“So I thought until now.” She watched him pace. “What has gotten into you?”
“This role doesn’t suit me.” He struck up an old argument to give him time to deal with what he might have done unawares. “Lethe was allowed to work security details, she held down a position at the Faraday, and she traveled.” Dragging his sister into their conversation made him feel like a child, but this was their mother. “Why is it you keep me inside the city limits? You won’t even assign me a job. The only schedule I’m given involves the women you expect me to wine and dine that week.”
The rest of his time was devoted to his personal cause and had nothing to do with the pack.
“When Lethe was heir, she had more freedom because I still had you.” His mother sighed. “She is an alpha now, and you are my sole heir. Until you have children, I must keep you close. We protect too many old ones to allow the leadership of this pack to be decided by brute strength. We need brains, not brawn, in order to protect the haven we have created.”
“A killer is hunting our people—”
“You appointed Ford as your proxy to aid Hadley in whatever capacity she needs. It’s called delegation, and it’s key to avoiding burnout when you’re in a leadership role. Particularly when you’re new to shouldering so much responsibility.”
“Are you telling me you never want to put down your planner and step out on the street?”
“When I was your age? Yes. Now? I’ve settled into my role and embrace all the battles and challenges that come along with it. They may not be physical, but they’re just as strenuous.”
He quit pacing and faced her. “I’m doing my best to adapt.”
“I know.” She rose and crossed to him. “I can tell it’s hard on you. Hard for you. You’ll get there.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
“That’s what mothers are for.” Noticing the tablet, she beamed. “You were talking to Lethe? How’s our little Eva?”
The rest of her visit fell on safe conversational grounds. They talked about Lethe, about Eva, about everything but the dark cloud hanging suspended over the city.
In her mind, Ford was on the job. She let it go without a backward glance, but Midas struggled. Beyond the first crime scene, he shouldn’t have appeared at a single other. He should have left Hadley and Ford to handle the matter, but he had trouble taking a step back, watching from the sidelines. It wasn’t in his nature to sit and wait.
After his mother left, when he had a moment alone, he looked at his hand, knew if he rubbed his fingers together, he could recall how soft and warm Hadley’s skin felt under his.
“I didn’t mark her,” he reassured himself. “I wouldn’t do that to her.”
Or to himself.
Reclining on his mattress, he fell asleep and did not dream of hazel eyes or wild blonde hair.
Neither did he touch the scraps of pastel fabric tucked under his mattress that somehow still smelled like her.
Fourteen
The absolute best thing about my cover as a Peachy Keen Sheets franchise owner working out of a mall kiosk was having no boss to rap my knuckles when I brought a laptop with me and dismissed the ebb and flow of humans out looking for a quick bite and to incur a little debt. Veteran shoppers and locals cut a wide path around most vendors. Your odds of being approached increased exponentially when you actively ignored potential customers. It lulled them into a false sense of security.
Some gadget peddlers got downright aggressive with their sales tactics, and it was entirely possible to walk out of a store and into the arms of a man or woman who gooped product on your face before you could escape then dragged you to their kiosk where you could rinse off before they moved in for the kill.
Doesn’t your skin feel softer? See how well the product works? Wouldn’t you like to achieve this effect in your own home? How many jars should I put you down for? Oh! Did you know we sell lotion as well? And lip balm? And eye cream? And, and, and.
Tourists and out-of-towners were the easy marks, and phew boy had I seen some spectacular takedowns in my time working this corner.
The four hours I warmed my stool earned me enough pocket change to purchase special edition DVDs no sane person would ever watch with me and allowed me to mingle with humans and supernaturals alike.
While I counted down my last thirty minutes, I reread the preliminary report on what the cleaners were calling the Perkerson Eight.
Thanks to Reece, I knew the saliva in the bite wounds matched those found on Shonda. So did the bite imprints. Not that it surprised me considering their middles had been scooped out like ice cream. Tying the cases together gave me a firmer grip on them, but I was still trying to catch smoke with my hands.
The timer on my phone beeped, and I shut my laptop before locking up my merchandise for the night. It wasn’t hard for me to sell the product. I didn’t have to lie or wheedle. I honestly liked the sheets. They were soft, almost fuzzy—like peaches. Tonight I couldn’t work up the enthusiasm to snag innocent shoppers and beat them over the head with our color of the month. I had too much else on my mind.
Thankfully, my stipend from the Office of the Potentate covered my bills. Otherwise, I would have had to hustle to make ends meet.
Even with the OPA covering my rent, I had utilities, groceries, and Swyft bills. Living downtown was expensive.
Then again, I had always lived with my folks. Maybe the cost of living wasn’t high so much as I just wasn’t used to paying it. Back home, I’d had a job at a Southern belle-themed ghost tour company and been a full-time student. The only expenses I’d had were clothes, fun, and gourmet chocolate.
Taking the path that promised the least amount of exposure to my fellow kioskers, who were a cannibalistic species willing to snatch a dollar from another entrepreneur as quickly as from a tourist, I sought out the bright station papered with intricate henna designs and other temporary tattoos.
“Hey.” I walked right up to the artist. “Saanvi, right?”
“And you’re Hadley.” She set aside the brush she was cleaning. “How can I help you?”
“I have a design I’d like you to look at, if you don’t mind.” I opened my laptop then showed her the cropped image of the foot bearing a henna tattoo. “Do you recognize this pattern?”
“No.” A frown gathered between her eyes. “This isn’t one of mine.”
The expected response, but it still sucked to hear it confirmed. “Does it hold any special significance?”
“Feet connect the mind, body, and spirit to the earth.” She pointed out a circular flowerlike design. “That’s a mandala. They signify success, courage, prosperity, and wealth.” She traced the border with a fingertip. “The rest is mostly paisley, for fertility.” She withdrew, as if the photo unsettled her but she couldn’t pinpoint why. “These are common patterns. You see them at weddings or stalls like mine.”
“Thanks.” I passed her a twenty for her time. “I appreciate your insight.”
On my way out, I hit one of the food court restaurants for dinner. Bourbon chicken, fried potatoes, and glazed noodles confused about their nationality were my go-to fave, but I was open to suggestions.