Page 13 of Black Bird

“And what’s that, dare I ask?” Dahlia leaned her face against her pale knuckles.

“That key player almost died outside your club this weekend. You need to tighten the leash on your lackeys.” The shrew gave her a pointed look.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The girl. She’s a carrier. One of yours attacked her Friday night and we almost lost one of the most important pieces to this little arrangement. It was hard enough securing that position at the main laboratory. Not to mention the strings I had to pull to cover our asses with the funding.”

Dahlia straightened in her chair, somehow still able to look down her nose at the senator who fidgeted beneath her stare. “I don’t know how a spineless little sprout like you would presume to accuse me of not handling my business discreetly, but I can assure you … if some human snack was found outside my door this weekend, I would have known about it. And I can also assure you it wasn’t anyone in this coven.”

“Her attack suggests otherwise. Bitten on the neck like every other you’ve left in these streets, only difference being that she actually survived.”

“That’s not possible.”

The senator smiled. “As long as she stays that way, I could care less.”

“If she survived then she was turned. And if she’d been turned, she no doubt would have burned the moment they opened a window and let the light in.”

“As I said … she’s a carrier. All the more reason for us to figure this out together and bring you out of the darkness. Which I’ll do. As long as that money starts filtering into my office and secures my spot in the senate.”

Dahlia huffed a laugh through her nose. “Mylackeys… took care of that problem at EverLife a few weeks ago. Nothing leading back to us. The blood was successfully contaminated, and the supply dwindled down to nothing. I’ve already had a meeting with the one I have dealing with that. Bodies are growing in number, and you’ll have your money and your heroism to flaunt soon enough.”

“Then I guess we’re done here.” Conrad clapped his palms together and stood, hooking a finger in the collar of his cardigan, and tossing it over his shoulder. “If I were you, I’d turn a TV on in this place every once in a while. It’s always best to stay in the loop. Good day, Miss Van Hausen.” He turned and Dahlia pressed a button on her desk to summon Devin who opened the door. She gracefully rose from her chair, tossing her platinum locks over her thin shoulders.

“Oh, senator?” Conrad paused, looking back toward her. “If you ever question me or my methods again, thenyou’llbe in a loop. And I’llenjoy watching you hang yourself from it.” She smiled sweetly at him, and he swallowed, adjusting his hideous tie before stepping out the door.

Yellow paint sputtered like a half-empty mustard bottle over a palette in Wren’s hand. She’d been staring at the canvas in front of her for over two hours now, and the paint she’d brushed across it had long since dried. The sounds of a shredding guitar blared in her earbuds as she mixed a color with her brush. Denver looked on, his bright green eyes following her every move as he stared at a painting that looked just like him. She smiled at the black cat as she started painting highlights in the eyes on the canvas. Wren had left the tattoo shop early today, unable to get her mind off the phone call that filled her very soul with overwhelming guilt.

She should have left with Sarah that night.

The hunky asshat from the club had proven to be worthless in bed anyway. She reminded herself that was the reason she only dated musicians. She had been a horrible friend. It broke her heart. They were supposed to be celebrating Sarah and her big job, but she’d managed to make even that about herself. That job had meant the world to Sarah and was the entire reason that she’d even moved here, otherwise Wren would never have even known her. Sarah had been so desperate to figure out what had killed her mother—the only true family she’d had left—and had spent years studying and staying in while Wren popped in and out of thrasher bars and nightclubs spreading herself thinner than she’d ever meant to.

When Wren had got her big break, tattooing under one of Boston’s most popular artists, Sarah had been so proud. So supportive. They had gone out that night too, and she had made sure that Wren’s cup was never empty. She’d also made sure that she had a safe place to puke and a warm bed to crawl into when she’d had way too much. That was more than she could say for herself as she dabbed her brush across light green paint. There had to be some way she could make it up to her. Maybe once Sarah had healed up enough to withstand it, she could cover that nasty scar with a fresh tattoo, and she wouldn’t have to look at the reminder of Wren’s selfishness in the mirror every day.

Or maybe that was just an excuse for Wren not to have to be reminded of it.

A faint beep sounded through her earbuds and briefly hushed the sound of her music. She sat down the brush and palette, pulling her phone from the pocket of her skull and crossbones night pants. Her thumb swiped across the screen and a message popped up.

Bitch-boy Brent: Sarah’s having an episode at the hospital. Get here now.

“Shit.” Wren panicked, ripping her earbuds out and dropping her phone to the table. She ran barefoot to her room, Denver hopping off the stool next to the easel and chasing after her.

He had tried, but by about two o’clock that afternoon, Athan found himself unable to sleep. He lay shirtless in bed with an arm behind his head while he stared at the screen of his phone. Rhaena hadn’t texted or called. He half expected her not to, if for no other reason than his rejection when she’d stripped down in his living room hours ago. He could see the brief flash of hurt in her brown eyes before he’d split. He tried not to think about whether that sting was because of the way he’d bolted to his room, or because of what he’d said to her before he did it. They weren’t exclusive and had a mutual understanding that sleeping together every once in a while was complication enough without adding unchecked feelings into the mix. But despite that, he hadn’t slept with anyone else in nearly fifteen years after he’d gotten himself out from under Dahlia’s thumb.

He had been honest with Rhaena, at least. Any other time he likely would have accepted her invitation and had her screaming his name against the wall. But he couldn’t do that tonight. It seemed wrong to have another woman’s face haunting his mind while he was driving into someone that wasn’t her. He wondered if Rhaena had made it to the hospital yet. Wondered how the girl, that was somehow already changing his life, had been faring since he’d left her to her rest and recovery. His thumbs rested over the keyboard on the screen, and he tried to figure out a way to usher another apology without sounding too much like he cared. He wasn’t sure what kind of person that made him. He settled on something that would rile her up instead.

Me: hey … any chance you could grab me a Porterhouse steak and some ice cream on your way back?

His mouth curled up in the corner as three little dots bounced up and down above the keyboard.

Northwood: go fuck yourself bud.

As expected. He huffed a laugh and tossed his phone on the bed beside him, easing from beneath the sheet and stepping over to his bedroom window. The October sun would be beating down on this side of the building right now. He raised his hand to move the blackout curtain and hesitated, his fingertips brushing the stitching around the edges. What would it be like to feel sunshine again? To truly feel it when it wasn’t suicide to step out into it? He cautiously moved the curtain back—an inch … two … three. His eyes stung from the harshness of what little afternoon sunhe’d let in, and he hid warily behind the safety of the curtain still in his grip. Athan’s phone dinged twice on his bed, breaking his concentration. He looked over toward it and then back to the foreign beam of light that shone before him.

He moved a shaking hand close to it and could already feel its warmth. How long had it been since he’d felt anything even close to that against his undead skin? Something ached in his chest. Without another attempt at trying to talk himself out of it, the shadow of his fingers cast itself along the floor and whatever feeling he’d initially felt roiling within his gut turned into calm, undiluted peace. He could almost weep. Maybe God hadn’t damned him after all. Maybe he’d sent the demon an angel—a second chance. Or maybe this gift was a temporary thing and if he didn’t attempt to receive it now, it would be gone forever.

Athan pulled the curtain further out, squinting against the intrusion of bright light as he slowly moved forward into it.

Moment of truth …

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