Chapter Thirteen

Kierse awoke with a start, reaching for a knife that wasn't there.

She was instantly alert. Her breaths came out heavy as she inspected her surroundings in confusion and horror. Then it dawned on her. It all came crashing back. Everything that had happened in vivid detail.

The Druids. Five Points. Taking Graves's job.

She checked the time and saw that it was early afternoon, then flopped back down onto the decadent four-poster bed. She had been so exhausted that she hadn't even bothered to look at her surroundings. Just went from the door to the bed and collapsed. Now, in the absence of her adrenaline-fueled rush, she was drained. Her ribs were tender. She winced as she felt along the careful stitches Maura had administered. She'd have to see if Graves had anything for the pain.

Probably best to wash up first. With sunlight streaming through the windows, she gaped at the room as she slid out of bed. The room was elegant, with light-blue paint and cream-and-gray wood furniture. The bed had almost been too soft to sleep in compared to what she was used to back at Colette's. The navy duvet was fluffy with goose feathers and a dozen throw pillows that she'd haphazardly strewn onto the floor.

She headed into what she assumed was an adjoining bathing chamber. It was bigger than Colette's entire bedroom, with a full sunken tub with jets and trays of oils, petals, and salts. The shower was a large, open stone room with three heads and another waterfall that fell from the ceiling. The chamber also had two sinks, a vanity, and a separate room just for the toilet.

Then she found the closet. It was easily twice the size of the bathroom and, as far as she could tell, completely empty. Empty space was the epitome of wealth. A whole room of nothing. Was he planning to fill it? Had it originally belonged to someone else? Just... why?

But she didn't have those answers, and she had more important ones to get today.

First, a shower. If the rest of the house was any indication, this would be nothing like showering at the brothel or Five Points. She removed her clothes and her prized wren necklace before stepping into the stream of water. She thrilled at the instant heat on her skin and luxuriated in the fanciest bottles of shampoo and conditioner. She scrubbed herself with a lavender-and-honey-scented soap, careful with her injured ribs. She even opened a razor and shaved just for good measure. The water never got cold or ran out. She could have stayed in there for hours. She might have if her stomach hadn't started rumbling loudly. Those biscuits from this morning hadn't been enough to replace all the energy she'd burned through.

Kierse turned off the shower, which she was convinced was her favorite part of the house, and exited the bathroom in a fluffy white towel. Her dark hair was wrapped up beneath another towel. Maura's clothes were still scattered across the floor of the room, but she didn't exactly want to get back into dirty clothes. So, she headed into the closet and opened drawers. Empty, empty, empty. There really wasn't a scrap of clothing in here. Not a thing. Then she heard a knock on the door.

Kierse rushed back out and gently pulled the door open an inch. "Yes?"

Isolde smiled at her cheerily. "Oh good, you're already up. I thought you might want these."

She held up a bundle of clothes.

"You're a lifesaver," Kierse said, taking them from her.

"Food will be served in the parlor whenever you come downstairs."

Kierse's stomach grumbled again noisily, and she shot Isolde a wry smile. "I'll be right down."

She closed the door and dropped the towel to the ground. She pulled apart the bundle to find a pair of the nicest pants she had ever seen. They weren't quite leggings. More like athletic pants. A soft cotton but somehow functional. She could run in them if she had to. The top was the same material and came with an insulated athletic jacket. Lightweight but warm and nicer than all of her own clothing combined. A pair of wool socks and tennis shoes finished it off.

Efficient, practical clothing. Nothing frilly or sophisticated. It fit. It did the job. She hung her trusty leather jacket on a hanger and left the closet.

She reattached her necklace on a breath of relief. Now she was ready.

Kierse retraced her steps from this morning, letting muscle memory guide her. She emerged into the main hallway and then followed her nose to the kitchen. The smell was warm and cinnamony with a touch of maple and oh god, bacon!

