Seriously, who the hell was tempted by a reaper of all things? If nothing else, this encounter had squashed any further thoughts of the naked and sweaty variety.
Now, I just wanted to aim a kick right between his legs.
He raised a hand to his ear again. “Suspect is on the run.” He paused as he searched through the alley, ending empty-handed at the back wall. Looking up, his gaze scanned the buildings and went right over me.
“Suspect has escaped. Method unknown.”
If a bird could laugh, I would have done it. Avian shifters aren’t very common, maybe even rare, so it probably didn’t occur to him that I was up here. Other types of magic could have whisked me away just as quickly, after all.
I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself, so I waited with wings tucked in while he pulled out his cylindrical teleportation device and activated the portal. Although the majority of my outer feathers were a brownish grey, allowing me to camouflage myself among the local bird population, the undersides of my wings usually gave me away if someone was looking for me. Shades of red, orange, and yellow swirled together, making my spread wings resemble a ball of flames.
When the teleportation circle disappeared along with Thane, I dropped off the roof and caught the warm current, flapping to gain altitude. I couldn’t go back to my apartment close to the coffee shop; that was too risky now that someone had leaked my dual identities. So I flew to my safe house instead.
I landed on a penthouse terrace of one of Miami’s tallest buildings, the Brickell Flatiron. A fancy perk to being one of the area’s top acquirers of fantastical things was money. Lots and lots of money. Unlike some of my peers, however, I flaunted mine in private. I even donated hefty sums to suicide prevention programs and support groups—anonymously.
Even though the floorplan was smaller than some of the others and I could easily afford larger, I’d chosen this particular penthouse because it had a separate terrace off the primary bedroom. Should I ever find myself entertaining guests, no matter how fat a chance that was, it wouldn’t be difficult to hide my comings and goings. Practical. I even kept a gilded birdcage in the room for appearances.
Also, this penthouse had the best view out of all of them.
I shifted back to my human form, grabbed a cookie from the jar I kept out on the kitchen counter for moments like these, and stormed straight into the Italian marble shower. I didn’t even bother to remove my clothes. They reeked, too. I shoved the cookie in my mouth, then turned on the water as hot as it would go. I’d need to eat more later because of the distance of my impromptu flight, but the sugar would hold me over while I showered.
After my scalp burned from fierce scrubbing and I was sure I had washed away all the day’s sticky grime thanks to the spilled latte, I turned off the water and wrapped myself up in a fluffy towel. I glared at myself in the mirror.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I told myself. “You’ve gotten reckless. Which is exactly what Mom and Dad warned—”
My breath hitched in my throat, and my violet irises turned a darker shade, more of an indigo, as the grief crested like a crashing wave.
That was just it. Mom and Dad were gone. Maddox was gone.
I hung my head, letting my wet hair cover my face in shame. I was alone. My parents were wrong nine years ago when they said I was ready to become head of the household. I wasn’t ready. I was barely eighteen at the time. Hardly capable of taking care of myself, let alone my brother Mad, too.
My hands gripped the sides of the blindingly white sink. I had failed him. My one job in life was to keep him safe, and I couldn’t even do that. What I wouldn’t give to hear my brother laugh one more time, or feel him curl up next to me when storms rattled the windows, or simply tell him that I loved him.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Wallowing never did anyone any good, certainly not me. I pushed off the sink and into my walk-in closet, pulling out comfy terry cloth shorts and a tank top.
After grabbing a banana and my laptop off the living room coffee table, I made my way outside to the terrace where I settled into my chaise. To avoid hindering the view, the tower’s architects had designed every terrace with glass railings. Watching the ocean change colors and fade to black as the sun set was a favorite pastime of mine, and it always soothed my unsettled nerves.
This evening was no exception.
I ran my fingers through my damp hair, allowing it to air dry in the salt-filled breezes, then opened the laptop. A message dinged as soon as my status showed green.
“You free?” read Kit’s message beside the image of her smooth, topaz-hued face, courtesy of her Cuban and Dominican ancestry. The picture was taken right before she attended a local comic convention in costume last year, so she had done her black hair in dreads held back with a headband, going as some character from a zombie show.
“For now,” I typed back.
“?”
“Long story, but the DEA showed up outside work. You see the wanted bulletin?”
“Fuck. Yeah I saw it, but how’d they know you were you?” she asked. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t even know,” I wrote. “But if the agency thinks I’m guilty, then I’m as good as dead.”
“Bet you never thought you’d want a lawyer before today, huh?”
I leaned back and groaned. She was right. Never before had I wished the Community judicial system was more like the human one, with lawyers and fair trials. In our world, the agency’s word was law because they were governed by angels, indisputably fair even if you weren’t innocent until proven guilty. You were just guilty.
Hence, me being dead even though I was one hundred percent innocent for once. Angels weren’t so indisputable now.
“What do you have on Sophia?” I typed, needing to move along before I wallowed too deep in self-pity.
A movement in the south channel waters caught my eye, too far even for my enhanced vision. I picked up the pair of binoculars I kept outside and held them up.
Just a seagull searching for dinner.
Mermaids swam close to shore every once in a while, and I had yet to see one in the scale. Contrary to popular belief, they didn’t need the help of a sea witch to pass for humans. The few I’d met in the market walking around on two legs hadn’t taken me up on my offer to see their tails. I even got strange looks like I was asking to see them masturbate or something. I needed to study up on my mermaid culture and etiquette—if I didn’t get thrown in jail first.
Kit’s message beep brought my gaze back to the screen. “Sophia never went off-camera and never near the office. Not even close. She only left the guy’s side once to grab a drink.”
“Did you see who went in to snatch the box?” I typed, then peeled my banana and took a bite.
“Not exactly.”
“Witch, don’t leave me hanging.” I loved Kit like a sister, but her lack of communication skills drove me just about crazy sometimes. Okay, maybe more than sometimes.
“The feed was cut for exactly one minute, and whoever did it spliced it together really fucking well. I only noticed it on the third run through. But your friend was glued to Mr. Hotpants’s side for all 60 seconds.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, eyeing the clouds drifting by though not really seeing them, then took another bite of my banana. Whoever did this knew who I was and knew I would be going after the jewelry box. I understood competition, but the problem lay in the fact that I was not only being framed for theft, I was also being blamed for murder. I didn’t leave clues behind, and I had a general rule in life not to murder people