Keeping Secret

“I need to know how much.”



She tugged my hair. “Secret, be patient.”



“Make up a number.”



“Twelve days.”



She said it too fast. She was making it up. When I told her so, she took the second bottle of Jameson away before I could open it.



We watched an infomercial for a juicer, and once it was over I was glad I drank blood instead of disgusting carrot-and-beet-juice blends. I was also sober, and the emptiness of my apartment opened before me so wide that my grief threatened to swallow me whole.



When Gabriel had left me, I’d promised to never let anyone in again.



Now I remembered why.



Chapter Thirty-Five



Keaty didn’t look happy to see me.



His mood didn’t improve when I sat down and said, “I need your help.”



He slipped the folder in his hand into his file cabinet and closed the office door behind me. “Where are you on the Gerry case?”



I knew he was going to get on me about my outstanding projects for him, like a parent who can never be thankful for all the things done right and only focuses on how you forgot to do the dishes. This was Keaty’s way, and I was prepared for it.



I threw an envelope full of hundred dollar bills on his desk. The money spilled out dramatically, all seven thousand dollars worth. Not our biggest payout, but seventy hundred-dollar bills looks pretty pimp when it’s fanned out on a desk.



“What’s this?”



“I closed the Gerry case.”



“Did you—”



I threw a folder on top of the money. “Paperwork is done.”



I’d actually completed the case a week before leaving for Louisiana but hadn’t taken the time to tell him.



He counted out thirty bills and handed them to me. “Good work.”



“I need your help.”



“I’m all ears.” Sure he was, now. Amazing how four grand in pocket could perk up someone’s listening skills.



“Someone has hired people to kill me.”



There was something in this sentence that really got Keaty’s attention, and it wasn’t that someone wanted me dead. Neither of us was terribly surprised by this.



“Hired? You’re sure?”



“I am.”



“What makes you think it’s a professional job?”



“First, they tailed my car halfway to Lucas’s mansion and tried to do me, Brigit and Kellen in on the highway. Then they knew when I’d be at Kleinfeld and tried to gun me down in public. He killed himself instead of being taken into custody. He clearly didn’t want anyone asking any questions. And two days ago they came after me in Louisiana. It’s professional work if they’re finding me places that aren’t part of my routine and they aren’t being subtle about their efforts.”



“Hmm.”



“Yes. Hmm indeed.”



“Under normal circumstances I would ask if you had any enemies, but…”



I threw another paper on his desk. This one was a list, and it was a list no human should have ever been given. “That’s the name of every werewolf in the Eastern pack. Not just Manhattan wolves, every wolf in Lucas’s pack. Someone isn’t happy about our wedding, and I think that someone is on the list.”



“So what makes you think it isn’t werewolves themselves attacking you?”



“The guy at Kleinfeld was human. And there was no way a wolf could have maintained human form in Louisiana to shoot me. No way. It had to be humans.”



“And you want me to…”



“I don’t know, Keaty. Work your weird P.I. magic. Look at bank records. See if there’s anyone on the list who writes crazy letters to Congress or has a brother who really likes collecting guns. Investigate.”



“My time is valuable, McQueen.”



“And my life isn’t?”



We stared at each other. I chucked my three grand back on his desk. Easy come easy go.



“I’ll see what I can do.”



“Work fast. I’m getting married on Friday.”



“Mmhmm.”



“That’s tomorrow, in case you’d missed the memo.”



“I hadn’t.”



“Your RSVP must have gotten lost in the mail. I’ll see you at The Columbia. Nine thirty sharp, the ceremony is at ten. Rent a tux.” I got up and pushed the list closer to him with one finger.



“I own a tuxedo.”



“Then dust it off.”



I was halfway between Keaty’s brownstone and Central Park when Sig called.



“If your young Mister Chancery is to be believed, I owe him several debts of gratitude. It would have been quite inconvenient to have to explain to the council why we needed a new Tribunal leader.”



“Nice to hear your voice too.”



“I trust your vacation was invigorating.”



“I feel like a new woman.”



“Yes, I can imagine.”



“Sig, not that I don’t love our little conversations, but is there something I can do for you?”



