Page 2 of Cheater Slicks

Nope.

Not going there.

Not today.

Notever.

“We’re going to figure this out.” Harrow crumpled his faded hat in his hand. “I promise you that.”

Had I still trusted him, I might have found comfort in his words, but I couldn’t quite relax into old habits.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Badb scowled at me through the glass, like she agreed with Josie that I shouldn’t be alone with Harrow. Or maybe I was projecting, and she had left her bird mirror in here and wanted it back. With her, it could go either way.

“I appreciate the in-person update.” I worked on ignoring herandAnunit. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I would say that’s what friends are for, but I don’t have that right. So, I’ll just say you’re welcome.”

To avoid yet another awkward silence, I scrounged up small talk. “When do you go back on duty?”

As if my eyeballs had minds of their own, they gravitated back to the door leading into the garage.

“I’m already riding a desk for SPD, but I’ve got a few months before the 514 assigns me any cases.”

Had Paco always had that slight limp? “Mmm.”

“Carter tells me Josie is living with her now.”

Maybe Paco should sit down, take five. “Mmm-hmm.”

“She also says you and Leer hit it off like old pals.”

Spirits carried over habits from their lives, but was he or Matty ginger on that right foot? “Ah.”

“And then I eloped with Josie, who wants to have fifty thousand babies with me.”

“Good.” I was definitely going to ask Paco to sit for a spell. “That’s good.”

“You’re not listening to a thing I’m saying, are you?”

“Wait.” I reeled my focus back to him. “What did you say about eloping?”

Last week Aretha mentioned having a crush on him, but surely she hadn’t put a ring on it that fast.

“Nothing.” His smile was small but genuine. “Call if you need me.” He cleared his throat. “For Matty.”

“For Matty,” I agreed, counting down the seconds from the time Harrow stepped out, Anunit on his heels, tail swishing, until Josie stepped in.

Three. Two. One…

“Well?” She avoided the chair where he’d sat like it carried radioactive plague cooties. “Anything new?”

Shaking my head, I rubbed my aching eyes again. No amount of lubricating drops had cured the dryness from reading grimoires during every stolen opportunity in search of a cure. No one at Bonaventure, even the oldest spirits among them, had ever heard of a condition with symptoms like Matty’s. They were the ones curating my reading list, adding titles that might help, but no luck so far.

“You need sleep.” She yanked the end of my unraveling braid. “I’m talking REM.”

“I’m getting in eight hours,” I grumbled, omitting how I spent most of them staring at the ceiling fan like a solution might drift down alongside some of the dust bunnies I needed to wipe off the paddles.

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