This, this so not my job. This what Sam do, and I maybe help a little. I drive the car.
Still, there’s no one else. I need my Samara. And if I don’t find her, no one will.
I back up. Explain. We were supposed to meet at airport for our honeymoon. Sam said she had some last-minute details to fix.
Intoxicating notes floated through the air as I quietly opened the door. I took a deep breath and entered.
My former detective partner had her back to me and clearly hadn’t heard me enter. I hesitated before clearing my throat to announce my presence.
She stopped and set the violin down. “Isaiah Glisent.”
Archie peered out from the small tent as the sun began to rise. The propane heater did little to break the cold as he and Lily huddled among a mound of sleeping bags and blankets, staring through the small window.
Their equipment was spread around the floor of the tent. Flashlights lay between them.
Light burst across the room, exploding in a shower of sparks.
Chaimon lowered his pen and glanced up from the treaty spread across his desk. Ah, he’s back.
When the sparks faded, a familiar figure materialized. Dressed in a black coat and matching fedora, his outfit looked out of place in the castle’s study where Chaimon’s sword collection covered the stone walls. Then again, a time traveler couldn’t help obscurity.
“You have to admit, Ramses, this round of The Demigods of Demolition was awesome. Watching Hercules pin Nessus the Centaur in three rounds was amazing,” Bernie said.
We were waiting for a taxi and hiding from the varied rush of people and creatures leaving Asterian Arena, home to the Alliance of Legends Wrestling Federation. I’d never seen my partner so animated.
Something happened today, and if Papa finds out…
He can’t know.
He can’t know I have Voices.
When I first heard the murmurs early this morning, I almost jumped out of bed and ran to tell him. I’m lucky I caught myself. If he knew his apprentice—his own son—was a Voicer… I already disappoint him enough.
Aba was gone.
I massaged my temples to clear my thoughts. He’d be back in a week from the old country after clearing up some marriage paperwork. I had to keep busy.
I picked up my purse to leave when a man stumbled in.
He was as unkempt and golden as my Aba was groomed and dark. His long, greasy tresses draped across his shoulders. His clothes, ripped and dirty, barely hung on his gaunt frame
Flashes of memory assaulted me—wandering alone in a blizzard, standing on the edge of an icy sea, the word “DEAD” flashing in the air. And always, waking up in the same place.
Everywhere I looked, prismatic light reflected off a sparkling surface. And the cold crept into my bones.
How in Hades could a three-headed dog escape the Underworld, cross the river Styx, and enter the world of the living without me immediately hearing about it? But Cerberus has managed it somehow. So here I am, calling his name like an idiot in the middle of New York City at what must be the busiest time of the year.
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“You want to marry me?”
Aba gave me a sad little smile. “Aye, my beauty detective. Want, but cannot.”
The first set of words I’d longed to hear since I’d laid eyes on him nearly six months ago. The second set made me want to strangle him.
It was 7:00 p.m. on a muggy summer Sunday—a time when any sane man would’ve been at home with a cold one, but there’d been word that the gangster known as Jitters was bringing in a shipment that night—and I was at the station, trying to find somebody who knew something.
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“What the hell are you doing here?”
Neal was surprised that Lena, who was staring down his reflection in the vanity’s mirror, hadn’t asked the more obvious question: why was Neal aiming the gun at her back? Or maybe it was the right question; he still hadn’t pulled the trigger.
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