Page 32 of Hard Luck (Blackstone House)

Come over whenever you want, that’s what Cole had said to me. He hadn’t stipulated whether he needed to be there at the time, and nor had he specified the method of entry. There was no alarm, so it would take me less than a minute to get inside. Another twenty to give us eyes and ears. Tulsa or Dice would keep watch on the street, and we could add some motion sensors in the yard to give us advance warning if a new team showed up.

“What’s the budget?” Ari asked.

“Generous.”

“Enough for me to bring an assistant?”

“I didn’t realise you had an assistant.”

“Her name is Erin.”

“The chatterbox?” Echo had told me about her. “The lunatic who disrupted a World Surf Tour contest on live TV?”

“She’s good at improvising when the need arises.”

True. She just didn’t understand the concept of discretion.

“Bring her if you want, but keep her on a short leash.”

“Understood. Who should I address the invoice to?”

“You already know my name.”

“You’re covering the cost personally?”

Ari sounded surprised, and I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t exactly renowned for my philanthropy. The Choir’s good works included eliminating assholes before they could turn into even bigger assholes, thereby saving future potential victims from trips to the morgue or the hospital. Sometimes we rescued hostages too. Or carried out random acts of sabotage. Basically, if a non-standard task was considered damn difficult to impossible, and a successful outcome would benefit the world in general and the United States in particular, there was an above average possibility the job would land in our laps or those of one of our fellow point teams.

We didn’t throw paper towels at earthquake victims or deliver candy to war zones, and we definitely didn’t help out civilians with money troubles. Okay, so Sin had a habit of rescuing sick puppies, but that was as far as it went.

“I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“You’re reading too much into this. I just don’t want him to die.”

Tulsa scoffed at my protest as she rifled through the refrigerator. “Oh, please. You’ve never been concerned about a hookup’s mortality before.”

“Arepeathookup,” Sin added.

“He was there and I was bored, okay?”

“Bored?” Tulsa burst out laughing. “Sure, honey.”

“Rather than discussing my sex life, maybe the two of you could focus on looking for Jimmy? Do we have any more of these wall outlet cameras?”

“Try in Echo’s lair,” Sin suggested.

When Echo was in town, which was once every three months or so, she mostly hung out in the basement. Her choice. Ever since I’d known her, she’d favoured small dark spaces—she felt safer there, she said. Her room in Blackstone House hadn’t been much more than a closet. She’d been the last to move in, right after she stole Dawson’s laptop—rather than turn her in to the cops when he caught her, he’d taken pity and brought her home. She’d claimed to be sixteen at the time, although that was a lie. Thirteen was closer to the truth, but she’d looked twelve, and the rest of us agreed that fifteen was a good number. She definitely shouldn’t have been sharing a house with a bunch of reprobates and, as it turned out, a murderer.

Blackstone House.

The place had been a blessing and a curse.

I’d been seven months past my eighteenth birthday when I moved in, adrift and grieving. After losing my mom, I hadn’t wanted to hang around in Pennsylvania. What was left for me there? I’d graduated high school by the skin of my teeth, and the idea of spending the remainder of my life waiting tables in the Westside Diner or stacking shelves at the Spend ’n’ Save left me cold. Or cutting hair like my cousin, Pepper. If I hadn’t left town, I might possibly have strangled her.

I was ninety percent sure that it was Pepper who’d nearly gotten me expelled, but because smug was her default operating mode, an element of doubt crept in. She’d been positively delighted when Principal Coltrane had hauled me in for interrogation. I hadn’t cracked. Of course Ihadn’t. I’d claimed the two baggies of weed in my locker were for personal use, and rumours of a sales operation were totally unfounded.

Principal Coltrane was vehemently anti-drugs—ironic, seeing as his son was one of my best customers—but that episode had taught me something important: if you lied convincingly enough, you could get away with all kinds of shit. It was a lesson I’d taken to heart.

For a brief moment, I’d considered going into politics because I certainly had the right skill set, but three things stopped me.

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