Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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I'd made Tabitha cry.
A sour lump formed in my throat and I cursed my own idiocy.
Slipping off my aviators, I tossed them into the glove box. The Bugatti's door scissored up and I ducked out, rounding the sports car quickly. Tendrils of steam rose from a manhole, and the sidewalk was a blur of faces while traffic lights blinked in the distance. The blasting sound of car horns pierced the creeping dusk, along with bellowing—all directed at me. A few people openly stopped on the sidewalk to gawk, curious to see what the hold up was, including a short stocky man who held a tiny toy dog in one arm while taking a bite from a falafel, unashamedly staring.
The line of vehicles my double parking had brought to a standstill idled with rumbling engines and enraged drivers. A few of them poked their heads out of car windows and hurled abuse, much like the corporate asshole directly behind my Bugatti. The air stirred by cars crawling past in the opposite direction lifted his comb-over to wave at me.
So I was holding him up from getting to a bar for pretentious overpriced drinks and a lapdance—big fucking deal.
"Move your fucking car, asshole!" the asshole screamed.
"Fuck you!" I roared, slamming my fist on the shiny hood of his white BMW and almost punching a hole right through the metal.
He gulped at the impressive dent I'd left behind. Jerking back inside his car, he quickly rolled up his window and locked the door for good measure. He slunk down so low all I could see above his steering wheel was his balding head.
Shaking the pain from my knuckles, I hurried to Tabitha, feeling like a right bastard. Autumnal twilight was descending upon the city and turned the exhaust fumes even dirtier, the city even grimier. Stores were either shutting down for the evening or opening up for night-time trade. As the day's warmth bled away, the air carried with it savory smells from street vendors hawking their meals—hot dogs slathered in mustard, pungent coriander sprinkled over fat noodles, and steaming bowls of polish potato dumplings. All of it reminded me I was starving.
I crouched down beside Tabitha's little shoebox car so I was at eye level with her. Her fingers clutched the open window as briny tears stung her cheeks a blotchy strawberry. "My c-car won't st-start..." she sobbed. "I want t-to g-g-go home."
My heart clenched painfully and I mentally kicked myself. It hadn't even crossed my mind she'd have reacted this miserably to her car not starting. Running my gaze along the length of her bright chili-red car, I feigned innocence. "What seems to be the problem?"
I stole the spark plug cables, that's the problem.
Tabitha was going to kill me if she learned her car didn't work because I'd disabled it.
Her rosy lips curled downward, glistening with distress. "I don't know. It's n-not going. It's not even t-turning over." Her eyes had puffed right up and were as crimson-rimmed as the tip of her nose, and as she bawled her eyebrows were doing this strange caterpillar thing.
