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“How…riveting.” Interest ignites in his stormy eyes. “Might I be so bold as to ask for your soul?”
“What?”
“Your soul. I’d like to examine it.”
“Are you insane?”
“Perhaps.” His smile returns, laced in humor. “If I am, I wholly blame genetics.”
I stare at him, disturbed.
He lets his hand fall from my face, and I find the energy to take a step back, putting some space between us. He proceeds to clarify his statement, as though his clarification makes any sense at all. “Meda’s told you about our new faerie princess. I came from her, and she is, quite often, delightfully bonkers.”
I scowl. “It’s not wise to enable Meda’s stories or use them to insult me. She needs to grow to have a better grasp on reality if she’ll want to fit in.”
“Fit…in?” His brows rise. “Oh my. What a turn of events.”
“What are you talking about?”
He chuckles. “Oh, perhaps nothing. It’s just…well…Meda is under the impression that you believe her. I did assume something was amiss, given how you’re acting. Pollux is…interesting…but for anyone who can stand him, hatred is not the usual response.”
My voice shakes, a horrible mixture of anger and concern getting stuck in my throat. “I’m worried about Andromeda. And I don’t know how you fit into this, but if you’re just hired help, please.” I grab his arm, dig my fingers into his muscle, and implore, “Help me help her.”
Alexios’s expression deadens as he stares at my fingers. Prying them off, he says, “Do not touch me without permission. Being touched by strangers is one of my least favorite sensory experiences.” He fixes his sleeve, smoothing the wrinkles I caused. “As for Meda, she hardly needs help. The tiny monster is boundlessly loved here. Given what she is, her fortunes are many more than seem wholly fair.”
My gaze slashes down, to the phone I’m still clutching like a lifeline, and I swipe inconspicuously to video before pressing record. “Does Pollux make drugs in the basement?”
“Pollux makes a grand many things in that basement of his.”
“Including drugs?”
“Sure, if you want to call them that.”
“And does he give them to his seven-year-old daughter?”
“He gives them to Alana, mostly. They’d hardly do anything for Meda. She shares his unique constitution.”
My eyes narrow. “What does that mean?”
“Aphrodisiacs aren’t so effective on creatures that deal in emotions.”
Aphrodisiacs.
My mouth goes entirely dry.
Abruptly, Alexios turns his head, and his brow lowers. “Pardon me, I’m being summoned,” he says, then he passes.
By the time I’ve had a chance to take a rationalizing breath and turn around, he’s gone.
My stomach knots as I stop the recording and fight to gather my thoughts.
The system is horrible. Even videos of crimes worse than the mere mention of a drug lab in the basement can be marked off as nothing by the wrong people in power. If CPS won’t get it for me, I need more proof. More proof that whatever is happening here negatively impacts someone who might care.
And if I can’t get the right people in power to care, I need enough proof to convince Zahra to help me. Her social platforms for her online streaming may be able to make enough noise and reach the right people.
As long as I can get something of substance.
Locating the last set of double doors on the right, I swallow.
