“I’m more concerned about them hurting you, and I don’t want you to do whatever it takes, if it endangers your business. That’s my line in the sand, Connolly. If your business is at risk, talk to me before you make any decisions.”
“I will. As for the paintings, we’ll call Athene and Mercy as soon as we have a phone. No more of them running off and leaving you to face the consequences.”
“Agreed, but I think the best way to resolve this isn’t to rely on the immortals. It’s to solve this mystery ourselves.”
“Find out who’s behind it?”
“Yes, and I have a theory about that. Well, not about who’s behind it but about how to find that. I inspected the painting, and it’s old. I can’t say for sure it’s contemporary with the originals. It’d need a lab analysis for that. But it is Renaissance-style art painted over to match the seventies re-do.”
“Either it’s the original or it’s a very old copy. It wasn’t painted and cursed just for this. Whatever this is.”
“There’s the rub. What is this?” I sit up and cross my legs. “Someone is tormenting Athene to convince Mercy to weave a blood hex. A generational curse. The more I think about it, the more I don’t buy that.”
When he doesn’t answer, I add. “That doesn’t mean I think Athene and Mercy are lying. They believe the story. I don’t.”
“I agree. It all seems very haphazard.”
“Throwing paint—well, paintings—at the wall to see what sticks. Whoever’s behind this is all over the place. Interfering with Mercy’s ‘lesson’ for me. Sending fake cops after us. Threatening me by text. Then sending us running to an empty building where we discover Rosa’s body. And while that’s happening, they send yet another painting to your parents. Half of it is aimed at Mercy, and half at me, apparently to threaten Mercy by using me but . . .” I throw up my hands. “It’s a mess.”
“Chaos,” Connolly murmurs. “It’s not a plan. It’s planned chaos.”
“Intended to have even the goddess of wisdom and strategy running around like a chicken with her head cut off.”
Connolly sits upright. “If it’s about getting Mercy to weave a curse, it shouldn’t even involve Athene. Yet it clearly does.”
“Right. So the chaos targets Mercy and the paintings pull in Athene, who wants them gone and also wants to protect her little sister. Convenient that Athene and Mercy just happened to be together when all this started.”
“Because they were working on something. That’s what Athene said. They were busy doing something together, and now they’re not.”
“They’re distracted,” I say.
“We’ve arrived at the same conclusion independently. Well, I did after you nudged me, but I’d already concluded that the plot seemed suspiciously random. We mostly arrived at the same conclusion independently, which strengthens its statistical validity as a theory.”
“Have I mentioned how hot you are when you talk stats?” I lean over and kiss him. “So we accept that as a valid theory.”
He smiles. “That I’m hot when I talks statistics?”
“Nah, that’s established fact. We now think whoever is behind this scheme doesn’t want a generational hex. They picked something so extreme that Mercy would never agree. Which implies they know Mercy has been forced to do those curses in the past. An impossible demand means she’ll stay distracted rather than agreeing and getting back to what she was doing before. Do we have any idea what she was doing before? With Athene?”
“I hoped you might.”
I settle in beside him. “It’s almost six. The gas bar opens at seven. We’ll get gas and fetch the car, call Mercy and tell her they’re being misled.”
“Whatever it is, it’s local.”
“Hmm?” I glance over at him.
“The issue they’re resolving is local. Boston, New York, somewhere in New England. I had been thinking earlier that Athene must have been in the region already, considering how promptly she showed up in your shop. We know Mercy was nearby but busy, which is why she had Rosa set up the painting.”
I think about it. “In other words, I wasn’t chosen because I’m Mercy’s super-special protege. I was nearby and Mercy was testing me while she was in the area.”
“I still think you’re special.”
I kiss him. “And I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate it so much that I’m going to get the coffee maker going for you.”
I rise from bed. “I presume you weren’t planning to get an hour’s sleep before the gas bar opens.”
“I was not.” He rolls from bed. “Let me handle the coffee maker. You rest.”
“I am far too wired to rest. I saw vending machines in the lobby. I’ll grab us candy bars for breakfast.” I stop. “Or I would, if I had any cash.”
He opens his wallet and hands me a five.
I take it and say, “Just so you know, this isn’t a down payment for this month. You still owe me four cupcakes.”
“I’d like to know where in Boston I can get four decent cupcakes for ten dollars.”
“Fine. You can go as high as twenty, as long as they’re good. Or you just get me two, as long as I get repayment in other forms.”
I waggle my brows. He laughs and shakes his head as I gather my robe and head for the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thirty-three
Yep, I’m walking out of a motel room wearing nothing but a robe. Connolly did it last night, so I reason it’s fair game at a place like this. Also, it’s six in the morning, and the robe is long enough that no one knows what I do—or do not—have on under it.
The biggest problem with my current attire is the lack of proper footwear. I get two steps before I’m dancing on one foot and looking down to find myself barefoot on a crumbling sidewalk. Huh. It hadn’t seemed that bad last night. Right, because it was pouring rain, and I was really a lot more concerned with what the room looked like.
I continue picking my way along. It’s wonderfully quiet. Of course, that makes me wonder how loud we’d been last night and how thin the walls were and whether we’d disturbed our neighbors. But hey, it’s a roadside motel. I’m sure people expect that. Also, the parking lot had only been dotted with cars, so we probably didn’t even have neighbors.
It’s silent now as I make my way along, catching only the singing of birds and the flap-flap of something blowing in the breeze.
I reach the office, grab the door knob, yank . . . and nothing happens. I give it a twist and yank harder. The door flies open, sending me stumbling back.
Damn. Hopefully I didn’t break the door. I prop it open and step in, blinking against the darkness. It stinks, too. Last night, I’d noticed the smell of mildew, under an air freshener, now it’s just mildew.
There’s no one at the desk. I turn toward the vending machine, just inside the door.
The machine is empty.
I frown. I think hard, but I don’t remember whether I did more than notice there was a vending machine last night.