“Perhaps invest in a personal calendar.”



“Pardon me?”



“It’s Thursday.”



“Yes, and what’s your—?” Oh, Jesus. Today was the day the council would announce their decision about making Brigit a ward, and I’d totally forgotten. I felt like an asshole of epic proportions. “Is Brigit already there?”



“Waiting very patiently, yes.”



“I’m on my way.”



Chapter Thirty-Six



I wasn’t dressed for the council.



Jeans and a hoodie with thumbholes ripped in the sleeves didn’t scream authority figure, and I already had a hard enough time getting the council to respect my authority.



It didn’t help that when I said “respect my authority” in my head, it was in the voice of Cartman from South Park.



I needed to put on something more appropriate or I risked making them change their minds about letting Brigit become a warden. If my holey-kneed jeans were the reason she didn’t get the position, my asshole status would be assured.



I barged into my apartment, texting Lucas with one hand to tell him he’d have to see Kimberly without me, while my other hand pulled my clothes off. I was topless and halfway out of my pants before I realized I wasn’t alone.



“Don’t let me stop you,” Holden said from his place in the armchair. “I was enjoying the show.”



I threw my hoodie at him. “Make yourself useful. I need to be dressed for council in three minutes.” If I had a fashion editor in my living room, I was going to put him to work.



We went opposite ways, he into my bedroom where he would make himself at home in my closet, and me to the bathroom where I would attempt to scrape off last night’s booze-induced pity party and the exhausted patina it had left on my face.



He mumbled something from the other room.



“Are you bitching about my wardrobe again?” I would be pissed if he was. I’d spent a lot of time and money making it into something respectable since I’d joined the Tribunal. Nothing in my closet was comfortable, but at least I looked hot in it.



I splashed cold water onto my face, and when I straightened, his reflection was next to mine in the mirror. I yelped. “Christ, Holden, do I need to put a little bell on you?”



He continued to speak like I hadn’t even opened my mouth. “What I said was, I was here to see if you’re doing all right. After…you know.” His eyes drifted down to the gray scar on my side. It would whiten over time like the sword wound it was next to. But they’d never heal completely. That was silver for you. I had another white line on my arm and a second star-shaped one on my shoulder from the first assassin’s highway attempt.



For someone who was supposed to be able to heal anything, I was starting to show a lot of permanent damage.



“I’m fine.”



“Where’s your pet dog?”



With those four words he undid all the healing I thought I’d done, proving once and for all there were plenty of wounds I couldn’t keep from reopening.



“What did I say? Jesus, stop crying. I don’t do crying.” He ripped a wad of toilet paper off the roll and shoved it in my face. “Especially women crying. It makes them ugly.”



I hiccupped and almost laughed.



“You would find an insult funny, wouldn’t you?”



I wiped away the tears and threw more water on myself, taking a few shaky breaths to get myself back under control. I’d managed to stop before I got all raw and snot-nosed. There was no Kleenex left in my apartment after last night, between the tears and the tear-induced boogers. God, he was right, crying made people hideous.



“Sorry.”



“You should be, that was awful.” But he was smiling in a worried way.



“What did you find me to wear?”



“Well, I picked this, but I think I might need to go back and get something more absorbent.” He held up a bundle of red satin straps that bore no resemblance to anything that would cover me, but I knew better. I’d bought it, after all.



“Get out so I can change.” I shoved him towards the door.



“Nothing I haven’t seen before.”



“Nothing you’re going to see again.” I slammed the bathroom door in his leering face.



When I came out a minute later I had made my hair into something resembling a French twist, I was wearing enough makeup to cover my swollen eyes, and had managed to make the puffiness work in my favor by emphasizing it with a lot of smoky eyeshadow. I looked squinty and mysterious.



The dress, too, had been transformed. It was no longer a motley collection of fabric strips. Once the dress was on it was a plunging V-neck with straps crisscrossing from front to back in a woven tapestry that would all come undone if someone were to pull the tie at the nape of my neck.



It was a dangerous dress, but right then it was what I needed.



Holden let out a whistle and handed me a pair of silver stiletto sandals. “Now there’s the Secret I know and…know.”