He nodded. “I’l be in touch.” The image of his place grayed out, and I turned back to the riad before I was, once again, staring into a black hole. It just felt like I was doing too much of that lately.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Monique Landry had probably been born smiling. In fact, I’d never met a person I believed more when she said, “I’m delighted to know you!” This was a lady who ran a hotel because she’d be lost without company.
She almost never talked about herself, but Bergman liked to know as much as he could about the people inside his comfort zone. So he’d fast discovered that our hostess had been born in Paris to a family with money so old it reeked of mildew and rotten grapes.
Similar story with her husband, who’d spent most of his youth jumping off cliffs and out of airplanes because, apparently, the guy couldn’t get enough thril s driving his Jaguar at ful throttle. When he final y landed badly and broke his pelvis he met Monique, who’d decided to fil her boring days with a career in physical therapy. They had two kids, now in col ege. And he’d died less than two years ago while attempting to relive his youth. Turned out the guy who’d packed his parachute had been drunk at the time.
Monique rarely mentioned Franck, though she did say he was the one who’d hired Chef Henri. And good on him for finding such an excel ent cook. Every morning he spoiled us with a bounty of home-baked breads, herb butters, freshly squeezed orange juice, and mint tea. Which was probably why I’d gained a couple of pounds despite the stress related to my current mission.
In fact, as I stood at the door where the lounge entered the courtyard, my mouth was already watering from the smel s Henri had risen early to tempt us with. But as soon as my foot hit the tiles I lost my appetite. Because laced with the aroma of homemade goodness was the psychic scent of a newcomer. Wouldn’t Vayl just ride the smug al around the block to know his always-be-prepared lessons had saved me yet again?
The source of my change in breakfast plans sat in the shade of the gazebo. He was tapping his fingers against his thigh to a rhythm only he could hear while he watched Monique put the finishing touches to the breakfast buffet.
She lined up the elegantly folded napkins, futzed with flowers so yel ow they made me blink, then poured a couple of glasses of juice and joined him.
I should too. I knew that. Casual y, like my heart wasn’t trying to make a break for the street. Instead I stepped through the open door, silent as Astral on her best day. Five quick steps took me to an enormous banana plant, one leaf of which could’ve wrapped al the way around me. Which wasn’t a bad idea. Because despite what I’d told Cassandra, I wasn’t ready to see Sterling, much less talk to him.
But by the way he sat, long legs stretched out in front of him, his bare feet crossed at the ankles, it looked like I couldn’t count on him leaving anytime soon. He set his glass on the table and linked his fingers over his flat stomach. His piercing black eyes moved from Monique’s to the serenity of the pool and back again as they talked quietly and waited for me to show.
Part of me (one guess which) blew out a sigh of admiration. Something had altered in him since last time.
Though his hair was just as black, long, and flowing as I remembered, he looked… grown up. His heather-green shirt was unbuttoned far enough to reveal a silver chain holding a black onyx amulet that looked like dozens of midnight-tinted lightning bolts had fused at a single point. At their center a silver sphere glittered so bril iantly it gave the il usion of rotation. He stil wore the wide bone bracelets il usion of rotation. He stil wore the wide bone bracelets that had made him famous. Their color complemented his khaki cargo pants, which hugged hips and thighs with the long, slender shape reserved for an endurance runner. My old adversary might spend his weekends jamming with his buds, but it looked to me like Monday morning found him pounding down the miles at his local track.
I couldn’t even get my feet to move. Because, you know, what if I pissed him off? Again? I knew exactly what he was capable of pul ing off these days. And I hadn’t lied to Cassandra when I said I’d changed. Now it did matter what happened if he decided to reach into one of his pockets, pul out a pinch of shawackem dust, and wait for me to turn my back before sprinkling it on my toast.
He rose from his seat, slow and lazy, just another guy who’s ready to nap after a good meal. But I knew he was a cheetah. If the mood took him he could tear territorial intruders into pieces so smal even the vultures would snub them.
Monique stood too, looking confused. He put her at ease with his let’s-share-stories grin. “We have company,” he said.
“We do?”
“She’s cowering behind the banana plant.” Oh! Well, that’s just—I am not! I stomped right up to him, trying to glare the smirk off his face. It didn’t work.
Monique rushed into the awkward silence with the grace of a born party planner. “Your friend arrived early this morning,” she told me. “He said you were expecting him?” She raised her eyebrow just enough to let me know that under the civilized veneer lurked a she-bear ful y capable of throwing the guy into the gutter if he turned out to be an asshole.
“Yeah, I… yes, I invited him. I was thinking he could room with Mr. Berggia. I’m just surprised to see him so soon.” So how do you greet a guy who— aw shit, really? —
wore a smal white scar on his forehead because of you? I said, “Thanks for coming, Sterling.”
He’s goddamn Harry Potter. Which makes me Voldemort. I am, officially, the most evil bastard on earth.
And I don’t even have a mini me to pawn off the guilt on!
Grannyyy!
Sterling said, “It’s been a while… Madame Berggia.”
“Yup.” I held out my hand. “Thanks for coming.” I waited.
When he shook it, I felt an extra slap on top of the jolt that always hit me when I touched him, which I’d only done this time to show my genuine appreciation. I looked at our linked hands and noticed his pinky ring. Nothing fancy, just a silver band with some deep black engraving. But my Sensitivity told me it was just as powerful as the amulet and bracelets. The hairs on the back of my neck only began to lie down after I pul ed my hand away. Which was when I felt like I could breathe again. So, apparently, could Monique.
Her sigh actual y left a mist on my cheek.
Sterling said, “Cassandra told me you’re offering to pony up a new trumpet.”
I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I figured you’d put me on a hunt for your favorite whiskey instead.”
“Naw.” He pointed to the pocket where he knew I kept my cash. “This job’s gonna cost you more than booze, Chil .” So he hadn’t forgotten my nickname.
“Fine, you want a trumpet? You got one.”
“I’ve changed instruments. It’s al part of my ten-year plan. Now you’re going to have to buy me a guitar.”
“Deal.”
“I’m not finished negotiating.”
“Oh?” Shit! I should’ve bartered. Then he wouldn’t have realized how desperate I was for his help.