The what?
But a man—young, fit—strode around the island counter and gave Marcie a kiss on the cheek. “Make me some, too, will you?”
“Anything for you.” Marcie’s voice was all warmth. “How’s Annabella?”
“Happy. She misses the babies.” The man turned and Layla almost fell off her stool. His coloring was unnatural, veins a dark gray driving through olive skin. He was bulky with muscle, like a trim boxer, and beautiful. His green-eyed gaze felt hot and piercing. If not for the strangeness of his skin, he could have been one of those intensely beautiful watchers from the street in New York. Yes, exactly like them.
“You’re Layla?”
She nodded. What weird thing are you?
“Well, you seem okay now. Adam’s call made it sound like I’d killed you.” He took a seat next to her, elbows on the counter, fingers laced, head tilted to keep his gaze on her face.
“Killed me?” She tried for a smile, as if to say, Please don’t.
“The gate. I had no idea I could hurt anyone by banging on it. I am very sorry that I caused you pain.” The intense concern in his expression proved the truth of his words.
“So it is real.”
“You bet. And since I harmed you by trying to dismantle it, I figure you ought to know.”
Khan had tricked her then. He’d done something with the warehouse, or her head, which bore some thought. Quiet thought. “I think I’m okay. I don’t hurt now.”
And actually, she didn’t. She only felt hungry—a new batch of pasta hit the pan—and that was about to be taken care of. She would deal with the rest later.
“The damn gate didn’t take a dent either.” The man gripped his shoulder. “But I’m sore.”
“Khan made it.” Which was to say, he used magic. “So it’s not . . . ordinary,” she finished lamely.
The man dropped his gaze to the counter and seemed to fight a smile. “‘Khan,’ huh?”
“Yeah.” Why was that funny? “And you are?”
He looked back over. “I’m Custo. It’s interesting to meet you, Ms. Mathews. You pose quite a conundrum.”
“Me?” This from the guy with lead in his veins. Who were these people?
“Adam says you were sneaking around the grounds a few days ago. Well, you got what you wanted. You’re within Segue now, God help you. Made it all the way to the kitchen, which means there’s no going back.” He chuckled. “Least not after tasting Marcie’s food.”
Marcie smiled over her shoulder at him as she plated the pasta and set it before Layla. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” Marcie said with a grin. “What kind of work will you be doing here, Layla?”
Layla noticed the amused arc of Custo’s brow. “Yes, Ms. Mathews, how will you be earning your keep?”
He’s putting me on the spot on purpose. He knows why I’m here; he just wants me to admit it out loud so Marcie understands, too. Well, it’s best to be up front about everything. “I’m working on a feature story about Segue and the origins of the wraiths, and frankly, it might make trouble for some here. But I’m happy to pitch in with whatever needs doing.” She gave a game smile and added brightness to her voice. “I call dishes.”
Layla waited for warm Marcie to turn cold, but instead she winked at her while handing Custo his plate. “She’ll do dishes? I like her already.”
“Yes, it’s always best to be up front,” he said. “I’m glad we agree on that point.”
Layla froze, fork midway to her mouth. Did I say that bit aloud?
“Nope.” He took a huge bite.
Layla carefully put her fork down. He read my mind.
Mouth full, Custo gave her half a grin and a howdy-do nod, confirming her suspicion. Marcie had gone quiet, stealing a quick glance at them both, then put dishes in the sink. Her sudden retreat set the butterflies flying in Layla’s belly.
Custo looks weird and he can read my mind.
“I can’t help the way I look,” he grumbled and shoved another bite in his mouth. He chewed casually, at home, without care. As if this wasn’t a huge deal.
Layla slid off her stool and backed away from Custo, who went on eating. First Khan, the sudden pain from the gate, then the ghost, now this. She put her hands on her skull to smother her thoughts. Any thoughts at all, but still they came. So invasive, but don’t overreact. He looks weird, yes he does, weird. These people are freaks of nature. I can’t help my thoughts, and anyway it isn’t how he looks that bugs me. It’s the mind-reading thing. No privacy. I have a right to think what I want. Feel what I want. It’s what a person does that’s important.
“I hate it myself, and my wife has banned me completely from her brain. I keep telling her that there are times when it could be useful”—he waggled his eyebrows—“but she won’t budge.”
“Can I ban you from my brain, too?”
He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Sure. I found out what I needed to know anyway.”