Page 23 of Fang Fatale

“She’s hiding from him, Cass. The only question is why.”

He studies me for a moment before letting his incisors show.

“You know you’re supposed to bring her back, not date her, right?”

I snort. “There’s zero chemistry.”

“Of course.”

“I looked her directly in the eye, and I’m fairly certain I repulsed her.”

Cassian leans back in his chair. “That’s never happened to you before?”

“Not without considerable effort.”

“Must be unsettling.”

“I’m managing.”

He scratches the back of his neck with one pointed claw. “Maybe she’s just a damsel who decided to stop being in distress. Who says she needs rescuing at all?”

I consider that, though I’m not sure I agree. People who don’t need help rarely surround themselves with wards powerful enough to fold roads in half.

Cass gets up, pours a glug of possibly ancient coffee into a chipped mug, and pushes it across the desk with the solemnity of a divorce lawyer.

“Talk to the people who knew them before she disappeared,” he says. “You’re good at hearing what gets left unsaid. Find a florist, an old roommate, someone with a reason to spill.”

I take the mug, sip once, and grimace.

“You know I can’t taste this, right?”

“You’re welcome.”

He returns to his crossword, but I catch the way his shoulders relax. That’s as close to affection as either of us is willing to get before lunch.

Outside, I pull up the case file on my phone and fake a call to Leland for the benefit of anyone watching.

“Progress is being made,” I say to his voicemail. “I’ll be in touch.”

Technically true.

Just not in the way he expects.

My first stop is Belladonna Blooms, tucked between Blackthorn Hardware and the Sparkle Suds Laundromat. The shop belongs to Lavinia Graves, the local florist and owner of a sixth sense for overhearing heartbreak.

The bell above the door gives a mournful jingle as I step inside.

Lavinia is arranging dusty-pink roses in a black ceramic vase. She doesn’t glance up.

“You’re here about the runaway bride.”

I pause beside a display of carnivorous succulents.

“I was going to pretend an interest in peonies first.”

“You don’t have the complexion for peonies.”

“Cruel.”