CHAPTER FOUR
It took less time than Jace would have liked for what had happened at the grocery store to spread through the Bird House like a virus.
And nearly everybody asked her about it.
They wanted to know why she’d beaten the crap out of four people for no obvious reason. Not that any of them had a problem with that. And Jace had a feeling if she’d said, “I didn’t like the shoes they were wearing,” more than one sister-Crow would nod her head sagely and reply, “Totally get that. You should have seen what Dora wore the other day. She’s lucky I didn’t beat her to death.”
Even worse, the story had transformed from Jace kicking some ass to killing four strangers. But Kera and Erin were quick to tell everyone that was not what had happened.
Soon the news spread to the Ravens and then the other Clans, so that by the time Jace showed up for her time to sit with the comatose Betty, the Holde’s Maid who was helping with her care—at least the mystical aspect of it—immediately asked as Jace walked into the room, “Hey. Heard you killed like thirty people because someone got your taco order wrong. Is that true?”
Jace gawked at her. “No.”
The Maid looked so disappointed, her lip stuck out in a pout as she packed away the candles and potions that the Maids used daily on poor Betty in an attempt to bring her back. So far nothing had been working.
She walked past Jace, briefly stopping to tell her, “You don’t have to use that tone. I didn’t get your taco order wrong.”
Jace closed her eyes and fought her desire to scream, “It wasn’t about tacos!” She was not going to open that can of worms and reveal her old life, though.
Once the door closed and she knew the Maid was gone, Jace dropped into the big, comfy chair beside Betty’s bed.
She wished Betty would snap out of it. Whatever “it” was. She wished the older Crow was here. More than once, Jace had gone to Betty for her counsel. As a Seer, Betty didn’t need Jace to say anything to her. All she had to do was hold Jace’s hands and she could “see” everything. Understand everything.
And, like any good Hollywood agent, she knew how to keep her mouth shut. She never talked to anyone about what she’d seen from others. What she’d learned. It was just between the Seer and the Seen.
Jace could really use that right now.
After a moment, Jace pushed herself out of the chair and leaned over Betty, gazing down into her face.
Then she yelled, “Betty! Betty, can you hear me?” When that got no response, she snapped her fingers three times in the woman’s face.
Nope. Nothing.
With a sad sigh, Jace dropped back into the chair and opened the book she was going to read to her friend: You’ll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again.
She had a feeling that Betty would like the behind-the-scenes drama of Hollywood even if it was a little out-of-date. Last week she’d read her, The Kid Stays in the Picture: A Notorious Life: Robert Evans. Even though the book didn’t bring Betty out of her coma, she did seem more relaxed.
A few of Betty’s past assistants had tried to get books on their old boss published, but Betty had crushed those brief dreams like she was holding Thor’s hammer. Eventually, no one bothered to try. Not where Betty was concerned.
Of course, Jace didn’t really know that Betty. The Hollywood Betty. Scary Agent Betty.
She only knew her as Betty, the Crow, the Seer, the chocolate-chip cookie thief after an ugly episode involving a Holde’s Maids bake sale during one of the Clan tournaments. Jace didn’t know the terrifying, ruthless, cruel Betty Lieberman, Hollywood agent.
And to be honest, she didn’t want to know that person. Just like Jace didn’t want to know the sociopath that Annalisa once was before she died and Skuld gave her a conscience. Or the mean rich girl Alessandra once was, who tormented everyone around her out of boredom. They were different now, and that was all that mattered. At least to Jace.
Jace began to read where she’d left off the day before and was so fascinated by the machinations of terrible people that it took a little while before she realized that it wasn’t one of the local crows pecking at Betty’s window but someone throwing pebbles at it.
Marking her spot, she placed it on the side table and walked over to the window. Pushing it open, Jace rested her hands against the sill and leaned out, staring down at the yard.
“Hi.”
Startled by the voice coming at her from the tree in front of her, Jace jerked up to see Danski Eriksen perched on a branch. He watched her with those big pretty eyes behind designer glasses that managed to make him look geeky and sexy all at the same time. Plus, she kind of expected him to hoot at her from there. What with the Protectors’ owl wings, powerful legs, powerful hands, and ability to turn their heads almost completely around.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I need your help.”
“I don’t want a job,” she insisted, becoming exasperated. “Stop bothering me.”
“It’s not about the job. Well . . . it is. But not about you wanting the job.”
“What?”
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and handed her a legal-sized sheet of lined yellow paper with a list of names.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Names of potential Russian translators that my brothers came up with. Thought maybe you could steer me in the right direction.”
“What makes you think I would know?” she asked, a little more testily than she’d meant to. “I don’t even leave the house if I can help it.”
“Which is probably good since I heard you just killed a busload of nuns earlier today.” She didn’t say anything, but her expression must have been clear because he laughed and said, “You should see your face right now. Good thing I can fly.”
She glanced down at the list. “Look. I don’t really want to get involve—”
“Please,” he said. “They’re driving me nuts. Really, Bear is driving me nuts, but then they all sort of join in and it becomes a chorus of seriously obsessive compulsive guys bothering me, which is something you should understand . . . right . . . nun killer?”
“I didn’t—”
“I know,” he said, still laughing. “I know.” He gestured to the list. “Just take a look. Please?”
As soon as she looked down at the list, she held her hand out and snapped her fingers. Without thinking, Ski gave her a pen and she began scratching names off.
“No on this one, this one, and this one. They’re all gangsters. You’ll end up killing them after they try to blackmail you. Or steal something you value.” She stopped, read a few more, began scratching their names off. “They have an American sensibility about Russia. And they don’t know enough about the early dialects to help you with some of those books, I’m guessing.” She cringed. “Definitely not this one. He did the worst translation of War and Peace that I’ve ever read. And these three will not keep their mouths shut about what they discover. And this one is a high-level sorcerer. He’ll steal important information from the books and possibly start a world war or something.”
She handed the sheet back to him. “There you go.”
She’d scratched out every name.
Every. Name.
“Uh . . . that was very helpful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But perhaps you can—”
She closed the window on him before he could ask if she knew anyone who could help him and whom she would approve of, and then shut the shades.
Unreasonably annoyed—women were usually a lot more helpful than this with him—Ski sat there a few moments, thinking on what he should do, when a Raven noisily landed on the branch behind him, his weight making the poor wood creak, and snarled, “What the fuck are you—”
Turning just at the waist, Ski grabbed the Raven by his head and rammed it into the tree trunk several times before tossing him out.
With a sigh, he looked down at the decimated list. “Back to the drawing board,” he muttered before jumping out of the tree, landing by the Raven, who was trying to pick himself up.
Erin Amsel sat at one of the outside tables, a big umbrella blocking the sun. She sat with a few other Crows who didn’t seem too interested in him or the Raven groaning on the ground.
He nodded and Erin gestured to a pitcher. “Iced tea?”
“No. But thank you.”
“Sure.”
Carefully folding up the list and putting it back in his pocket, Ski returned to his car.
“He likes her,” Alessandra noted about the Protector after he’d left. The Protectors had great hearing, and it was wise for her to wait.
“Probably,” Erin replied, flipping the page on her tattoo magazine.
“Should we help them out?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right after she killed all those people.”
Erin looked up at her sister-Crow. “She didn’t kill anybody.”
“You don’t have to protect her. It’s not like we’ll think less of her.”
“Shut up,” Erin snapped, tired of explaining what had gone down earlier in the day.
“Are you going to help me?” Stieg Engstrom barked. His words muffled because his face was still buried in the dirt.
Erin looked over at the Raven, stared a few seconds before replying, “No.”