Blood Trial Supernatural Battle (Vampire Towers #1) - Kelly St. Clare Page 0,6

was within walking distance. Dang. Part of me had hoped getting there wouldn’t be possible. Was I really going to do a paper run? Or was I rushing into this? How often did the newspaper come out? If there were two pages of jobs each time, something better was bound to turn up in short duration.

... But what if nothing came up? I had barely any money with me. The longer I was stuck in limbo, the more afraid I’d get. I was determined to keep an open mind to the strangeness of my current lot.

As though drawn, my eyes trained on the tiny advert in the bottom left corner. The notice was still there despite its goal to remain unnoticed. Tommy had said not to bother with Live Right Realty. I wasn’t sure I had that luxury.

I read the address. Level 44, Kyros Sky, Marquis Street.

Another high-rise. Okay, I had five copies of my résumé. Time to spread the mother-trucking news that Basi was in town.

Emboldened, I stepped into the throng of city-goers.

Oof!

The air squeezed from my lungs as a large body slammed into me. Forced back several steps, I sucked in a painful breath. Intense heat spread across my stomach. Yelping, I plucked the silk off my stomach.

My eyes dropped and a moan escaped my mouth at the brown stain covering me.

“You crashed into me,” the man accused. He towered over me, and either side of me.

I clenched my teeth. “Not on purpose.”

“You spilled my coffee too. I just got that.”

Whoa, where was the freakin’ apology? I was the one with boiling coffee on me. He’d halved the number of tops I had to wear. “I wore your coffee. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever. Watch where you’re going.”

I sidestepped him. “Ditto, douchebag.”

He spun after me, and I dodged into the crowd, soon swept into the anonymous midst. Ha! Turned out this chaos had some perks.

My shirt was another story. I cursed the hulking man under my breath. I couldn’t drop my résumé off looking like this—though Jenny might have liked me better for it. She could have pretended it was the remnants of dog vomit.

Spotting a fast-food chain, I adjusted course. Montgomery’s had public bathrooms. Tommy told me about them in one of her drunken nightclub stories.

I sidled past queues of customers, wondering if they were aware they supported a corporation who had fingers in all sorts of pies—including what food laws were passed in government. When money was tight and junk food was cheaper than fruit and vegetables, of course the poor would eat it daily. And they had the health problems to prove it.

Shaking my head, I searched for a toilet and was rewarded by a sign in the far corner.

Success!

Smiling, I weaved between the chairs and tables and entered the female toilets. I scanned the toilet in no small degree of disgust. Yuck. There was water on the tiled floor. At least I hoped it was water. The place could do with a serious mop and a sea salt and saffron candle or three.

I pulled out handfuls of paper towel and dabbed at the stain on my shirt. He’d soaked the entire bottom half.

“Lucky silk dries fast,” I muttered.

A day before, I wouldn’t have given a thought to chucking the soiled shirt into my bathroom hamper that one or other of the half dozen maid staff emptied each day. Two days ago, I’d had a walk-in robe filled with clothing. Today, this shirt was one of the few things I had to my name.

I ended up removing the powder-blue garment to soak and wring the coffee out. I ignored the startled looks of the women going in and out of the toilet as I did my laundry in the sink of Montgomery’s. If they knew I’d slept on the street, they’d think twice about making eye contact.

Most of me was just thanking Zeus’s left nut that no one I knew came here, a sentiment which also pissed me off.

I swung the garment back on, buttoning the two halves and tucking the ends into my slacks.

There. That didn’t look so…

Crap. I looked like I’d done snow angels in a muddy puddle.

I’d just have to wait for it to dry and hope I’d gotten the stain out.

Washing my hands, I splashed some water on my face and surveyed my reflection. Topaz eyes stared back at me, asking what the hell I was doing.

“Good question, frenemy,” I told my reflection.

My eyes were too bright—on the harried side of energetic. My