Silver Basilisk - Zoe Chant Page 0,80

in Texas, but she had a good heart. So good, in fact, that she tended to believe anyone who was nice to her—and so they’d met not long after Mattie lost her husband, and she nearly fell into the clutches of a real estate scammer who preyed on widows.

Godiva was within fifteen feet when the door to the convenience store banged open and a young woman built like Jen slammed out, tapping a fresh pack of cigarettes against her palm.

Mattie sat up alertly. There was her target! Just as she’d been instructed, she sprayed the air right in the target’s path. Eucalyptus mixed with cigarette smoke wafted in the air as the woman strode past Mattie, and then Godiva, without a glance.

Godiva glanced over at Mattie, who grinned and raised her phone to report success to Doris.

Two down.

Godiva sat beside Mattie. “Good job.”

“I hope this puts one drug seller out of business,” Mattie said, brandishing her ‘bug spray.’ “She never even looked my way. Oh, my, that was fun, more fun than I’ve had in a bit—well, since me and my hubby used to go square dancing over at—oh, goodness me, will you look at that pair . . .” She sent a puzzled look behind Godiva, then said with a note of question, “Anyone might think that somebody partied hearty last night, but why would he have his briefcase . . .”

Godiva turned her head. A tall man in suit and tie, carrying a briefcase, and a teenage girl with a backpack were shambling along the boulevard, people getting out of their way, some pointing and laughing. Zombies!

Godiva hesitated, remembering that her army of women didn’t know about those.

“Welp, time to scoot,” Godiva said, as Mattie drew breath. “Thanks for helping out!”

Mattie blinked a couple times at this abrupt departure, but called cheerily, “Always glad to clean up the community,” as Godiva hustled away and poked Doris’s number on speed dial.

As soon as Doris answered, Godiva said urgently, “Zombies at two o’clock, heading toward Avenida dos Santos.”

Doris’s phone made the squishy noises that meant she was bobbling it while doing something else, then she said, “More zombies? Thanks, Godiva. I don’t know who I can send. Any chance you can duck into the pet store and get a dog whis—that’s right, I forgot. They all got bought out. Never mind . . .”

Godiva barely recognized Doris’s voice, it was so flat and intense. The fun of the situation vanished. Doris was normally so unflappable, after years of wrangling high school students, that her tension now sent alarm zinging through Godiva. “Doris, what’s wrong?”

Doris sighed, a hissing sound. “They played us, Godiva—” She paused, then said, obviously to someone else, “Another pair just reported nearing Avenida dos Santos. Who’s left to send? I’d better go myself . . .”

Godiva realized Doris was way too busy to chat. She rang off, and turned toward the bakery, punching Rigo’s phone number.

But he didn’t answer.

Now really alarmed, she picked up her pace, bewildered at how a person could go from glee to terror in ten seconds flat. Be sensible, she told herself. He could have left his phone in a restroom or something. But deep underneath she knew he was in danger.

No, no, no, not when she just found him again . . .

Wishing she’d thought to bring her cane, she hustled faster.

Chapter 18

RIGO

When Godiva left for her assignment, he watched her go, relishing her delight in this covert operation. The mate bond gleamed in his mind, bright with her glee.

“I’m so glad you two worked things out,” Jen said.

He turned as she joined him by the window, out of the way of actual customers coming and going. Jen sipped at her herbal tea, and grimaced slightly.

“Thanks,” he responded, unsure where to go next.

She dipped her head toward the door, then said in an undervoice, “You should probably know that Joey Hu hears a lot more than most do. Even me.” She tapped the side of her head significantly.

Rigo looked around before speaking. Everyone was talking to someone else. He said, “So it wasn’t all that random, him bringing up Godiva’s name when I first contacted him?”

She shrugged a shoulder, sipped, grimaced slightly again, then murmured, “Don’t know. Only that he’s very, very sensitive to mates. Potential mates. Broken mate bonds. He tries to fix the ones that can be fixed. Yours was a tough case as the bond was thinner than a thread. All coming from your direction. We didn’t know if