Isolde turned around at her audible groan. She laughed with a wide smile. Kierse had dismissed the older woman as insignificant when she was casing the place. Now, Kierse could see that she was the key to the house.

Isolde wore a black dress with a white apron over it. Black stockings and practical black shoes finished the ensemble. She wore her hair up and off of her lined forehead. She was still striking, and it terrified Kierse to think what she must have looked like in her twenties. Perhaps she was a siren but with food. Was that a thing?

"The parlor is through that door, dear," Isolde said, pointing toward it.

"Is he already in there?"

"The master? Not yet. He's still out."

Kierse stepped up to the island and pulled out a heavy iron chair with a blue cushion. "I can eat in here."

Isolde waved a hand. "Suit yourself. I'm not used to having anyone else in my kitchen, though."

"I won't interrupt."

Isolde started piling enough food to feed a small army onto trays. "It's breakfast, since you slept through the day."

"It all looks amazing," she told Isolde.

And it really did. Her stomach growled noisily as she looked on. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, over-easy eggs, bacon, and sausage. Plus hashbrowns, fresh fruit, bread for toast, bagels, and half a dozen types of cream cheese. Still more juice, coffee, and tea were set out for her.

Kierse must have held her mouth open too long, because Isolde said, "I didn't know what you liked. So I made a little bit of everything."

"Just... just for me?" she all but gasped.

"The master will eat some if he didn't dine out."

Kierse stared at the spread in awe. She'd never known anything like it. A chef at her disposal. Someone who seemed anxious for her to put it all on her plate and devour it whole.

"You didn't have to do all of this," Kierse told her. "There's no way I'll finish it all. What do you do with the rest of it?"

"We donate what we can and help charities for those in food deserts."

"Which is everyone," Kierse added softly.

Isolde smiled at her warmly. "If it concerns you, you let me know what you like and we can set up a schedule. I won't make as much next time, but I work best on a schedule."

Kierse just blinked. "Uh... okay. Thank you so much."

Isolde beamed. "Your enjoyment is all the thanks I need. Now, eat up. You look like you could eat a whole horse and still be hungry."

She wasn't that far off. Kierse filled her plate not once but twice. Everything tasted so good. So rich. It was a struggle to stop eating. To listen to her ever-expanding stomach that strained at the edges to contain all that she'd taken in. She didn't go hungry at Colette's, hadn't gone hungry in many years, but the need to clean her plate never really left.

"What is that delicious smell?" Graves asked as he strode into the kitchen.

Isolde blushed furiously. "Nothing new, sir."

"Bacon," Kierse said around her final mouthful.

"You outdid yourself," Graves complimented.

"Shall I fix you a plate?" Isolde asked.

"Unfortunately, no. I ate already. I won't make the mistake again."

Isolde grinned like a schoolgirl, clearly taken with her boss's praise. "Never a mistake where you choose to dine."

"No one cooks like you, and I do believe Miss McKenna agrees."

"Yes," Kierse said instantly. "I do."

"Hoping to put some meat on her bones. She's half starved," Isolde said.

Kierse raised her eyebrows. "This is not me half starved."

"Could have fooled me."

Graves nodded as if he agreed with Isolde. The traitor.

Kierse knew what she looked like half starved. She thought she looked pretty healthy, actually.

"Are you ready to answer all of my questions now?" Kierse asked with a wink.

Graves shook his head with a slight tilt to his lips. "How about over dinner tonight?"

"I thought lessons were starting after I woke up."

"We'll talk over dinner."

Her eyes moved up to meet his—dark, swirling gray. There was something in those eyes. Something she just could not decipher. "Fine. Dinner it is."

"Isolde will prepare a menu. It will be late. Nine o'clock?"

"I'm a night owl. The later the better," she said. "I'll have to head back to my place to get clothes."

Graves shook his head. "Give your preferences to Isolde, and she can buy you new clothes. Whatever you need. You'll begin spear training with Edgar immediately after this."

