Page 151 of Beyond the Cottage

She didn’t ask what. He kept his own secrets as tightly as he did others’.

“How’s Brand?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him since he got back. Is he still mad at me?”

Philip snorted. “He’s been a goddamn ray of sunshine. I think he’s getting laid, regularly and well.”

“Really? You think he has a girlfriend?”

“Maybe. He won’t talk about it.”

Gretta would have to pry it out of him when they eventually got that coffee together. Whoever the mystery woman was, she’d better be good to him, or Gretta would have something to say.

“Anyway.” Philip slapped his palms on the table. “I have shit to do. Thanks for the coffee.” He started for the door, then turned to her. “You know…Nat can be an overbearing dick, but he really does care about you. We, ah. Both do.”

If the conversation got any sappier, Gretta was going to gag.

“Okay,” she said. “We’re one big fucked up family. Now get the hell out.”

Philip pulled up his hood. “My regards to your dust thief.”

Gretta rolled her eyes and shut the door behind him.

Chapter 52

Flying low to the ground, Gretta wove between squat buildings in the warehouse district. The temperature had turned unseasonably chilly, and the gray sky threatened rain. Men in slickers removed crates from freight carriages, blowing on their hands between trips.

She reached a red brick building with an advertisement for baking powder on the side and landed at its front door. After double checking the address, she pushed inside.

The warehouse had been repurposed into work spaces and art studios. She passed several doors until she reached one whose frosted glass window boreWallenfang Laboratoriescrisply painted in gold.

Gretta hesitated, heart pounding. What if he wasn’t there? She’d only come to drop off papers and check out his lab. If he’d decided to avoid her, an assistant could show her around.

Fumbling with the key Nat had sent her, she let herself in.

Ansel paused mid-sentence and looked up from the young man he’d been talking to. When his eyes met hers, all the oxygen blew out the door.

He looked…good. He’d cut his hair, and his chest seemed broader. Apparently, he hadn’t had any trouble eating, after all. Sleep must still elude him, though, because his eyes had dark smudges under them.

To her great disappointment, he wasn’t wearing a suit. His work clothes were rumpled as usual, but they looked new, and his open lab coat was pristine white. A shiny pair of gold spectacles hung from the breast pocket.

The man standing with Ansel rushed forward and took her cloak.

“Miss Fairleaf, I presume!” he said, pumping her hand. His grin displayed sharp vampire fangs. “I’m Emory, Mr. Wallenfang’s assistant.”

“Nice to meet you, Emory.”

“It’s wonderful to put a face to the name. Would you like me to show you around? If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate—”

“I’ve got her.” Ansel came forward. He stopped a distance from Gretta and clasped his hands behind his back. She tried not to think about the last time he’d positioned them that way. “Emory, would you please finish cataloging yesterday’s slides?”

“Of course, sir, right away. A pleasure, Miss Fairleaf, I’m at your disposal.” Emory dipped over her hand. He hung her messenger bag and cloak on a peg and disappeared behind a door.

Gretta smoothed her blouse as Ansel stared at her. Silence fell, stretching for days.

The past two weeks, she’d tried not think about their last conversation, but now it hung in the air like bad perfume. She wasn’t sure which of them wore it, who was at fault. She’ddownplayed her feelings for him, falsely believing it would make an impossible decision easier. And he’d been a dick about it.

That didn’t stop her from wanting to pick up his arms and drape them around her.

“He seems like a go-getter,” she said.

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