24. Scarlett

The first thingthat hits me as we enter the cafe is the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, followed fast by bacon and toast and eggs—God, I’m starving. And my senses, honed to a razor’s edge under Grandmother’s training, are almost overloaded by the simple, cozy ambiance of the bustling cafe around us.

Sunlight streams through the broad front windows, bathing everything in a warm golden glow as the city stirs to wakefulness outside. We get a table right there in the window, and put in a breakfast order, and for just a fleeting moment, I almost feel…normal. An ordinary girl sharing a morning coffee and a breakfast date with a hot blonde before we both head off to our respective nine-to-fives. The illusion is so tantalizingly real that I allow myself to indulge in it for a few stolen heartbeats.

“So,” Lyssa murmurs, unable to completely mask the smirk tugging at the corner of her bruised lip. “You just gonna sit there looking all dreamy-eyed, or you want to actually drink that?”

I blink, her wry observation snapping me out of my brief reverie as she nods toward the steaming mug cradled between my palms. Lifting it to my lips, I take an indulgent sip, the rich flavor flooding my mouth.

Almost like old times, really. Before everything went completely ass over teakettle.

Lyssa chuckles.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m just remembering the look on that guy’s face,” she says, still grinning. “When you laid him out with that spinning heel kick? Thought his eyeballs were gonna pop right out of his skull.”

Despite my best efforts, I can’t quite stifle the snort of laughter that bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. Our giggles draw a few sidelong glances, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when it feels so bizarrely…right, even though we’re sitting here rehashing the finer points of the vicious beatdown we just handed out.

But the momentary illusion doesn’t last. Something changes in Lyssa’s face—freezes, as she catches sight of something—someone—outside.

“Shit,” she mutters, and then plasters on a carefully neutral expression and gives a half-hearted wave. “Double shit. They’re coming in. Scar, just—be cool, okay?”

Before I even register the telltale tinkle of the brass bell over the entrance, the hair on the back of my neck is already standing on end, every instinct zeroing in on the new arrivals.

I can’t believe it.

“I can’t believe it!” chirps a happy voice, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. “Imagine running into you like this, Lyssa! What are you doing here?”

It’s Aurora Verderosa. And she’s all sugary sweetness and light.

I feel a strange sense of unreality come over me as I recognize her, though I’ve never met her, or the woman behind her, though I know her, too. It’s the housekeeper at Elysium, Mrs. Graves. Both women have arms laden down by shopping bags brimming over with what looks like…

Fabric swatches and cake samples?

“We’re out really early too,” Aurora says, dropping her voice to confide, “I know it must seem odd, but we—well, we keep strange hours.” She shoots a glance at Lyssa.

But I’m still finding my voice, because Aurora’s face made me stop breathing for a second. She’s the kind of beautiful you don’t expect to see in the flesh, and it’s topped off with a smile so warm and earnest I think I might actually get cavities just looking at her. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you,” she says to me, sticking out a hand from somewhere under all the bags. “I’m Aurora.”

Lyssa finally falters a bit, fighting to keep her expression neutral as she exchanges a loaded glance with me from across the tiny cafe table.

I take Aurora’s hand and try to be polite. “Hi,” I say. “I’m…Ruby.”

Mrs. Graves is right behind, smiling merrily as she studies both Lyssa and me for a long, considering moment. But then some of the tension seeps from me as she simply shakes her head fondly and turns to me.

“And I’m Mrs. Graves. How nice to meet you, Ruby,” she says. “You’ve gotten Lyssa out very early; she’s usually more of a night owl.” I give a weak smile, but Mrs. Graves is looking more closely at Lyssa’s face. “But perhaps this is a late night rather than an early morning. I do hope you girls are keeping out of trouble?” The pointed lilt to her inquiry is unmistakable. Her eyes are on Lyssa’s bruised mouth, and then return to my cheekbone, which I’m pretty sure is a little puffy after a Sokolov right hook managed to clip me in the alley.

“Just the usual, Mrs. G,” Lyssa replies with a tight smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

I subtly adjust my jacket, making sure it covers the bruises on my arms, while Lyssa runs a hand through her hair, smoothing out any tangles.

