“Oh?”
“If we need to come back and speak with Ms. Aldea again, we need to still be husband and wife. The longer we’re here, the less she’s going to believe it.”
Fair.“I guess I’ll have to flog you then, punish you hard to really sell it.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and a pang of excited confusion shot through my nerves.
“If that’s what it takes,” he said, somehow feeling closer to me even though he hadn’t moved. “Anything for the mission.”
Heat rose up my neck. Our dynamic was off.Iwas off. I made a noncommittal noise and took a step back. Imogen was supposed to be my secret weapon, my buffer, my protection against Silas, and I’d sent her away.
“Let’s get a drink,” Silas said. “We’ll talk.”
There were certainly plenty of questions I wanted to ask, information I could drag out of him if I could get him drunk. Yes, this was a great plan.
“Fine,” I said. “But you’re buying. Your wife demands it.”
He gave a wave to Edwina in the window before surprising me by lacing his fingers in mine. “It’ll be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER 12
Early in life, I’d taught myself that there was no interpersonal situation so bad that it couldn’t be turned into a great opportunity with the right motivation and the right manipulation. The sentiment had served me well through cross-country and international relocations. When people tried to use me, I used them back more fiercely, more masterfully.
The limits of this life strategy were few; in fact, there were only two—you can’t always manipulate monsters, and it's always best to be honest with yourself. Since neither of those exceptions applied to my current situation, I felt quite certain I would inevitably gain the upper hand over Silas. Even if he’d resisted my will in the past, this time would be different. I was more motivated than ever to win.
The silence on the drive to the local tavern was uncomfortable, as was everything having to do with Silas. But once we were seated in a small corner booth at the tavern, live music filled the void.
We drank, first a mug of beer, then a pitcher, staring each other down. I knew he would take my thirst as a challenge, and he did, matching every sip I took with a gulp of his own.
As a pleasant buzz thrummed from my stomach out to my fingers and my toes, I knew he had to be feeling it, too. The usual sharpness remained in his expression, but his shoulders relaxed at least a smidge. By now it had to be dinner time, and it appeared we would be drinking our meal.
I did a quick check on Imogen’s Whirl application. Noah still had not marked himself as available. Was this his usual day off? Or was he simply unreliable?
“What do you think this kind of music is called?” Silas asked me, a small line forming between his brows.
There were crooning vocals, high energy fiddle, and an almost sarcastically slow accordion melody.
“Some local mash-up,” I said. “Does it offend your ears?”
“Does it offend yours?”
He couldn’t even admit the tiniest discomfort without me proclaiming mine first. He knew I’d prey on his weakness. It meant we needed more beer, so I could lull him into a false sense of security, relaxation, and eventually submission.
When he was at his most trusting, that’s when I’d strike.
“You wanted to speak about Ms. Aldea,” I said. “That’s why you invited me here, is it not?”
He took a sip of beer and peered at me over the top of the mug. Was this a way to hide his expression? Was it an excuse not to answer me? He took his sweet time, enforcing my assumption that he was purposefully prolonging the time between my question and his response.
Eventually he set down his glass. “You had quite the reaction to that amulet.”
“Reaction? I had no reaction.”
“You recognized it. Or you think you did.”
The sigil had reminded me of my mother, but I was sure I had made no outward indication of that connection. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can’t lie to me.”