Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(4)
We continued our walk down the hall, her rolling beside me.
“I went into the city with Christian to have breakfast.”
She flashed me an impish grin. “That sounds mysterious.”
“The only thing mysterious was his aversion to pie.”
“I want to hear all the details.” Gem had her eyes on Wyatt’s office just to the left and broke away to skate ahead of me through the open door. “Visitors!” she announced in a bright voice.
I moseyed inside and noticed Shepherd lying on the black sofa to the left, an ashtray on his chest. Little flecks of grey ash were scattered across his black T-shirt. His ankles were crossed, one arm behind his head while he watched an action movie on TV.
Typical Shepherd.
Gem whirled around and finally took a good look at me. As her eyes dragged downward, she gaped at my pants. “Did you and Christian get into a fight?”
Wyatt spun around in his computer chair and looked me over. “Son of a ghost. I knew I should have made popcorn. What’s the scoop?”
“There’s no scoop.” I glanced down at the red ketchup splattered on my jeans. “Suffice it to say that after building a bloody massacre of snowmen, we’ll never be invited to Saint Vincent’s Church again.”
Wyatt flipped his beanie off, revealing a messy head of nut-brown hair. “You’re going to hell in a handbasket.”
I walked around him and sat on the leather stool. “I ate your chili last night. I’m already there.”
He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, his boot heel propped on the stone floor. Wyatt’s attitude was a lot more easygoing now that—according to him—the house was ghost-free. I hadn’t caught him racing down the hallways in the wee hours of the morning, spooked by something he’d seen. “I’m looking forward to the feast you’re cooking tonight, Julia Child.”
Crap. I’d forgotten it was my week to cook. Everyone rotated chores, including cooking, laundry, trash, and general cleaning to name a few. They were spread out so that one person wasn’t given both cooking and laundry on the same week. After just over a month, it was finally my turn in the kitchen. I hadn’t boiled water in probably seven years. Was it possible to make ramen noodles look gourmet?
Gem glided toward a beanbag chair and plopped down. The oversized chair dwarfed her as it puffed out.
I eased my elbows on the desk behind me and faced Shepherd, who was entertaining himself by blowing smoke rings. “Is this what you do all day?”
He took another drag, eyes still fixed on the TV. “I’m waiting on Spooky to run a file check for me.”
The sound of Blue’s boot heels echoing in the hallway announced her arrival before she ever set foot in the room. A falcon Shifter, Blue strutted in as cool as a cucumber and switched on the trendy floor lamp behind the couch.
“Delivery,” she said, tapping Shepherd’s forehead with an envelope. When she bent over the corner of the sofa to drop it in his lap, her long brown hair tickled the top of his head and made his nose twitch.
In a gravelly voice, he said, “I don’t get mail.” Shepherd blew out another ring of smoke.
She yanked a red pillow out from beneath his head. “You do now. A messenger dropped it off a minute ago. Better take it before I let Wyatt have the first look.”
Wyatt rolled his chair across the room and reached out with grabby hands. “Gimme.”
Shepherd snatched the envelope and set his ashtray on the floor. He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, ashes scattering onto his lap. Shepherd was a lot like the furniture in some of the rooms; he might not fit in with his surroundings, but after a while, you got used to him. He ran a hand across his buzz cut, a cigarette firmly wedged between two fingers.
Wyatt used his heels to propel his chair back to his desk, where he rummaged through a drawer and retrieved a box of chocolate-covered raisins. “Well?”
Shepherd ripped open the envelope with his teeth and spit the loose paper onto the floor.
Blue picked up his ashtray and set it on the end table to the right of the sofa.
“What is it?” I asked, watching him read the letter.
He wadded the paper up in his hand. “Something I don’t have time for.” Shepherd stood up and showered the floor with ashes. The muscles on his arms flexed and hardened as he dusted off his clothes. Shepherd spent a lot of time doing pull-ups, and it showed with nearly every subtle move he made. He tossed the paper into the wastebasket across the room and stalked toward Wyatt, who spun out of the way so that Shepherd could grab a file off his desk. “Send me the rest when you’re done.”
As soon as Shepherd left the room, Wyatt nearly tipped over his chair as he dove into the trash.
“What’s it say?” I whispered, sidling up next to him.
He smoothed out the crumpled paper and read it to himself. “Holy Toledo! This is an invitation from Mr. Patrick Bane.”
“You mean the guy whose party we crashed?” Mr. Bane was an elite member of society who belonged to the higher authority. We’d recently attended a masquerade ball at his mansion.
Wyatt set the letter on his lap and gave a throaty chuckle. “My favorite part is where it says Mr. Shepherd Moon. I never thought of Shepherd as a mister anything but a pain-in-the-ass chain-smoker. I bet he’s afraid he’ll have to put on a suit.”