All That Falls (32 page)

Lysander glanced at the robe disdainfully. “The human obsession with nudity is wasted energy. And Cerise is the last person who needs to cover her body. It’s superb.”

When Cerise had the robe around her and fastened, she pulled the towel out from underneath it, wadded it up and flung it at him. He caught it and set it next to him on the edge of the bed.

“I see you’re dressed,” Cerise said dryly, glancing pointedly at his jeans.

“Merrick insisted,” Lysander said with a shrug. “He left Alissa standing in the hall while I put these on.”

“It’s a social convention. It costs you nothing to conform and would make us uncomfortable if you didn’t. Why resist?” Cerise asked.

“On principle.”

“You’d get further having this argument with a rock. He’s immoveable on the subject,” Merrick said. “And on plenty of others.”

Lysander nodded. “Would you paint over Cabanel’s Venus to cover her nakedness? Do you wrap sheets in toga fashion around the sculptures in your rooftop garden?”

Merrick rolled his eyes.

“Of course you don’t,” Lysander continued. “The form and function of human bodies is a work of genius, of unparalleled artistry. And no demon plot will ever rob me of that per-spective.”

“You can be philosophically opposed all you want as long as you keep your clothes on,” Cerise said. “While we’re involved, I’m the only woman who gets to see you naked.”

Lysander cocked his head, his gaze going to the crumpled photo. “Nakedness implies intimacy, so it’s cause for jealousy?”

Cerise nodded.

“Then I’ll follow convention if you want me to.”

Merrick raised his brows in surprise, and then looked at Cerise. “That’s some trick. You’re welcome to stick around.”

Lysander rolled his eyes. “You, on the other hand, can return to your apartment with Alissa whenever you want, Merrick.”

Merrick smiled at the invitation to leave. “Is ‘make love not war’ your new motto, Romeo?”

Lysander ran a hand through his hair. “If battle is imminent, I’m ready. Until it’s imminent though, I prefer her company to yours.”

“Can’t blame you for that,” Merrick said.

Cerise cleared her throat, seeing she would have to get them back on task. “So what brought you guys down here, Merrick?”

“Hayden Lane slipped through Ox’s fingers. From what I can piece together, Tamberi Jacobi told Hayden and Jersey that Griffin died owing her money. When Hayden went to settle accounts, Tamberi decided she’d rather have his blood than his money. Or, knowing her, both his blood and his money. Hayden managed to escape, but after a transfusion at the local urgent care, he seems to have decided to take his blood back from
Tamberi using the age-old method. He’s gonna watch it drain out through a lot of lead-lined holes.”

“Oh no.” Cerise scowled. “Hayden’s no match for Tamberi Jacobi. The second she sees him approach, she’ll know he’s come for revenge. He’ll never get close enough to shoot her before she kills him.”

“He’s had no weapons training?”

“No,” Cerise said.

Merrick’s grim expression spoke volumes.

“I need to find him before he tries to confront her,” Cerise said.

Lysander rose to join her.

“Merrick, any idea where we can find her? Or where we’ll find Hayden?” Cerise asked.

“Tamberi’s a frequent fixture at Di Vetro. It’s a club,” he added. “No guarantee that she’ll be there tonight though, unless we bait the trap.”

“What do you suggest?” Lysander asked.

“That I come along and invite her to meet me for a drink so she and I can settle our differences.”

“I know she wants to kill you, but she’ll have to suspect that the invitation is a trap,” Lysander said.

“If I make the meeting request public enough, she won’t be able to ignore it without losing face. She’ll come.”

“That works,” Cerise said.

“I take it that you don’t want me to join you?” Alissa asked.

Merrick shook his head. “You killed Cato. There’s no one on earth Tamberi wants dead more than you. Not even me.”

“I bet you never expected to find my name above yours on a Wanted poster,” Alissa said.

Cerise couldn’t help but smile. Merrick loomed dark and dangerous over his pale wisp of a wife, but there was a glint in Alissa’s eyes that said she shouldn’t be underestimated.

“Actually, I wouldn’t say that,” Merrick returned. “You’ve always been on the top of my Most Wanted list.”

The edges of Alissa’s mouth curved up. “Sometimes it’s nice to be popular. As for Tamberi Jacobi…” Alissa tilted her head and continued in a deceptively mild tone. “She’s a danger to the world. If she misses her brother so much, she should join him.”

Cerise raised her brows.
Yeah, let’s not underestimate Alissa.

Alissa laid a hand on Merrick’s arm and squeezed. “But no matter how Tamberi Jacobi ends the night, I expect you to come home in one piece. Do that, Merrick.” Cerise felt Alissa’s power pulse through the room, the scent of amber and vanilla wafting on the air. Merrick licked his lips like he’d like to take a bite out of his wife. Cerise wondered if Alissa shared her blood with him. If she did, it certainly wasn’t leaving her weakened. To Cerise, Alissa had never seemed more powerful.

