The Key to Fear - Kristin Cast Page 0,38
down the window, stuck the top half of her body out, and used the door as a seat. The Pearl crept forward as Astrid drummed on the top of the vehicle and shouted, “Sorry, Gwendolyn. Your daughter and me got places to be.”
After another hour driving around the suburbs with Astrid, Elodie finally made it back to her house. The entire time they were out, she’d wanted to talk about the beautiful and exciting stranger from the ELU, but could sense that she’d be pushing Astrid past her limit. Her best friend could only handle a certain amount of curiosity before she shut it down completely and started talking about the facts, and facts weren’t as exciting as the stories Elodie made up in her head.
Now that she was home, she would busy herself with a task more important than obsessing over an encounter with the mohawked mystery guy she would probably never see again, and shouldn’t be thinking about anyway.
She would catch up with Vi.
As soon as she was in her room, Elodie tossed her backpack onto her bed, slipped out of her scrubs, and pulled on her comfiest pair of sweats. She folded herself under her weighted blanket and held her breath, listening for her mother’s pealing laughter and staccato footsteps downstairs. Satisfied that Gwen was nowhere near her second-story room, Elodie cracked the spine of her textbook and propped it against her legs.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Love had always been at the bottom of Violet’s priority list. Hell, if she was being honest, it hadn’t even made the cut. Now, lust had been there, standing rock hard and at attention. But any itches she had, she scratched with her clients—scratched with the kills. That was, until she’d met Zane Cole. He’d made her itch in a way that only he could scratch. At first, she’d hated him—but wasn’t that how all the best love stories started?
Zane’s hair was black today. The flat, false kind of black that would wash out later, filling the tub with inky water until it disappeared down the drain along with the remnants of whichever character her wore for his most recent job. Finding a partner who understood the world Vi lived in was lucky. Most people in her line of work were terrible assholes. Zane was just terrible. But in a bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold clichéd type of way.
Incoming call from Gwendolyn Benavidez / “Mom.”
Elodie groaned. The next time she started reading, she would have to remember to turn off her incoming calls.
“What? ” she said, with a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes, thankful that her mother had opted for the comlink instead of the vidlink.
“I hope you had fun with your little friend.” Gwen paused, waiting for a response Elodie wasn’t going to provide. “Honestly, Elodie, you take off with Astrid and now you’re giving me an attitude? That is no way to treat your mother, Elodie Grace.”
Gwen had not only said Elodie’s name twice, she’d added her middle name for emphasis. She was more upset than her tone revealed. Elodie clenched her teeth and drew a breath through her nose as her mother continued.
“Hopefully you can reclaim your wits enough to tell me what you think of this dress.” Another pause. “The three of us will have to go to the director’s funeral, and I want to make sure we don’t embarrass your father. He’s worked long and hard for his title, and I wouldn’t want us to do anything to put it in jeopardy.”
Elodie’s stomach soured with the mention of her father, and she closed her textbook. “Mom, there’s no way Dad is going to lose his job because you’re not wearing the right dress.”
Through her comlink, she heard her mother’s heels clicking against the new marble floor she’d just had installed in the kitchen. Gwen always wore heels. Not because she was unsatisfied with her height (her statuesque figure came in just under five ten), but because, as she always said whenever Elodie had the audacity to lounge around the house in her sweats, You always want to look presentable. You never know who might show up unannounced. Gwen had also told Elodie to wear a pantyliner at all times in case she was ever involved in an accident so that, before help arrived, of course, she could rip it off and throw it away and have pristine undergarments. As a nurse, Elodie wasn’t sure what perceived vaginal hygiene had to do with the type of care one would receive at the