Page 14 of Riordan's Revenge

“Right. Courtesy of moi.”

I twisted my lips. “Besides, who knows what you’ll do to me in my sleep. Actually, for all I know you could just dope me again if you get bored.”

Her jaw dropped in pretty shock. “I steal one tiny needle and suddenly I’m the queen of sedation.”

“What did you do with the rest of Shade’s kit?”

“I never took it. After I found the note, I ran downstairs to Arran’s office to borrow a gun, discovered Shade’s little leather pouch, stole one dose then returned back upstairs. Ye were in my doorway and scared the life out of me.”

My view of events shifted. “You thought I was the killer? That’s why you took me down?”

“No. I knew it was ye. I shot out half the contents of the needle so I didn’t kill ye, and the rest is history.”

She could’ve lied. That alternate reality was a damn sight more acceptable than the truth, and more importantly, forgivable. But Cassie was unapologetically honest.

She bounced on her heels. “If you don’t need rest, want to watch a hockey match with me? I’ve got some work to do, but the matches are fun. The dudes really go for it with their fights.”

“We’re not friends. This isn’t a hangout.”

Cassie puffed out her cheeks and gave a rueful smile, giving up on persuading me. Pottering around the room, she collected a folder of paperwork and her tablet then settled on the couch. She switched on the TV and found a hockey channel, the sound on low, and got to work with a notepad, drawing up some kind of action list while referring to her paperwork and what looked like emails on her tablet.

I prowled the room.

If there really was a team of people arriving tomorrow, as her brother informed me, I could leave. Which meant there was only tonight for me to take my reading of Cassiopeia Archer.

Like the rest of the mansion, the structure of her big living room was high ceilings and crown moulding to within an inch of its life. It was a corner apartment, one floor up. The right-hand wall held three huge windows, the central of which opened onto a balcony, while the other exterior wall hosted a curved bay.

The view from each was concealed by heavy velvet curtains that ran ceiling to floor. They were a moody, stormy grey which made a plain backdrop along with the white plaster walls and the plush rug atop polished wooden floorboards. Even the sofa was linen-coloured, warmer where the pools of lamplight met. Here and there, gold accents brought the subtle hint of extreme wealth.

Time and time again, my eye was drawn back to Cassie. Her glossy black curls, her patterned playsuit, the boldness of her sea-blue eyes whenever she peeked at me.

She was a flare of colour in the calm surroundings. Unmissable.

I forced my attention off her.

The wall behind us, that held the exit to the hall, was heavily decorated with bookshelves and endless picture frames. Kids and adults smiled back, her family, clearly. Many were taken here in the mansion they owned. Some elsewhere in Scottish locations. Mountains, pine forests.

It told me how much she cared about her kin.

Back home, in the flat Gen and I had shared with her father, he’d kept photos of loved ones. I’d never made that list. I wasn’t sure anyone had a picture of me on display anymore.

I drifted over to Cassie’s books, unable to pull myself out of the comparisons. We’d never had a bookshelf. I’d never even had my own bedroom, sleeping on the sofa after our mother died and Gen’s dad was forced to take us in, and interest curled in my gut over the legacy of books Cassie had kept, presumably starting from when she was small.

A series of adventure stories featuring kids on a boat. Graphic novels with cute anime-style characters. Romance novels with skulls and daggers on the covers. Or half-naked men.

I’d always figured people kept bookshelves to show off collections of classics, like Austen or Brontë. Books you were forced to read at school. Not Cassie.

Interspersed between the different series were Funko Pop! characters, I guessed from the books, or maybe her favourite shows.

None of it screamed crazy. It all felt normal.

Until my gaze settled on an ornament at the end of the row. Next to a thick tome was a polished, bleached skull. The top of the cranium was hollowed out, and items were stuffed inside. A university identity pass. A ticket stub to see a band. Between the skull’s teeth was a piece of paper with the words ‘FAILS’. What. The. Fuck?

“Come on!”

I spun around at Cassie’s yell. She knelt on the sofa, a hand out in outrage. Her gaze slid my way.

“Sorry. That was a bad tackle. Check out the replay.”

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