right?”