"Wash the walls first," Gabriel said.
I looked up at him.
"You need to use a bleach solution on the walls, or you'll only temporarily cover the stench."
Obviously someone who had experience with cheap apartments. I struggled to picture it--the guy looked like he wouldn't be caught dead outside the penthouse.
"And buy good paint," Grace said.
"Will that help?"
"No, but if you buy cheap-ass crap and it peels, I'll--"
I cut her off with a wave and headed inside. Gabriel followed.
When I opened my apartment door, he took one sniff and said, "You're right."
"Checking my alibi, counselor?" I said. "If I wasn't comfortable being alone with you, I'd say so."
As I grabbed my notebook and pen, he stepped in. His gaze went to the wastepaper basket and I remembered the card in there.
"Not yours," I said. "Seems pushing business cards under doors runs in your family. Your aunt wants a consultation. Or, I suspect, she wants me to buy one from her."
"I presume you aren't interested."
"You presume correctly."
"Good. I'll speak to her. She won't bother you again."
So he didn't want me talking to his aunt? Interesting.
I fished the card out of the trash. "Maybe I shouldn't be so hasty."
He plucked the card from my fingers. "My aunt sells superstition, Olivia. While you may be at a point in your life where you wouldn't mind some guidance, I'd suggest you spend your money on decent paint instead. It will brighten your future far more than any psychic reading."
Was he worried his aunt might warn me against him? Or was he merely pretending he didn't want me to visit her, because I'd already shown signs that I was a contrary bitch?
Damn.
I let him keep the card and locked the door behind us.
As we walked out of the building, Gabriel began listing places we could talk--the library, the coffee shop. I vetoed them all and instead steered him down the alley to the park.
We arrived just as the only occupants--a woman with two preschoolers--were heading home. I held the gate for her. As we walked through, Gabriel rubbed the head of a chimera griffin.
"For luck?" I said.
"No. For..." He paused. "Protection."
"Protection? Against what?"
"Bogeymen and goblins and fairies and everything else that might threaten the life of an innocent child."
I studied his face. "You're serious."
"Serious in the sense that it's what I was told, growing up. As for whether they still tell children that...?" He shrugged. "My aunt is far from the only superstitious soul in this town."
"And those?" I pointed at the gargoyles on the bank. "Protection against flying monkeys?"