Aurora, blissfully oblivious, simply beams and asks me how the coffee is here.

“It really is so nice to meet you,” she gushes in a low voice, while Mrs. Graves chats with Lyssa. “Are you an old friend of Lyssa’s?”

I pause, caught off guard by the question. I glance at Lyssa, unsure of how to respond, but she gives me a subtle nod. “Yes,” I say, forcing a smile. “We go way back.”

“That’s wonderful! Lyssa’s never mentioned her friends all that much, outside—well…” She trails off, biting her lip as she looks at Lyssa.

And I catch Lyssa murmuring to Mrs. Graves, “…the hell are your bodyguards? I told you to stop giving them the slip.”

“Oh, we haven’t, I promise, Lyssa,” Aurora breaks in quickly. “They’re just outside.” She nods at three unmistakably huge security types standing near the cafe door, holding up hands to stop anyone trying to come in. “Oh dear,” Aurora says in dismay, “perhaps we’d better get going.” She turns back to me with an air of mischief. “Ruby, would you like to come to my wedding as Lyssa’s plus-one? It would be so nice to have one of Lyssa’s old friends there.”

I nearly choke on my coffee, the invitation catching me completely off-guard. I glance at Lyssa, expecting to see shock or anger on her face, but instead, she looks resigned.

As if she knew this was coming.

Swallowing back the impulse to dissolve into a fit of hysterical giggling at the absurdity of it all, I opt for a more diplomatic approach.

“I’d be honored. Thank you for the invitation.”

Aurora beams at me, and before I know what’s happening, she’s leaning in for a hug. I stiffen, caught off guard by the sudden contact, but I force myself to relax, wrapping my arms around her in return.

As we embrace, I catch a whiff of her perfume—something light and floral, so different from the gunpowder and leather scent that clings to Lyssa. For a moment, I allow myself to wonder how someone like Aurora got mixed up with the Syndicate. She seems too innocent, much too pure for such a world of violence and deceit.

Under my fingers, I feel her handbag. It’s huge. Weirdly out of style, too, for someone like her. And then Aurora is pulling away, still smiling. “We should get going,” she says, glancing at Mrs. Graves. “Wedding planning waits for no one! There’s still so much to do.”

Mrs. Graves nods. “Indeed. We’ll see you later, dear,” she says to Lyssa. “It was very nice to meet you, Ruby.”

With that, they’re gone, leaving Lyssa and me alone once more. She’s staring at me very strangely. “I mean, obviously I won’t go to the wedding,” I stammer out. She can’t think I really meant to?—

“We should get out of here,” Lyssa says, her voice tight. “We have work to do.”

“What work?” I ask blankly.

She leans in. “I told you, Scar. I’ll help you get your vengeance. Kill your brother’s killer. If that’s…still what you want.”

She might be telling the truth. Or she might just want to keep me sweet while she figures out a way to get to Grandmother. But I nod, draining the last of my coffee and standing up. As we make our way out of the shop, I ask the question that’s been nagging at me. “How did Aurora get involved with the Syndicate?”

For a moment, I think she’s going to ignore me. But then she sighs, running a hand through her hair and reflexively tightening up her ponytail again. “It’s a long story.”

I frown, unsatisfied with her answer, but I don’t press the issue. We have more important things to worry about right now.

We take an Uber to the shitty hotel that has been serving as our temporary headquarters now and then, the seedy surroundings a stark contrast to the cozy coffee shop we just left. Lyssa unlocks the door to a new room, and we step inside, the musty smell of cigarette smoke waiting right there for us like an old friend.

“So…what now?” I ask.

“Now we need to rest. We’re running on fumes.”

“Rest—here?” I ask, looking at the bed.

“I won’t jump your bones, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lyssa says, but her tone sounds a little odd to my ears.

“I’m not worried about it.” I consider my options once more. “In fact,” I say slowly, “I wouldn’t say no to a little…relaxation.”

The look in Lyssa’s eye as she turns to me in that electrically-charged moment almost makes me wish again for normalcy. For this. Just this.

Lyssa and me…

“Well?” I ask, trying for casual. My heart is beating too hard to be comfortable. And all I can hear are Grandmother’s words.

Anything can be a weapon.

Sex can be a weapon.