"Yeah, I wanted to ask about that, too. Why would I need to learn how to wield a spear?" she asked askance. "I'm stealing it, not fighting with it."

"It will be the best weapon with which to fight your way out if something goes wrong."

She didn't like that sentiment one bit. "I prefer stealth to fighting, but guns and knives if I must."

"I'd rather account for all possibilities."

"All right." She'd already agreed to do it in negotiations, so she'd train with this spear, but she sure hoped that it didn't come down to needing to use it.

"I also got you some other things while I was out," he said.

He stepped out for a minute and then returned with a light, stealthy backpack. "Everything you need. I retrieved some cash for you as a small advance. Half of our agreed-upon sum has been deposited into a bank account for you, card included," he said, offering her a black card, "and the rest will go to the same place at the end of the job."

She took the bag and unzipped the top. Inside was the promised hoard of cash, two brand-spanking-new, top-of-the-line handguns with built-in silencers and extra ammo, and a sleek cell phone with a giant screen display that turned on at her touch. Only one number was programmed into the thing.

"This is you, I'm guessing?"

"That's me. Answer when I call."

"Will you be calling often?" she asked.

He slid his hands into his pockets. "Let's hope not. For the both of us."

Then he nodded at Isolde and disappeared without another word.

Kierse turned back around in her seat. "Is he always that cryptic?"

Isolde smiled. "You have no idea."

Kierse laughed and then went in search of the training facility. Edgar was waiting when she arrived, and from the very moment she had a spear in her hand, she didn't like it. Not compared to a knife or a gun. One for close range and one for distance. This spear felt all wrong. It was meant for thrusting and throwing, but she couldn't get the hang of either. They worked methodically on thrusting motions, trying to get her knife reflexes to take the bulkier spear. The weapon was steel-tipped and fire-hardened, attached to the tough ash end with a charcoal iron, making the whole thing nearly impossible to break. The force it would take would have to be incredible. Thankfully, they were working with practice spears, so no one accidentally got gutted.

Edgar was an unrelentingly impressive teacher and made her do the same maneuver over and over again, until her hand blistered and broke and her muscles ached for release. She knew the training method. He wanted her to have so much muscle memory built up that she wouldn't freeze in a combat situation. Didn't make it suck any less.

When she finished, she wandered the halls of the house as her cooldown. Most of the rooms were locked, which led her to the one room completely open to her—the library.

She walked up and down the holly-lined shelves, admiring the endless books and looking for all the hidden treasures within. One day, she was going to be able to look at a place and not calculate how much it cost or whether there was something inside worth stealing. One day.

A soft noise came from the stacks. It didn't sound human. She froze, wondering what else lived in this library.

Just as she was sure her imagination had gotten the best of her, a small black cat appeared at the end of her aisle. Kierse laughed. She'd been about to bolt all because of a cat.

"Here, kitty," she called gently. She dropped to one knee and held her hand out in front of her.

Of course the cat ignored her. Stared blankly at her with its uncanny gold eyes.

"You trapped in these walls, too?"

The cat made a disconcerting sound and flicked its tail.

"Well, we can be friends," she suggested. A cat was better than loneliness.

So, she did what she knew from the streets worked best with cats. She ignored the thing and went back to her perusing. Within ten minutes, the cat had strolled forward as if it owned the library and wrapped itself around Kierse's legs, purring.

"Oh, I see how it is. Only want me when I don't want you," she said with a smile. "Story of my life."

Kierse reached down and stroked the cat's back. The tiny thing hissed, batting at her with one of its clawed paws and then bounding up the stacks to watch her from the top of the shelf.

"We'll be friends, you and I," Kierse declared.

Isolde found her among the stacks at one point later when she was trying to coax the cat back out.

"Oh, I see you met Anne," she said, holding a little brown book and a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich.

"Anne," Kierse said. "So that's your name."

Anne retreated a few more steps.

