Cherry Bomb_ A Siobhan Quinn Novel - Caitlin R. Kiernan Page 0,10
give me exactly what I want.”
No one calls me Siobhan. Even Mean Mr. B knew better than to call me Siobhan.
She took a step towards me.
“OK,” she said. “If you’re too weak to control yourself, come on.”
I yanked back so hard on that figurative leash it’s a wonder the damned thing didn’t snap and take whatever was left of my sanity with it. But hell if I was about to give either one of them the satisfaction, my Beast or Selwyn. Maybe she was bluffing, and maybe she wasn’t, but on the off chance she was serious, on the off chance she actually was taunting me into killing her . . . fuck that. I took two steps backwards and bumped against the windowsill. Defeated, the wolf withdrew. It knew from experience there’d be lots of other opportunities.
“Liar,” I growled. Yeah, growled is the most honest and accurate way to describe the way the word came out. “You might be a grifter, but no way you’re in this for the short con. You wouldn’t have waited this long if that was your angle.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re probably right.”
How had she even learned my first name? I sure hadn’t told her. I never would learn the answer to that one.
“And don’t you ever fucking again call me Siobhan.”
“Okay, Quinn. I’ll try to remember that.”
Jesus, she looked smug. Right then, I hated her as much as I’d ever hated anyone, which is saying a lot. It passed quickly, but for a moment that hatred was almost enough to call the Beast back again.
“Now,” she said. “Are we done playing chicken? Can we put our dicks away and—”
“You gonna tell me what’s going on with this Snow guy?”
“You know, you look a little woozy, Quinn. Maybe you ought to sit down.” She nodded at the love seat, which was nearer the window than the sofa was. I sat down.
“Who is he?” I asked again.
“Just a disgruntled asshole client. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with his goons. He gets pushy when I’m late with a delivery.”
I covered my eyes a moment. The contacts were stinging, and the room seemed a lot brighter than it had only five minutes earlier.
“And you’re worried maybe this time he’s gonna do more than send the goons around, even though having a goon of your own on your six isn’t entirely the reason I’m here. Have I got that right, Ms. Smithfield? More or less?”
“More or less,” she said.
I squinted at her from between my fingers. Her pale skin almost seemed to glow. She sat down on the sofa and reached for the pack of cigarettes and my Zippo lying on the cushion where I’d left them.
“So what makes this time different?” I asked her.
She exhaled smoke and tossed the lighter at me.
“How about we discuss Isaac Snow later? I’m starving. You might only need to eat every couple of days, but right now I’d kill for pizza or a bowl of noodles. I’m not used to missing breakfast.”
So we went to Famous Original Ray’s on Ninth, and I watched while Selwyn scarfed down three slices of meatball and sausage. At least she wasn’t a vegetarian. Other than my blood, the CPA had been, and I never missed an opportunity to point out the irony.
I asked again about the troublesome client, and once again she dodged the questions.
“Later,” she said.
She sat there in her fraying gray cardigan and the same Hellboy shirt from the night before. I sat there in my duster and a black tank top. I had gone to the trouble to hide my true face, my true teeth, because, duh, vamps are a lot more noticeable by the light of day. There was a strange familiarity about that morning. Like, you know, we’d known each other for years. There never was a “getting to know you” period for me and Selwyn Throckmorton. Is that what people mean by soul mates? You meet someone, and the way it goes feels like you’ve known them all your life?
Once upon a time, as they say, I’d thought that was a girl named Lily.
Selwyn stopped gnawing the crunchy rind that was the only thing left of her third slice and dropped the piece of crust onto her grease-stained paper plate.
“Ever think it might not have been an accident?” she asked me.
“Ever think what might not have been an accident?”
“The first ghoul, that night in the warehouse.” She wiped her hands with a paper napkin.