Dahlia has lived in our universe as an immortal for centuries. She has a soft spot for this universe - all the good and all the bad - and has made the best of an admittedly bad situation. Her universe? It...went through some things, but who cares, w...
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LANCE'S AUTO CLINIC was a nondescript building made up of a yawning, double-garage entrance. Marcus pulled into one of the many empty parking spots in the parking lot off on one side and switched the car off.
"Are you all right?" Marcus asked, when I made no move to leave the car.
"What do you think, Marcus?" I looked at him. "What do you honestly think?"
His brow furrowed. "Is that rhetorical?"
"Let's just get this over with," I muttered, opening my door and hopping outside.
The wind had picked up momentum. I rubbed my hands together, wishing I'd had the foresight to wear gloves. What exactly was the point of cold weather? It had zero benefits, in my opinion, aside from the fact that you could wear trench coats. I blew out a breath. Did I want to live in a world without trench coats? Without the need for trench coats?
"Dahlia." Marcus had already rounded the car, barring me against it. "You're still angry with me."
"Astute observation."
"I don't understand why."
"Five years, Marcus," I bit out. "You've known we could go home for five years, and you and the rest of the Council kept it under wraps until now. Memphis had to die here. For what?"
It's not like you would've gone back anyway, said the voice in my head, and I instantly quieted it down.
There was a short, stout man in grey overalls, standing in the parking lot with a cigarette in hand. He was very clearly trying to listen to our conversation, his bespectacled eyes darting in our direction every few seconds between puffs of his cigarette.
"We shouldn't be talking about this here anyway," I said in a considerably quieter voice.
"Something we can finally agree on."
Killing him sounded good right about then. Instead, I ambled to the smoking employee, pasting a smile onto my face.
"Hi. We're looking for Simone," I said to him. "Does she work here?"
He eyed me. "What's this about?"
"She's a friend." This came from Marcus.
The man seemed to thinkabout the truth of this for all of ten seconds. "All right. Follow me." He flickedhis cigarette to the ground and stepped on it with a dirty boot
I was expecting him to take us to some sort of reception area within the noisy garage. I didn't expect him to yell at someone bent over the hood of a beat-up Toyota Camry. Admittedly, not my best moment.
Simone rose to her full height. Even in grey overalls that were just as filthy as the ones that everyone at Lance's seemed to wear, there was no denying how pretty she was. The Facebook picture that Marcus had shown me didn't do her justice. In that photo, her honey-brown hair was in loose, springy curls, softening her angular face. She was sitting at a restaurant table, a flute of champagne in one hand, toasting the cameraperson. Her wide, brown eyes were sparkling, from laughter or too much to drink. She had the kind of striking features that made her unforgettable.
