Serpent & Dove (Serpent & Dove #1) - Shelby Mahurin Page 0,77
from sliding down my shirt. “Here you are, my dear. You have to pay,” he added, glaring at me.
I wiped icing from my nose incredulously. The man was a lunatic. As was my wife.
When Pan retreated back behind the counter, I rounded on her. “Who is Lucida? And why did you tell him my name is—is—that?”
It took her several seconds to answer—to chew through the enormous glob of sticky bun in her mouth. Her cheeks bulged with it. To her credit, she managed to keep her mouth closed. To my credit, I did too.
She finally swallowed. Licked her fingers with a reverence that belonged in Mass. No—with a reverence that most definitely did not belong in Mass. I looked anywhere but at her tongue. “Mmm . . . so territorial, Chass.”
“Well?” I asked, unable to conceal my jealousy. “Why would you tell him I’m the thief?”
She grinned at me and continued licking her thumb. “If you must know, I use him to guilt Pan into giving me sweets. Just last month, the wicked, wicked Bas tricked me into elopement, only to leave me at the dock. Pan gave me free buns for a week.”
I forced myself to meet her eyes. “You’re deplorable.”
Her eyes glittered. She knew exactly what she was doing. “Yes, I am. Are you going to eat that?” She motioned to my plate. I shoved it toward her, and she bit into my bun with a soft sigh. “Like manna from Heaven.”
Surprise jolted through me. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with the Bible.”
“You probably don’t realize a lot of things about me, Chass.” She shrugged, stuffing half the bun into her mouth. “Besides, it’s the only book in the entire Tower except La Vie éphémère, Shepherd, and Twelve Treatises of Occult Extermination—which is rubbish, by the way. I don’t recommend.”
I hardly heard a word she said. “Don’t call me that. My name is Reid.”
She arched a brow. “I thought they were the same person?”
I leaned back, studying her as she finished my bun. A bit of icing covered her lip. Her nose was still red from the cold, her hair wild and windblown. My little heathen. “You dislike the Chasseurs.”
She fixed me with a pointed stare. “And I tried so hard to hide it.”
I ignored her. “Why?”
“I don’t think you’re ready to hear that answer, Chass.”
“Fine. Why did you want to come out today?”
“Because it was time.”
I suppressed a sigh of frustration. “Meaning . . . ?”
“Meaning there’s a time for mourning, and there’s a time for moving on.”
It was always the same with her. She always hedged. As if sensing my thoughts, she crossed her arms, leaning onto the table. Expression inscrutable. “All right, then. Maybe you are ready to hear some answers. Let’s make a game of it, shall we? A game of questions to get to know each other.”
I leaned forward too. Returning the challenge. “Let’s.”
“Fine. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boring. Mine’s gold—or turquoise. Or emerald.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Because you aren’t as stupid as you look.” I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. She didn’t give me time to decide. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”
“I—” Blood crept up my throat at the memory. I coughed and stared at her empty plate. “The Archbishop once caught me in a—er, compromising position. With a girl.”
“Oh my god!” She smacked her palms against the table, eyes widening. “You got caught having sex with Célie?”
The people at the next table swiveled to stare at us. I ducked my head, thankful—for the first time ever—I wasn’t wearing my uniform. I glared at her. “Shhh! Of course not. She kissed me, okay? It was just kissing!”
Lou frowned. “Just kissing? That’s no fun at all. Hardly something to be embarrassed about.”
But it had been something to be embarrassed about. The look on the Archbishop’s face—I forced the memory away quickly. “What’s yours, then? Did you strip naked and dance the bourrée?”
She snorted. “You wish. No—I sang at a festival when I was a child. Missed every note. Everyone laughed. I’m a shit singer.”
Our neighbors tsked in disapproval. I grimaced. “Yes, I know.”
“Right. Biggest pet peeve?”
“Swearing.”
“Killjoys.” She grinned. “Favorite food?”
“Venison.”
She pointed to her empty plate. “Sticky buns. Best friend?”
“Jean Luc. You?”
“Really?” Her grin faded, and she stared at me with what looked like—like pity. But that couldn’t be right. “That’s . . . unfortunate. Mine is Brie.”
Ignoring the jab—the look—I interrupted before she could ask another question. “Fatal flaw?”