The Lost (Celestial Blues, Book 2) - By Vicki Pettersson Page 0,50
drug that creates an inferno inside the body can only be fought by a monster capable of breathing flame. Fire against fire.”
Dennis ran a hand over his head. “As long as that fire isn’t directed your way.”
“Oh, look! It’s Layla’s turn!” Fleur grabbed her spinning rattler off the table and stood as Layla Love—their sometime frenemy and the city’s self-appointed neo-burlesque queen—began to gyrate to a raucous bump-and-grind. “Come on—let’s go cheer her on!”
But Lil just kept looking at Kit. “Not me, mija. I’m going to stay and watch this show.”
“What show?” Kit tilted her head, then blinked when Fleur unceremoniously dragged Lil away. O-kay.
She turned back to Dennis. “Friends,” she told him with a shrug.
He leaned on the table so their elbows touched, warm, comforting, and close.
Kit leaned forward, too. “So what do you got for me?”
This close, there were sparks to Dennis’s eyes, a brilliant yellow ring around his irises that flared like warm stars when he smiled. “Gotta get right to the point, don’t you?”
“People are dying,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the catcalls and rattlers.
“And knowing what I’ve ‘got’ isn’t going to stop it.”
Kit lifted her chin. “It could. If I think fast. Act faster.”
“You’re right.” He inclined his head. “It already did.”
Kit blinked. “What do you mean?”
“The tweekers you led us to today?” he asked, as if she could forget.
“Tim and Jeannie,” she said, because she never would.
“Tim Kovacs and Jeannie Holmes,” he confirmed, then shook his head appreciatively. “It was good work, Kit. Damned good work.”
She couldn’t see how. “Because?”
Now a full smile bloomed, causing the stars in his eyes to dim in comparison and the spotlights and music to fade. All Kit heard were his next words . . . and they truly were beautiful. “Because one of them survived.”
Chapter Eleven
One of the tweekers destined for death—one of the fates Grif had sworn they couldn’t change—had survived? Kit shot so straight in her chair she was almost standing. “Which one? Who?”
“The female. Jeannie Holmes.” Dennis held up a hand as Kit opened her mouth to ask more. “But don’t get too excited. The doctors aren’t sure she’ll make it. She already coded once and she’s being kept in a coma because of the extent of her wounds.”
“When can I—” Kit started, then caught herself. “I mean, when can you talk to her?”
“Did you hear the coma part?” Dennis shook his head and his eyes lost all their satisfaction. “This krokodil is no joke. It will take weeks to wean her from it, and that’s only if she survives that long.”
Kit recalled Dr. Ott’s words. A month to recover fully. By then there’d likely be more dead.
Dennis read her mind. “Even then we don’t know how much good it’ll do. She might have fried her brain, too. I don’t know how this drug works.”
“Does she have family?”
He nodded. “A mother. She’s at the hospital now.”
Kit bit her lip and waited.
“Kit.” Dennis sighed, exasperated.
“You wouldn’t even know about this case, or krokodil, if it weren’t for me,” Kit pointed out. “And Jeannie wouldn’t be alive.”
“And?” he said. He was going to make her ask it.
Fine. She lifted her chin. “And maybe her mother will be so thankful that she’ll be willing to talk to the woman who got her daughter help in time.”
Dennis sighed again, then looked away. “I’ll ask,” he said, after another moment. “But stay away from Naked City.”
Kit decided not to tell him about her run-in with Baptista, and would’ve lunged to hug him if his eyes weren’t currently glued to Layla’s blinding, glittering tassels.
“Want a closer look, dear?” she teased, bringing Dennis’s gaze back around.
“Nah,” he scoffed softly, glancing down as he lifted his drink. “I have the best view in the house.”
And he looked back up, directly at Kit.
Kit stared back, stunned as applause rose up all around her. What the hell was going on?
“I mean it,” Dennis said, glancing away, missing her frown. “You look amazing tonight. Our girls are all babes, of course, but you have a way of filling up a room. It’s like a giant bouquet of roses in a banquet hall. Everything else looks artificial next to something so real and alive.”
“Dennis,” she said, then paused, unsure how to continue.
“I know,” he said, holding up a hand to stop her. “You’re in a relationship, and your man would kick my ass just for the way I’m looking at you now.”
“Yes,” Kit said, though Grif had too much confidence and self-possession to