Page 15 of Burn for the Devil
Branko pressed his lips together. “I think it was too much for him. He felt responsible for Kiara and followed her.” He waited a moment to gauge my reaction. I didn’t give him any. “Victor’s sequestered in his home, and Ilya’s never there anymore. Buildings are falling into ruin, water is rising. Animals are roaming in areas they weren’t previously; it's just a mess. There’s insect swarms now too.”
“I’ve never seen it like that. I’ve seen war and times of conflict. But not that.” I shoved a book I’d pulled out back in its slot.
He cleared his throat. “No one has any idea what’s going on and no one can reach Victor. Not that he’d necessarily know. The only thing I can think of is because of Kiara. The decay isn’t widespread, yet. But its heading in that direction.”
I glared at him. “You have no way of knowing that.”
He nodded. “You are correct, of course. It’s the only change Maragret and I can think of.”
“What the fuck does she know? Or you? Neither of you are one of us.” I didn’t have the best past experiences with the man, between him playing multiple sides and then being my jailer—of sorts. For a while, his duty was to report my whereabouts to Lucian and Victor but over the past year, that responsibility faded.
“No, we’re not. I do think we’ve spent enough time around your kind to give consideration to the idea. We may be young, and mortal, but we do notice things.” Branko’s eyes sought the ceiling before he looked at me again.
My search for books of my own kind ceased. I had many, but I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I crossed the room, sinking into a seat. As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point, everything had been fine up until Kiara and her departure. There was also the matter of the tainted wine, I recalled, my gaze sliding to one of the offending bottles. It sat on a gilded tray, two sparkling crystal glasses accompanying it.
Branko noticed my perusal. “I heard about the curse. I can’t say I’m surprised.”
I scowled at him. “Are you enjoying my slow demise?”
“Yeah right, like that’d ever happen. The day you die is the day I grow wings. It makes more sense now, your mood swings.”
“You’re interrupting my dinner.”
He stood up, turning to face me. “Just be careful, okay?”
There was no time to be careful in the way he meant; I had things to do.
11
Samantha
The computer technician came and added several things to our system that I had no understanding of. He tried to explain what he’d done and how it worked. I was pretty sure my eyes glazed over. It didn’t matterhowit worked I just wanted it to do so, and quickly. The overeager young man looked uncomfortable when I told him as much. He left his business card on the table and exited my shop.
“Oh, thank God,” Toni muttered, getting comfortable in front of the computer. She glanced up at me quickly. “We really should know how to fix stuff like this on our own.”
“Maybe,” I conceded. “I’d much rather people didn’t do illegal things to begin with.”
“Good luck with that.”
Rolling my eyes, I said, “I’m meeting my mother for lunch. I’ll be back.”
Leaving my shop, I took a left around the corner. The walk wasn’t far, and it was less of a hassle to take the short stroll rather than search for parking. The commuter lots and public parking were generally full, and I didn’t feel like dealing withthat either. As a cold breeze swirled in my face, I debated my decision. Boston was brutal and its weather unforgiving. There was no snow or ice lately, but it felt like winter weather was about to descend, the darkening skies ominous.
The maître d at Henry’s looked at me curiously when I approached. “I’m meeting Grace Fern.”
The man perked up, giving me a friendly smile. “This way.”
The restaurant glowed with soft yellow tones and crisp linens starched to perfection adorned tables, framing the windows. An outdoor seating area lined one side of the establishment, with a latticed ceiling that had barely visible bird netting protecting diners from the hungry sparrows that sheltered in the eaves. My mother was seated at a table on the patio, the picture of perfection with her sharp pantsuit and elegantly coiffed hair.
She stood and kissed the air beside my cheek when I greeted her. “Mom, hi,”
“Sweetheart,” she replied, sitting back down. “Sparkling water for both of us, please,” she said to the employee who’d guided me. My mother had ordered for me as per usual, knowing my drink of choice.
Mom unfolded her napkin and rested it on her lap. “Did you get the computer situation sorted?”
Green glass bottles were brought to the table, uncapped, and poured into long-stemmed glasses. I murmured my gratitude. “Yes, just before I came here. What a pain. Hopefully it fixes the problem.”
She nodded. “Your father is strongly considering running for office, and we can’t be having issues such as this.”