Page 11 of The Death Dealer

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t think the Stephens woman is your intended target,” she said softly as she darted a glance toward the adjourning council members.

“What do you know?”

“I can’t discuss it here, but if you’d like to meet for a drink, I’m happy to tell you.”

He gave a brisk nod and, conjuring the name of a local restaurant close to where he was currently residing, slipped the note into her hand as he brought it to his lips to lightly kiss her knuckles. “See you at seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

“I look forward to it.”

Her smile was melancholy as she shook her head. “Don’t say things like that, Trev. You’ll have me believing you actually care to see me again.”

Jerking back in his surprise, he opened his mouth to insist that he did indeed care, but it would be a half truth. They both knew he would only allow himself to feel so much. He was a Death Dealer and was as jaded as they came.

“Until seven,” he said quietly, beating a hasty retreat. Maybe he was running from his demons, or maybe from his embarrassment, but either way, he hated that he’d hurt her for no good reason other than his stunted emotional growth.

As he stormed across the courtyard to the designated teleport area for contracted staff, he came face-to-face with Fintan Sullivan, the Seer. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what Fintan could tell him, but he decided against it. If there was anything life-altering, his friend would volunteer what he knew.

“Sullivan.”

“Blane.”

“Have you seen, er, uh, well, do you happen to know where Draven is?” Christ, it was always awkward asking questions of someone with psychic abilities without making them sound like a freak. Trev always stumbled over the simplest terms, much to Fintan’s amusement.

“Sure, and I’m not his keeper today, I’m not. You can always text the bastard.”

“I have. He’s gone radio silent since the tribunal for Sabrina and Damian a few months back.”

“Ah. Yeah, and he hated being pulled out of hidin’ to face the Fates, as he did.” The wry amusement on the Seer’s face told Trev that Fintan delighted in the fact.

“He’s worried it’ll happen again?”

With a careless shrug and fading attention, Fintan’s bright seafoam gaze turned inward.

A vision. The only reason he’d fade away so quickly was an important vision from the Sullivan ancestors.

Trevor gave him the time he needed to learn whatever it was they wanted to impart, and he kept a watchful eye on their surroundings. No one else seemed to notice Fintan had checked out or that his eyes had turned a cloudy white.

With a shudder and a gasp, his friend returned.

“Fuck me, and I hate when they do that,” Fintan muttered. “I’m after thinkin’ they do it deliberately, I am.”

“Anything urgent, or were they giving you the lotto numbers to replenish your bank account?” Trev tried for humor, but it fell flat. Or so Fintan’s glare told him.

“You can feck all the way off, yeah?”

Unable to help himself, he laughed. “Sorry, but if I had a gift like yours, I’d be a goddamned millionaire, dude.”

“Sure, and I am.” Fintan shot him a sharp look. “But then, so are you.”

Trev grinned but kept silent. There was no way in hell he’d confirm or deny what he made.

“What do ya want me to be tellin’ Draven if I’m toseehim?”

Chuckling at the emphasis on “see,” Trev said, “Just tell him to call me. I need a drinking partner and someone to talk me down from doing stupid shit.”

“Well sure, and I could do that.” Fintan shrugged when Trev’s brows shot up. “I mean, Icould, to be sure. But I won’t.” And in one of the rarest occurrences known to man, the Seer grinned and left Trevor shaking his head.

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