Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(33)

Mrs. Bailey looked over her shoulder, her eyes darting back and forth. “Persephone,” she hissed through trembling lips. “There’s a reason that man was called the Angel-maker.”

The Angel-maker. A wave of nausea rolled over me and I wobbled on my feet. “What does that mean?” I stammered.

“What do you think it means?” she asked. “I’ve been doing some digging and I can tell you, their father was a very bad man. I doubt those boys are much better, and you must trust me when I say that you should stay away from them. I don’t want to say any more than that.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? That she actually had an I-better-not-spread-anymore-crap-today threshold? I regarded her warily. What could she possibly gain from saying this? Then again, what did she gain from saying all the stuff she usually said? She was a notorious drama queen and a one-woman rumor mill, and I started to wonder how many people she had warned away from me. Nic wasn’t bad, I was sure of it. And for that matter, neither were the rest of his brothers. They played basketball and video games. They teased each other and flirted with girls. It wasn’t fair to tar someone with their father’s reputation. I knew all about that, and I wasn’t about to make the mistake a lot of my former friends had. Especially when Nic’s father was already gone from this world.

I started walking again.

Mrs. Bailey picked up her pace. “I’m trying to warn you.”

“OK.” I swerved around the next corner, swinging my arms out in the hope they might bring me home faster. “I appreciate your concern.”

“What were you doing inside that house anyway?”

As much as I didn’t want to feed her gossip addiction, I figured the truth might keep her quiet. “I was returning a sweatshirt I’d borrowed.”

“You smell funny.”

“Thanks.”

She started to sniff me.

I stopped again. “What are you doing?”

“Each of my six senses is highly developed. I’m trying to figure out what that smell is.”

I remembered Felice and his sickly scent. “Is it sweet?” I asked, raising the hand I had used to shake his and smelling it. The faint aroma still lingered on my fingers, but it wasn’t as strong as Mrs. Bailey was making it out to be. Maybe I’d gotten used to it.

“Yes,” she said, taking my hand and sniffing it. Her whole face furrowed in concentration. “Is it a new perfume?”

“I’m not wearing perfume.”

“Ah,” she heaved after a moment. Her voice was unbearably smug. “I know what it is!”

I folded my arms across my chest, pretending impatience, but a cold knot had already settled in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t not take the bait. “What?”

Mrs. Bailey arched an incriminating eyebrow, savoring her response. “It’s honey.”





The rest of the day passed in a blur of monotony. Uncle Jack finally called the diner to check up on me. He gave me the number of his new phone, but before I had time to talk to him about anything at all, he was hanging up again. I spent the rest of my shift wondering exactly what he was doing and why he hadn’t come home yet. I wondered, too, about the honey, and whether Felice’s strange scent was linked to the jar I had found next to the register.

Ursula had been pulling twelve-hour shifts to fill the void of competency left by my uncle and by Alison and Paul, who spent more time making out in the kitchen than waiting on tables. Millie, on the other hand, had gotten the day off and been spending it wisely. I called her when I left the diner that evening, and we traded stories about how our days had gone.

“So Valentino basically kicked you out?” she asked through a dramatic intake of breath.

“Pretty much,” I said, still feeling a tinge of embarrassment about it. “The whole thing was weird. Did you get a strange vibe from Dom on your date?”

“Nope!” The excitement in her voice fizzed down the line and I felt an unwelcome twinge of jealousy for how differently things had gone for her and Dom. “We just hung out and went on a picnic,” Millie chattered away cheerfully. “Can you believe that?”

I stopped when I reached the edge of the parking lot, wondering which route to take. “Seriously? That sounds so — ”

“Scripted? I know. It’s like something out of a movie.”

“And what about his scar?” I asked, crossing the street and opting for the shortcut, unwelcoming Priestly house be damned.

“Boating accident,” said Millie through a yawn.

“Really?” I asked, hearing the skepticism in my voice. Dom didn’t seem like the boating type. Then again, his brothers didn’t seem like the basketball types, either, and I had been wrong about that.

“Yeah, it’s a boring story. Something about a fishing hook,” said Millie dismissively. “Anyway, we got sandwich wraps and smoothies and brought them to Rayfield Park. We just talked for hours. He seemed really interested in me so I guess that’s a good sign.”

“Definitely.” My path home began its slow incline, and my chest started to burn from the effort of walking uphill while trying to explain to Millie everything that had been bothering me at the same time. I mentioned the whole their-dad-might-have-been-a-notorious-murderer thing. Even though I couldn’t trust Mrs. Bailey, and when I Googled every possible variation of “Priestly Killer Chicago” on my phone nothing relevant to Nic’s family had come up, I wanted Millie to know.