Chapter Four
The ceiling in Francis Keats’s office was fascinating.
The dark red paint looked like blood, and it was also a great place to look when I didn’t want to meet the eyes of the private detective of all things paranormal who was sitting across the desk from me.
“Answer the question, Secret.”
“Sorry, I forgot what it was.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I buried my bare toes in the new plush rug under my chair, and my hands tightened on the leather armrests. Keaty hated to repeat himself almost as much as he hated to make guesses.
“Okay, yes. I’m having some control issues.”
“Define some.”
“Um… I almost lost it at Madison Square Garden last night. Only Lucas showing up kept me from getting all fangy.” I held my index fingers up to my mouth to mimic fangs, but I probably looked more like a pathetic, demented walrus.
Keaty didn’t look amused.
“This is serious, Secret,” he told me, as if his face hadn’t said as much already.
“It’s not like I bit anyone.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Yeah, but I mean, I want to kill lots of people sometimes. It doesn’t mean I do it.”
&nb
sp; His frown deepened, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Keaty probably came out of the womb scowling. “There’s a big difference between wanting to hypothetically dismember a cabbie who almost runs you over, and trying to eat the still-beating hearts out of fifteen thousand hockey fans.”
I pshawed. “There’s no way I’d have gotten them all.”
“No, certainly someone would have killed you before then.”
Silence filled the space between us. He’d successfully made his point.
“You think it’s because of the Tribunal, don’t you?”
“Is that what you think?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He balled his fists together and leaned forward on his desk. “Have you discussed this with Sig?”
“Not yet.” I bit my lower lip. “I’m worried if I do, he’ll throw a ‘yay, you’re a vampire’ party for me. I’m not quite ready to accept that that’s what’s happening. In the meantime I want to talk to Calliope, see if she knows what it means. But I have an appointment with Genevieve Renard first.”
Keaty raised both brows. “What business do you have with Ms. Renard?”
“I don’t know. I’m doing it as a favor to Holden’s maker because of that nasty subway incident. I still don’t know what Genevieve wants.”
His jaw strained under the pressure of keeping his mouth shut.
“I know, Keaty. Never owe favors to vampires. Just like you never thank a fairy, and you always get cash upfront. Trust me, I remember the rules, but this is different.”
“How? How is it different?”