“Calliope’s Starbucks?” I asked, not like I needed confirmation.
“Indeed. ”
A heavy sigh slipped from my mouth, making Desmond look over, his brows arched in concern. He knew the story, so my words had to be helping him put the pieces together on his own.
“We have to be careful with this one,” I told Keaty.
“Because our suspect now knows we suspect her?”
“I’m still not a hundred percent convinced she did it. Once I’m sure, I’ll figure out how to confront her. But the thing is, we can’t kill her. ”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“No, I mean can’t. She’s half-god, Keaty. True immortal. She doesn’t even live in our reality. If she’s killing humans, I don’t honestly know if we can stop her. ”
My partner made a sound that was awfully close to a laugh, except there was far too much cruelty in it to consider it the same thing. “Secret. There’s no such thing as immortality. ”
“I—”
/> “No. Everything that lives can die. Even your half-fae friend. Remember, Jesus was the son of God. Look how far it got him. ” The line went dead.
“That sounded…ominous,” Desmond said.
Slipping the phone inside my pocket, I tried to fake a smile. “Isn’t it always?”
We were at Kellen’s apartment building, and Desmond found a spot a few blocks down. On our walk from the car, an awkward silence hung between us. Funny how someone can fuck you five ways from Sunday, but then you don’t know how to make small talk anymore. Thankfully we didn’t have far to go.
Since Desmond and I were both on the guest list at Kellen’s apartment, we should have had no problem getting in. Too bad we had the Gestapo version of a doorman to deal with tonight.
“Miss Rain is not in,” Herr Doorman told us.
“Oh, we know. We’ll just wait for her upstairs. ” I flashed him my sweetest, most innocent smile. Based on his response it was about as convincing as a pit viper saying I’ll make a great nanny.
“I’m afraid that will not be possible. ”
“I have a key,” Desmond volunteered.
This was news to me. Interrupting my staring contest with the chubby real estate gatekeeper, I looked at Desmond out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t miss it, judging by the sweet, apologetic smile he gave me. The look was telling. Just go with it.
Herr Doorman huffed and rubbed his belly thoughtfully.
“Why don’t I call Mister Rain,” Desmond suggested, whipping out his cellphone.
Genius. I hadn’t considered bluffing with the big-brother card, because if I was called on it, I’d actually have to talk to the son of a bitch. The doorman’s eyes bugged, and he scrambled to get the interior entrance open for us. “My apologies. It won’t be necessary to bother Mr. Rain at this late hour. Please go in. ”
I didn’t speak until we were in the elevator. “A key?”
Putting his arm around my shoulder, he gave me a friendly squeeze. “You think you’d be able to tell by now when I’m lying. ”
“Either I never could, or you’re getting better at it. ” I wasn’t sure if either sounded like a winning option.
“Or I just never lied to you. ”
The ding of the elevator opening kept me from having to come up with a response. Kellen had one of three apartments on the twenty-first floor. She might not have had the fanciest digs in the Rain clan, but she had the poshest address by far. Lucas must have paid a premium to set Kellen up with the Central Park West address.
I doubt he’d batted an eyelash since it meant there were dozens of city blocks between his SoHo penthouse and his sister’s behavior. Funny how he was only interested in what Kellen was doing when he didn’t have it constantly bombarding him in the press.
Come to think of it, if Kellen was in Ibiza or Cozumel or wherever she chose to sun herself these days, wouldn’t we have seen something on Page Six? The New York gossip column worshipped at the altar of Kellen’s antics, featuring at least a story a week on one of her breakups, makeups or hookups. So why hadn’t I seen a photo of her tongue-tied with a Greek oil baron or a Middle Eastern prince?