The Curse (Belador #3)(37)
“I was with another Alterant and we got ambushed by a Medb hunting party of warlocks. Someone started teleporting me, then a fight broke out, and the next thing I know I’m in here … uh, talking to you.”
“You mean barfing on me.”
“That was unintentional.”
“So how do you plan to work this out, as you say?”
She had one hand still hooked to a steel anchor in the wall, but lifted her free hand in an open-palm gesture. “I’ve apologized. What else do you want?”
“You offered to make amends.”
“Of course, just tell me what I can do.” Hope fluttered in her chest.
“I’ll have to think about it and let you know.”
That sounded like they’d just made some sort of deal, but she’d missed the part with the details spelled out. “I don’t understand.”
“I will let you go and you will owe me a favor.”
Oh, man. Now she understood why he hadn’t killed her. “What kind of favor?”
Things had been rocking along nicely until she said that.
He spread his feet and crossed his arms, staring down at her as if she’d asked a stupid question. “The kind of favor that buys back your life today.”
Good point. “Got it. Just wanting to be clear since we don’t really have each other’s cell number to talk about it later on.”
“I will find you when I have something for you to do, Alterant.”
The second manacle disappeared along with the metal collar as well as the steel anchor that had held her to the wall. She rubbed her wrists where they’d chafed. Did you thank someone who had threatened to kill you, chained you to a wall, then made you agree to an open-ended favor for the chance to continue breathing?
When the person doing all that was Deek D’Alimonte, then the answer was yes. “Thanks.”
Evalle stood up and started for the door, but in two steps she was outside, heading toward her motorcycle.
Had Deek teleported her out here? She didn’t have the urge to hurl. Maybe someone as old as Deek—and she had no idea how many centuries old that might be—had luxury-level teleporting. She couldn’t wait to dig out the bottle of water she’d stuffed in her tank bag and wash out her mouth.
Downing the balance of her water, she considered her next move.
Finding Tristan was going to take some time since he hadn’t answered her telepathic calls. She doubted he was still at that farmhouse and had no idea how to find it again.
With a little over an hour before daylight, she had to touch base with Tzader and explain being late. After calling out to him with no answer, she tried Quinn, who answered.
Where have you been, Evalle?
She hated her hesitation, but a lot had happened over the past few weeks and she still didn’t know exactly what had occurred between Quinn and Kizira, if anything. She answered, That thing I had to do for Macha took longer than I expected … and I really can’t talk about it. She got me out of VIPER prison and so …
That sounded lame and not like her, because she shared everything with Tzader and Quinn.
Quinn said, I understand completely. We were worried about you.
I called to Tzader, but he didn’t answer.
He’s interrogating a troll from another gang battle. Tzader may have had Sen teleport them both to headquarters to lock down the troll, and couldn’t communicate.
Sorry I missed our meeting, Quinn. I would have called one way or another, but I wasn’t where I could do that.
Where are you now?
Around midtown, headed into Atlanta.
I’d still like to see you.
Had she picked up anxiety in Quinn’s telepathic voice or was it just a case of her being overly suspicious about everything right now? Sure. Where do you want to meet?
He surprised her by suggesting a diner she ate at regularly near Five Points, a block away from Woodruff Park. Not Quinn’s caliber of cuisine at all, but he knew she kept vampire hours due to her deadly reaction to the sun, and sunrise would come soon. Quinn had chosen somewhere close to her underground apartment to make it easy for her.
A good friend. The best.
She hated the way suspicion played fast with her heart.
By the time she parked her bike near the diner, her stomach had settled and now complained again about the lack of food. During normal business hours, the diner hosted an eclectic group of patrons that ranged from men in suits to casually dressed tourists. But the late nighters who stumbled in when Evalle normally ate here tended to dress on the scruffy side.
That made it easy to spot Quinn’s blue-gray sport coat, black sweater and dark gray pants. Not that his clothes stood out in the chrome and Formica diner so much as did the man inside the window dressing. He could wear rags and still appear out of place sitting in a booth that was upholstered in purple plastic.
Sliding onto the seat across from him, she waited for the waitress, who came over to take Evalle’s cheeseburger and fries order. Her idea of comfort food.
With no better way to open the conversation, she asked, “Are you okay? Z said you’d gone away to heal.”
“Yes, I left rather abruptly, but it was unavoidable.” Quinn’s fingers tapped against a chipped ceramic mug of coffee. “Sorry I was unable to offer assistance when Sen came for you.”
What had him so edgy? If he felt guilty over that, she could ease his worry. “You couldn’t have stopped them from putting me in a cell.”