Isolde just chuckled before setting the food down. She offered Kierse the book. "The master said to give this to you when you finished training. He'll expect you to read it before dinner."

She eyed the thing apprehensively.

"All right. I'll do my best." She sat down with the sandwich in hand and thumbed through the pages until she found a story that caught her interest.

It was about a redheaded child who had been waylaid by a will-o-the-wisp. She'd seen the blue light flickering in her awareness and followed it, unaware, into the woods, away from her parents. The girl had to get through a series of tests to prove her mettle, including getting past an evil witch and outwitting a warlock. Kierse had flipped through all the trials of the girl, anxious to see her happy return to her family.

But the redheaded girl never made it home. The will-o-the-wisp kept dragging her deeper and deeper into the forest until she came upon a bear and it consumed her. What was the moral of that story? That no matter how much you try, you can't escape your fate? That the temptation that led you off your course will also lead you to your death? Beware!

But there must be something to this, or else why would he suggest she read it?

Anne jumped up, and Kierse followed the cat's golden gaze as she folded into the space beside her.

All the tales and legends come from a kernel of truth.That was what Graves had said. Could these tales also have a kernel of truth? Did he want her to reflect on the moral story of wandering off her path? Or was it about the being-consumed-by-a-monster part? She was already well aware she was off her path and ready to be consumed.

Still, she had enjoyed the volume and finished with plenty of time to get ready for dinner.

At quarter to eight, she returned to her rooms to get ready for dinner, anticipating another nice, long shower. But she was shocked as she stepped into the room to find the closet bursting with new apparel—ball gowns, business attire, cocktail dresses, club wear, a dozen pairs of pants and T-shirts, workout clothes, sports bras, sleeping clothes, and even little lacy unmentionables. Kierse quickly closed that drawer. She seemed as likely to wear those scraps of fabric as the ball gown.

After a luxurious shower, a blowout from the fanciest blow dryer she had ever seen that made her long, dark hair shine and fall in waves over her shoulders, and even a collection of makeup that Isolde must have picked up as well—the woman thought of everything—Kierse felt like a whole new person.

She slid a black cocktail dress on. The material was formfitting, hugging her like a glove to her knees. It wasn't what she'd normally go with, but somehow it was better. Money, probably. The quality was top-notch. Then she grabbed a pair of heels off of a rack and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Her wren necklace was on full display with the plunging neckline of the dress.

This was good enough. It was just dinner. A business dinner at that. It wasn't a date. There was nothing at all to be nervous about. It had nothing to do with her intimacy issues. And how she hadn't had dinner with anyone since Torra and had decided wooing just wasn't for her. The physical stuff, she could get behind. After all, sex was just sex. It was the other stuff that was too hard.

Now her palms were sweating. Which was ridiculous.

This wasn't even that kind of dinner. Yes, she found Graves attractive. She'd have to be blind not to see how hot he was. But besides the fact that mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea, it just wasn't even that kind of dinner. Why did her body have to react like this? She could face down Declan with a gun pointed at her chest without blinking. Yet, this unnerved her?

She straightened her spine and let the anger carry her downstairs. She made it to the dining room and found Edgar waiting at the entrance.

"Miss McKenna, you look charming tonight."

"Better than when you last saw me. That's for sure."

"Not better, just different."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Edgar opened the door, and though she had known what to expect, it didn't prepare her for seeing the dining room in all its splendor. The table was a deep, rich mahogany fit for twelve, though only two seats had place settings: one at the head of the table, where a dark, smoldering Graves sat reading a brown leather book, and the other to his left. Candelabras encircled the table, illuminating the space, while gorgeous floral arrangements ran down the center. She had no idea where he'd found the intricate bouquets in the city at this time of year.

Edgar cleared his throat. "Sir, your guest has arrived."

She steeled her nerves and stepped inside to meet her own dark captor from a fairy tale. The warlock who had led her off her path.