“My ma’s recipe. Gotta hand it to her.” He pales for a moment; his mother went into a care facility a month back. I bankrolled the move because I don’t want to lose my nanny to an unforgiving guilt-induced care schedule, and because random acts of charity make me look all pleasant and grass roots. To Ethan, of course, I’m just helping. That’s what I do.
It’s a mere coincidence that he’s now able to spend three nights a week here, nights that I get to spend with Leo. Throw in a pay rise and he’s more likely to turn into a tap-dancing T-Rex than he is to refuse my requests for further overtime. Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your staff in a cage so glorious that they forget they ever wanted to escape. I’ll give you that one for free.
“We were just burning off a little energy before bed time.” Ethan rolls his jaw from side to side. “It’s kinda therapeutic, actually. I don’t not like it. You want to join in?”
Ash begins to chant, “Join in, join in, join in!”
“I need to find me some of these meatballs, is what I need to do.”
Oh, grasshoppers. If only I could get my therapy by dancing to Disney tunes. All of a sudden, a scene splashes through the darker corners of my mind: Leo stripped before me, all gooseflesh and sighs; the scalpel warm in my hand; Elsa blasting “Let It Go” into the tepid air around us. The fucking horror.
Ethan’s brow dips. “You okay, boss?”
“No.” I need brain bleach. “I’m soaked through. Give me ten minutes to shower, and I’ll be in for the bedtime story.” Because I’m damned if I let Ethan be more of an influence on Ash than me.
Eight minutes of hot, soapy metaphors for rebirth later, and I’m pulling on track pants, drying off my hair. Judging by the way Ethan tends to stare at my scars, I should probably put on a t-shirt too, but I like parading my stitches around because I know he thinks they’re badass, and I also like to remind him that I have well-cut abs. Keeps the food chain nice and even, you understand.
I’m about to leave for story time when my cell rings.
Leo calling.
Leo, as it turns out, has already called me twice.
I smile into the receiver. “You’ll never guess how many clothes I’m not wearing.”
“Have you heard anything from the office?” There’s a haunting vacancy in her voice; cold and breathless, as if someone just punched her in the gut.
“No. What’s happened? Did something break?”
“Finn called me. They found another body, Aeron. Another one of his.”
It’s like every light fitting in the apartment plummets to the floor. Just darkness, just smashed glass, just the steady thump of my pulse amid wreckage.
“Jesus. What do they have?” I grip the cell tighter. This is the problem with not having an assistant: there’s nobody at Lore Corp with the responsibility—or indeed, the balls—to call me out of hours. I rely on email, and there are already about seventy-two new ones in my inbox. Such is the pain of having a company that actually functions when I’m not in the building, as much as I’d like to pretend otherwise; I’ve created a monster that eats morals and shits money. “Did Posner contact the office?”
“No. Nothing like that. Finn says we got a tip off about the crime scene, and our teams are headed down there. Nobody’s got anything right now.”
“Good. Good. Listen—”
“Aeron,” she croaks, “I am not okay.”
“Sweetheart.” I heave a great sigh. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“I’m not scared. I’m not…it’s hard to describe. I haven’t eaten anything in like, two days. I can’t keep doing this.”
“What do you need?”
She goes quiet a second. Gulps. “Will you come over? Please.” And there’s the fear, twisting her tone into layered knots and tempting me like it’s the cherry on top of a goddamn sundae. “I know it sounds stupid, but I really don’t want to be alone right now.”
“Okay. Okay. I need to make a call, but I’ll be right over.”
“Thank you.” She exhales in relief, though it’s shallow.
I probably need to put on more clothes now, huh?
Posner picks up after a good seven rings, right around the time I’m trying to fasten my shirt buttons.