Bryce walked over to the desk, stifling the limp. She perched on the edge. “The Governor must be desperate.” And insane, if he was asking for her help.
“I don’t care about the Governor’s agenda,” Jesiba said. “Play vengeful detective all you want, Bryce, but do remember that you have a job. Client meetings will not take a back seat.”
“I know.” Bryce chewed on the inside of her cheek. “If whoever is behind this is strong enough to summon a demon like that to do their dirty work, I’ll likely wind up dead, too.” Very likely, given that she hadn’t decided if or when to make the Drop yet.
Those gray glittering eyes roved over her face. “Then keep Athalar close.”
Bryce bristled. As if she were some little female in need of a big, strong warrior to guard her.
Even if it was partially true. Mostly true.
Totally and definitely true, if that demon was being summoned again.
But—make a list of suspects, indeed. And the other task he’d given her, to make a list of Danika’s last locations … Her body tightened at the thought.
She might accept Athalar’s protection, but she didn’t need to make it easy for the swaggering asshole.
Jesiba’s phone rang. The female glanced at the screen. “It’s Tertian’s father.” She threw Bryce a warning glare. “If I start losing money because you’re off playing detective with the Umbra Mortis, I’ll turn you into a turtle.” She lifted the phone to her ear and the feed ended.
Bryce blew out a long breath before she hit the button to close the screen into the wall.
The silence of the gallery twined around her, gnawing at her bones.
Lehabah for once, seemed to not be eavesdropping. No tapping on the iron door filled the thrumming silence. Not a whisper of the tiny, incurably nosy fire sprite.
Bryce braced her arm on the cool surface of the desk, cupping her forehead in her hand.
Danika had never mentioned knowing Tertian. They’d never even spoken of him—not once. And that was all she had to go on?
Without Briggs as the summoner-killer, the murder didn’t make sense. Why had the demon chosen their apartment, when it was three stories up and located in a supposedly monitored building? It had to be intentional. Danika and the others, Tertian included, must have been targeted, with Bryce’s connection to the latter a sick coincidence.
Bryce toyed with the amulet on the end of her golden chain, zipping it back and forth.
Later. She’d think it over tonight, because—she glanced at the clock. Shit.
She had another client coming in forty-five minutes, which meant she should get through the tsunami of paperwork for the Svadgard wood carving purchased yesterday.
Or maybe she should work on that job application she’d kept in a secret, deceptively named file on her computer: Paper Vendor Spreadsheets.
Jesiba, who left her in charge of everything from restocking toilet paper to ordering printer paper, would never open the file. She’d never see that among the actual documents Bryce had thrown in there, there was one folder—March Office Supply Invoices—that didn’t contain a spreadsheet. It held a cover letter, a résumé, and half-completed applications for positions at about ten different places.
Some were long shots. Crescent City Art Museum Associate Curator. As if she’d ever get that job, when she had neither an art nor a history degree. And when most museums believed places like Griffin Antiquities should be illegal.
Other positions—Personal Assistant to Miss Fancypants Lawyer—would be more of the same. Different setting and boss, but same old bullshit.
But they were a way out. Yeah, she’d have to find some kind of arrangement with Jesiba regarding her debts, and avoid finding out if just mentioning she wanted to leave would get her turned into some slithering animal, but dicking around with the applications, endlessly tweaking her résumé—it made her feel better, at least. Some days.
But if Danika’s murderer had resurfaced, if being in this dead-end job could help … Those résumés were a waste of time.
Her phone’s dark screen barely reflected the lights high, high above.
Sighing again, Bryce punched in her security code, and opened the message thread.
You won’t regret this. I’ve had a long while to figure out all the ways I’m going to spoil you. All the fun we’re going to have.
She could have recited Connor’s messages from memory, but it hurt more to see them. Hurt enough to feel through every part of her body, the dark remnants of her soul. So she always looked.