Page 103 of Pitiful Lies

“That’s right. Buffy had an appointment today at the herpetologist’s lab,” Luc says.

He laughs.

Nico joins him.

And Adrik mutters something in Russian.

The car that took Giselle is approximately thirty-five minutes ahead of us, but I’m breaking every traffic law to catch up.

Hold on, Koukla. I’m coming for you.

It’s a promise I mean to keep.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE-GISELLE

“Get up.”

An unfamiliar voice is talking in my ear and the next thing I know, someone is slapping me across the face.

“Ow! Okay, okay,” I respond and stumble as I am yanked out of the car.

“Hold this,” the same voice says and thrusts something at me.

I open my eyes and try to catch the carrier as Chen pushes it into my hands.

Buffy is heavier than she looks, and I stumble under the weight of the thing.

“Um, please,” I say, shaking like a fucking leaf.

“Afraid of a little python?” Chen laughs, and so does his driver.

I don’t think they know what kind of snake Buffy is, and I don’t know if it’s important or not. But it might be.

Trusting the snake to stay inside the thing, I rearrange it in my arms and follow the driver while Chen aims a gun at my back.

“Keep walking. Good. Now wait,” he says.

And I do. I have no choice.

It’s still light out, but I know it is later in the evening. The sun doesn’t set until around eight or so, but even with the diminishing light this place looks familiar.

We pulled into the back of an enormous brick house and are headed inside what looks like an old-fashioned double garage that sits behind the main structure.

“Inside,” Chen orders, and I have no choice but to obey.

Ten minutes later I am tied to a chair in the middle of a room and Buffy, the poisonous black mamba, is at my feet in her travel tank.

The driver is guarding the door, holding a very large, deadly looking gun, and Chen is on the phone.

I don’t understand what he’s saying. It’s not English, but I don’t recognize the language either.

A few minutes later, I see someone approaching the door and I narrow my gaze. She looks familiar too.

Holy. Shit.

I know where I remember this place from. We’re in Boston. At Margaret O’Doyle’s house.

“What the fuck, Chen? You brought her here!” she yells.

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