Bookish and the Beast (Once Upon a Con #3)(11)
“What are you doing here?” the shadow’s voice rumbles, soft and angry.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat.
What do we say to the god of death?
Not today, sucker.
I spin on my heel toward a glass door that’s ajar and make a run for it. The dog, wherever the dog is, can fend for herself. I scramble out into the backyard to where the pool and some sort of garden is.
“Wait—stop!”
A hand fastens around my arm. My reflexes kick in. I spin around, bringing my elbow up, and nail the murderer straight in the face. As I do, the floodlights pop on. And that’s when I see him—really see him. Blond hair, blue eyes, a chiseled jaw, and a scar on the bottom left side of his lip. He stumbles back with a cry of pain.
Oh my God—oh my God, it’s Vance—it’s Vance Reigns! It’s—he is—oh my Go— My heels teeter off the edge of the pool. I pinwheel my arms back, and finally realize oh, I still have the book before I fall backward into the water, taking the priceless edition of STARFIELD with me.
SHE ALMOST BROKE MY BLOODY NOSE!
The girl bursts through the surface of the water with a gasp, swiping the chlorine from her eyes, before she settles her attention on me again. Because yes, yes, she did bloody well recognize me. “Y-y-you…”
A book floats up beside her, and I massage the bridge of my nose, trying to keep my feelings under control. My stupid, sod-ding, fecking luck. I can’t even hide in the middle of nowhere.
I grind out, for the umpteenth time, “What are you doing here?”
She scrambles toward the edge of the pool and grabs onto it, staring at me from between bangs plastered to her forehead, eye makeup melting around her eyes like candle wax. Her teeth chatter loudly. “I—I w-w-was—”
“Come to stare? Take a picture? Tweet it to your mates? Oh, you found the elusive Vance Reigns! Congrats!”
Her eyes widen. “What? N-n-no—”
“Gonna go sell some photos to TMZ, are you? Try to get rich off my agony?”
“I w-was looking fo-for—”
“Sod off—”
“—a dog,” she finishes.
From the other side of the pool, there is a woof. Sansa sits at the edge and wags her tail happily. I purse my lips, trying not to look too grateful that she returned. I’ll give her a good belly scritch later.
And I will never let her off her lead again.
The girl begins to say something more when the back door opens to Elias, sweating profusely through his button-down shirt. He went out to try to find Sansa when she escaped, while I waited behind to see if she’d come back. He begins to say something when his gaze drifts to our intruder. “Why is…there a young woman in our pool?”
The girl waves, her teeth chattering and her lips beginning to turn blue. “H-h-hey.”
* * *
—
“DON’T FRET, I’m sure the book wasn’t that important,” Elias says as he brings the girl a hot cup of tea. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch with a towel thrown over her shoulders, dripping all over the expensive beige rug. Elias made her call her father, who is sitting quite stiffly beside her, a silver-haired man who can’t be any older than Elias himself. He came straight from his job, apparently, though I’m not certain what kind of job lets a bloke wear a rainbow bow tie and red suspenders.
Every now and again, when the girl thinks I’m not looking, she’ll cut her eyes back at me sitting on the piano bench in the corner of the room. My arms are folded over my chest, finger tapping on my biceps.
I don’t believe for a second she came into this house searching after a random stranger’s dog. What kind of person does that?
None that I know.
Well, except Darien. Probably. If the dog wore a Starfield costume or something.
The girl accepts the cup of tea gratefully as her father says, “Really, I’m sure we can pay for the book—”
Elias begins to wave him off when his phone rings. He excuses himself for a moment as he fishes it out of his back pocket, and answers. “Ah! Thank you for calling on such late notice. We’ve had—an incident,” he says as he quickly moves into the library and closes the door behind him.
She wilts a little beside her father. He drums his fingers on his knees nervously, and then he stands and says, “May I use your bathroom?”
“Second door to the left,” I say, pointing down the hall toward the foyer, and he leaves.
When we’re alone, the girl takes a tentative sip of tea and wrinkles her nose. Elias makes terrible tea, which she seems to realize because she sets it down gently on the coffee table and pulls the towel tighter around her shoulders. There’s a birthmark on the side of her neck, but I can barely see it between the strands of her mousy brown hair. If she had a wire on her to record our conversations, it would’ve been ruined in the pool, but a video camera could easily take a swim. She could be hiding it anywhere on her person—in her jeans pocket, her shoe, her…
I glance at her chest, and quickly look away.
She doesn’t strike me as the type.
“I’m sorry if this sounds weird,” she says then, startling me from my thoughts, “but have we met before?”
Oh, that’s charming.