She tried to picture him back then. Had he been a gangly kid who ate two lunches and never filled out? The boy who sat in the back of the class and read comics? The track star? Nothing fit.
“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Charlie told him, bumping the toe of her sneakers against the van door. “I was a weird kid.”
Her boobs came in at ten, cresting over the tops of her Walmart bras. Between that and her home life, she’d kept her head down until high school, when she found ways to make herself look scary. Oversized clothes, lots of eyeliner, and hair that hung in her face. Frankenstein boots that she wore until the soles peeled off.
Vince gave her a heavy-lidded look and she wondered if he was going to make a joke.
“I like weird,” he said instead, and went back to disconnecting something on the car.
He had no idea.
A few moments later, Odette’s shiny purple Mini Cooper pulled into the lot. She got out, a voluminous black caftan billowing around her. The faded facial tattoos on her papery skin and the heavy silver piercings along her lips, cheek, and all the way up her ears made it clear that she’d been a badass while they were still in diapers.
She strode over to them, giving a wave with a gloved hand that had metal claws attached to the tips of the cloth.
“You’re a tall drink of water,” Odette said, looking Vincent up and down. Her gaze didn’t travel to the asphalt, to his missing shadow.
Vince wiped a hand on his pants and stuck it out. “Vince,” he said. “You must be Odette. Heard a lot about you.”
Charlie wondered what her boss saw when she looked up at him. He had dirty fingernails from working on the car. A lot of dark blond hair covering his face. Gray eyes that looked hollow in the wrong light. Handsome, in that broad-shouldered, hard-jawed way that seems to defy decadence. Handsome enough to annoy her when people looked at him, and then at her, and drew unflattering conclusions.
After a beat, Odette gave him her hand as though she were a queen bestowing it to a knight. “All bad, I hope.”
“Awful,” he agreed, giving her a lopsided smile.
Odette winked at Charlie. “The quiet ones always do surprise you,” she said.
Then she headed inside.
Vince was almost done with the repair when a Lexus parked behind Rapture, as far from them as possible. A white-haired man in mirrored sunglasses got out. He had a sport coat on and immaculate boat shoes.
“Is that guy lost?” Vince asked.
“He’s probably a client,” Charlie told him. Odette still had a few.
“Huh,” Vince said.
The man had to pass by them on his way to the main entrance. He kept glancing in their direction nervously.
“Some of the guys have been tied up by her for four decades,” Charlie whispered. That was a decade and change longer than she’d been alive.
“Rich,” Vince said.
“No doubt,” Charlie agreed. “It’s funny. None of them are ever what I expect. He looks like a regular businessman, the kind of guy who’d have a winter house in Florida, brag about his grandkids, vote Republican. Have a puppeteer on staff for corporate espionage but be too nervous to look them in the eye.”
Vince squinted at the man. “He’s wearing a Vacheron Constantin watch. South of France, for the house. He can afford it.”
Charlie frowned. “I hope she hits him extra hard.”
Vince turned back to the engine, and Charlie watched flies buzz around the lot. As the afternoon stretched late, it came to her that it was odd for Vince to know about a watch so fancy that she’d never even heard of it.
Maybe his grandfather with the limo knew about rich people. Or maybe Vince took stuff people left in hotel rooms. The idea that he might have secrets bothered Charlie, even though she had plenty. But he wasn’t supposed to be like her.
“Tell me about some of Odette’s other clients,” he said. “While I work.”
Vince loved gossip, even about people he didn’t know. If you met him, silent and six-foot-whatever, you wouldn’t think it. But he’d listen, and comment, like the stories mattered. He remembered the details.
Sometimes she wished he wouldn’t. It made her worried he was going to see through her patter and figure out the real reason she’d left the game.
Charlie had spent so many years in it. Robbing libraries, museums, antiquarian book fairs. Lied and charmed and conned, picked pockets and locks, and even once trapped a Blight in an onyx binding box. She might not have been magic, but she’d cross-pollinated the magical world like a bee.