Page 64 of White Raven
She pointed, and sat up, covering herself with the sheet. “If we’re gonna do this? Then you’re gonna have to spare me the rich-kid shit likethat.”
He smirked, dragging a hand through his sweaty hair. “You rather me go down in my birthday suit?”
“Better that suit than the ones you usually sport.”
He shook his head and pointed at her. “Stay. You talk a lot of shit, Vintorri, but that shower ain’t broke. Be nice, and I’ll pretend I don’t see you enjoy it.”
“Fair,” she smiled, dropping herself back to the bed as he left the room and padded downstairs. Again, with the fucking doorbell.
“Jesus!” Brent griped, grabbing the handle and swinging it open. “What the f—” he paused as C. J. turned around, hands on her hips and a glare that could cut a man down to size.
“Laundry day?” she asked sarcastically, holding their clothes that obviously came from the elevator.
“What are you doing here, Cece?”
She handed him the load, pushing past him and stepping inside. “Go get some clothes on, Stratford. We need to talk.”
“I say we still go to Seattle,” Sarah argued, scrolling through flights on her laptop while Athan cleaned his gun at the coffee table. “She’s leaving bread crumbs, and whether she meant to or not, we at least know that she dropped the info about Seattle on purpose. If whatever we find ultimately leads us towards Portland, at least it won’t come as any surprise.”
“Now you’re thinking like a detective,” he smiled, glancing up from his weapon. “You know what would be helpful?”
“What’s that?”
“A web.” He blew into his dismantled weapon, narrowing his eyes into it and wiping the side.
“That’s genius, but we’d need a portable one. It’s not like we can drag a huge white board along everywhere we go.”
Athan pointed the greasy brush towards her laptop and went back to cleaning. “That’s about as portable as it gets, love.”
Sarah gathered her mouth to the side. “You’re not wrong. I need coffee.” She sat the laptop down on the cushion and trudged to the kitchen. “Blonde roast, or Black Death?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes and reaching into the cabinet.
“Never been much for blondes.” She could hear the grin without turning around to see it. After rinsing out the pot, she started pouring it into the back of the coffee maker, and the water dribbled down the side, creating a small puddle on the counter that tried to reach towards the frame with Poe’s half-written, half-typed draft that she’d propped up in the corner. She cursed, sticking the pot on the warmer, and grabbing a handful of paper towels to dab it up. She’d meant to find a safer place for it after they got back from Seattle but hadn’t had the time yet. As she glanced at the preserved parchment encased in glass, something caught her attention that didn’t before—familiarity.
She’d seen replicas of Poe’s signature, photocopies of items that were in museums, and sketches for ideas that had eventually turned into works of dark fiction. Faint whispering started in the depths of her mind, and her head felt light and dizzy for a split-second. It had been the same way the day that she’d opened that drawer in Athan’s bedroom…the day she learned the truth and found her mother’s pendant. Poe had been on the perch stand by the sliding glass door that morning, and it was storming like hell outside. The way he’d acted that morning…she thought it had been because the thunder scaredhim. But she remembered the way he danced up and down on the perch. How he’d mimicked the noises she was hearing. He heard them too. Now they’d learned that Athan’s pet had been part of some bigger plan to draw them together—the same way that this poem did. The same way this coven had. Whoever John Allan was, this had been over a century of careful planning leading them to…what?
“Athan?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you know where Nell got these drafts from at her shop?” Sarah asked, turning around and leaning back against the counter. He looked up from his gun.
“I don’t. But I can certainly ask her. She knows a lot of people, Sarah. Nell is old as fuck.”
“You ever been to Poe’s house?”
Athan set the gun and the brush down on the table and wiped his hands on a towel. “The one in Baltimore? No, I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to go. I’d like to see the memorial. There’s also a museum in Virginia. I thought about taking Poe before…the bird, I mean.” He stared at her for a moment, and Sarah dropped her eyes to the floor. “What’s the matter?”
“You’ve been a detective for a long time. What if some of the clues we’re missing aren’t here? What if they’re not even in Seattle? If all this connects because of his work…what if John AllanknewPoe? What if there’s something in Poe’s stories? Or his notes?” She gripped the counter behind her and raised her chin. “You’ve met some incredible people. You’re wearing a damn tattoo done by a man who’s a legend that tattooed kings. All these people who have stamped history have ties to our lives. To this coven. To our relationship. What if their secrets don’t have to stay buried with them? What if they left bread crumbs too?”
It was obvious his wheels were turning. Sarah hoped that detective brain was firing up, and maybe something in it would spark with all his old knowledge, and vast experience. Not to mention his keen spirit, and his love for all things dark and poetic. It was just one of the many things about Athan that she adored. Fate had been kind enough to bring them together, but was it selfish to want to know more?
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Athan stood, the smell of oil growing stronger as he made his way over. “Baltimore is a lot closer than Seattle. You said you weren’t in a rush. We can leave tomorrow. Go on a road trip before we make any other moves?”
“I’ll have to look up dates for tours, and get us tickets,” Sarah shrugged.
“Psh…why?” His smirk slightly turned her on. She fidgeted against the counter. “We can wait until after nightfall. Let the master show you how it’s done.”
Sarah snorted, “The master?”
