Page 72 of Guarded By the Nightmare

“That’s foolhardy. They might try to shoot you.”

“If they do, you’ll protect me,” she said, while pulling me forward. “We need to find out more information this time, Sylas. I think we should try talking to them.”

“Why? They’re not going to tell you anything without pressure. The Wolf has them scared.”

“I know you’re right—but once we’re inside, I can stall, and you can search everywhere, and it won’t matter what they say,” she pressed. “Don’t get me wrong, I like torture, and Garrett’s gonna die, but I bet there’s a lot of history in there. These assholes commemorate everything. Trust me?”

I made an unhappy sound. “I do.”

“Thank you, baby,” she said, then walked right up to the front door.

There wasn’t a doorbell, just an ominous gold wolf’s head shaped door knocker.

At least we were in the right place.

Mina shouldered her purse, and then grabbed it, tapping it politely on the door. Shortly thereafter a frail-looking elderly woman in an ivory pantsuit opened it up.

“Mina Moore,” she said kindly. “We’ve been expecting you. Garrett’s not here right now, sweetie. Would you like some tea?”

“I’d love some, thanks,” she said, as the woman let her in.

54

MINA

I felt awkwardthe second I walked in—not because I was having a hard time imagining murdering Garrett’s grandmother, although I was, but because I was probably the first woman who hadn’t worn pastels in this house for a decade.

Everything in her house that wasn’t a dark warm wood was different shades of ivory, ecru, or eggshell, from her sofas that looked like no one had ever sat on them, the white roses in vases that we passed, all the way down to the two yappy dogs that came out to dance around our feet.

“Monet! Picasso! Settle down!” she commanded, and they backed off, following the two of us from a few feet behind.

“So you, uh, know who I am?” I asked her, following her to her spacious kitchen’s breakfast nook. She gestured for me to take a seat, so I did. I had no idea where Sylas was, but I didn’t feel particularly in danger currently.

“I know you’re the reason Garrett’s had to go into hiding. But, unlike the others, I think you can be reasoned with.” She set a kettle toboil. “Chamomile?” she asked.

“Sure. Why not.”

I watched her putter around her kitchen.

“You’re not the first, you know,” she commented. “I’ve been around the block.”

“The first to . . . ?” I wondered out loud.

“To want to get ahead,” she said, as the tea kettle whistled. She took it off the heat and poured a generous amount into a white mug for me. “I’ve seen a lot of girls here in my time. Saying things. Most of them untrue. Some of them, though...maybe? Garrett’s grandfather had an uncle. He was...rough.” She set the mug in front of me.

Nothing about the moment belied the fact we were talking about sexual violence.

“Drink up,” she said, pouring herself a mug, and sitting across from me.

I got a slight sense of déjà vu, as I picked up my mug and pretended to take a sip.

I wasn’t going to drink a goddamn thing anyone associated with the RRP gave me, ever again.

She gave me a smile with thin, pink, lipsticked lips, and took a deep drink from her own.

“But here’s the thing, sweetie. Most of those girls were just looking for a check. So,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her pantsuit to bring out an ivory-colored checkbook. “How much?”

“I don’t want your money,” I said.

---