Page 25

I thought of the receptionist and what she said about Shay not having friends. I wondered what her life looked like. But I didn’t ponder this for long; that wasn’t my job.

“Shay!” I tapped the top of her desk instead of rushing around it like I had something to hide.

Acting like you had something to hide when you were doing shady shit was the worst thing you could do.

“You caught me.” I grinned shyly. “I was being nosy.” I made a point to look around. “I’ve never been inside a coroner’s office before.”

Playing meek and innocent was rather below me and a bit of a stretch given my personality and appearance.

Shay’s gaze was questioning, appearing to be a little sharper than the meek woman at the gas station. This was her habitat. I could see it, the tilt to her chin, her straightened posture. She felt stronger here. This was her domain.

Among the dead.

Interesting. Made sense since it seemed like the living had failed her.

“I figured you may not be hot to text me.” I slowly rounded the desk, making a show of looking around. “And fair enough, girlfriend. I was not exactly someone you would want to hang out with in our high school days. Unless you wanted to talk about The Hills or highlights.” I feigned a gag.

Shay was still standing in the doorway, tentative, assessing. She was quiet, submissive in high school, and our interaction at the gas station had told me she was still shy, but she had a decent instinct if she was hesitant about me.

“I brought lunch.” I held up the bag. “And coffee.” I nodded to the tray. “I asked the barista for your order. Don’t you fucking love small towns?” I was laying it on a bit thick, but my last sentence was dosed heavily with sarcasm.

She smiled weakly, stepping forward, obviously deeming me worthy. Or deciding that I wasn’t about to dump a bunch of pig’s blood on her.

“No, I don’t really love small towns,” she replied, taking the coffee.

She brushed past me, close enough to let me smell the mix of an earthy perfume with the chemicals from the morgue she had just come from.

She walked around the desk, straightening her pad and moving a pencil just to the left. As if I had moved them. I hadn’t. I wasn’t that stupid.

“You want lunch?” I nodded to the bag.

Shay settled in her chair. “Is it poisoned?” she asked dryly.

I barked out a genuine laugh. “I know they say poison is a woman’s weapon, but it’s not really my style.”

She eyed me from above the rim of her glasses. “I know. I hear a knife is more your speed.”

Another smile from me. Also genuine. “Another reason to fucking hate small towns. You can’t attempt to murder someone in peace.”

“There are some ways to do it.” She playfully winked back.

I didn’t bother trying to hide the surprise from my expression, not expecting the darker edge to her humor. I shouldn’t have been. She worked in a morgue, after all.

I passed her a sandwich, delighted by the rapport between us. This might be easier than I assumed. “I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

She flashed her teeth. “No, I need meat to survive.” She took the roast beef I offered her.

“Good. I know it’s not politically correct to say so, but I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t eat meat.” I unwrapped a turkey sandwich, biting into it. I was actually starving since I’d missed breakfast, and the sandwich was great.

She watched me eat with a measured gaze for a beat before following suit. I wondered if she actually suspected I would poison her. “I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t admit to a little murder in their life.” She chewed delicately. “The leather on their shoes, the slave labor used to make their smartphones, the animals tortured for their makeup.” She shook her head with a narrowing of her eyes. “Hypocrites, all of them.”

My jaw dropped. “Shay Finkley, I didn’t expect you to be so cynical and angry at the human race. Love that for you.”

She swallowed. “Me too.” She took a sip from her coffee. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing all these years to warrant this change.” She waved her hand over my body. “I much prefer it to the old Hadley, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“I do too,” I told her honestly, yet again surprised by how bold she was and how much I genuinely liked her. “And all of this…” I looked down at my tattoos, which were a mix of feathers, serpents, and a detailed Medusa. All were violent, with subtle protection runes inked into them.

Not that Shay would spot them. No human would. Which was the point. They were my little supernatural alarm system, only triggered by active spells or certain creatures. They weren’t all-encompassing nor would they protect me from much. I’d have to be covered head to toe, eyeballs and all to create that kind of system. And I knew a hunter who had tried that. Hadn’t worked. They were torn apart by a ghoul, who didn’t give a fuck about runes.