“I’ll work on things from here,” Alissa added.

“What things?” Cerise asked.

“I need to set the record straight for the EC on a couple of matters,” Alissa said, trailing a finger absently over Merrick’s arm. After a moment, she stepped away from him.

Setting the record straight.
That was something Cerise needed to do in her own head. She thought of Griffin’s songbook and the need to retrieve it from Lysander’s house. Turning to him, she asked, “How are your wings healing?”

“Well,” he said. He moved his back experimentally. “I think only another few hours to go. It’s hard for me to exactly determine, but the pain of healing is much less than before.”

“You’re in pain now?” she asked. “You don’t show it.”

“You expect me to whimper and complain?” He smiled and shook his head. “I’m grateful for the pain of healing. Much better than the alternative.”

She nodded. “And I suppose archangels aren’t allowed to whimper?”

“There’s no law against it,” he said, “but you’re right, it wouldn’t suit us.”

“Unfortunately, keeping silent about the pain means that you’ll miss out on the comfort someone might offer,” Alissa pointed out.

“In certain company,” Lysander said, glancing at Cerise, “that would be a shame.”

“We’re quite the cozy foursome these days,” Cerise said dryly.

“Yes. I’d be happy if that went on forever,” Alissa said.

Cerise glanced at Lysander, who said nothing. That gave Cerise a pang. He didn’t want it to go on. He still wanted to
leave them behind. She frowned, unable to keep shards of ice from forming around her heart.

“Dimitri’s been trying to contact us,” Alissa said. “I’m going to talk to him about Troy. For the sake of everyone involved, the council needs to be aware that there was more to Troy than he let the EC see.”

“Good luck convincing them of that.”

Alissa smiled a distant smile, glacial in its resolve. “In this case, I don’t need luck. I kept proof.”

From the outside, the massive multistory club Di Vetro looked like a haunted mansion. Inside, the swirled glass accents gave the club a surreal feel, as though you were sitting in the middle of a coral reef at the bottom of the ocean.

A maroon light fixture with uneven scalloped edges like it had been formed from melted wax hung from a distressed chain over the bar. Because the fixture was familiar, Cerise stopped walking. The light was similar to the ones hanging over the kitchen counter in Griffin’s Etherlin apartment. His were purple and yellow, like a bruise. She hadn’t liked their asymmetric shape, and Griffin’s lights had an impression etched into them that looked like bats’ wings, which Cerise found creepy. Griffin had denied the pattern’s resemblance to bats, saying it reminded him of an umbrella. He said the fixture had come from a shop in San Francisco. If that was true, how had another piece from the same artist ended up in a Varden bar?

She stood very still with Lysander’s hand pressed against the small of her back, whether just to touch her or to urge her forward, she wasn’t sure. The question staring her in the face had her rooted to the spot.

Lysander asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Too soon to tell,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I’m going behind that bar.”

Like blades through flesh, Merrick and Lysander cut through the fray. Cerise strode forward, inclining her head at
the bartenders who were splashing liquor into glasses and passing cocktails to the raucous crowd.

“Need something?” one of the bartenders barked at her.

Merrick leaned against the bar, saying, “She’s not your concern.”

The bartenders jerked to a stop, looking over Merrick and Lysander.

“What can I get you, Merrick?” the bartender asked.

“The Macallan Twelve on the rocks,” Merrick said. “And a pair of orange ’ritas.”

Cerise stood under the light fixture examining it for a signature. Instead she found Molly Times lyrics etched on the inner lip.
Razor-ending zero, I endanger lives.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” she said flatly. She turned to the bartender who set the drinks in front of Merrick. “Do you know the artist who made this glass?” she asked, tapping it with her fingertip.

“Don’t know about the artist, but it was a gift to the club’s owner from Tamberi Jacobi. She named the place, too. Di Vetro means ‘of glass.’”

“Did the lead singer of the Molly Times ever come here?”

“Griffin Lane?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, sure. He showed up with her sometimes.”

“With who?”

“With Beri Jacobi.”

What? No! With that psychotic ventala bitch who raises—he wouldn’t—

The rushing sound in her ears drowned out the noise, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

The bartender slid one of the orange drinks to her. “Need this?” he asked in a tone that was ripe with condescension.

She glared at him, but took the glass. Tipping her head back, she hoped the alcohol burning its way down her throat would make her numb.

“They came in together?” she asked.

“And they left together. And while they were here, they were
together
,” the bartender said with a smiling sneer. “He might’ve been your aspirant, but she owned him as sure as if he’d come with a price tag. Wore him like a hat. Don’t know where she bit him, but he walked like it was someplace close to his balls.”

“Is that right?” Cerise asked, her voice distant and brittle as she felt her heart break all over again.
How many other women were there? Did he ever really love me? Or was it an act to get me to help him with his music?

No. No way. I would’ve known—wouldn’t I have known?

Feeling humiliated, the lyrics to “Sympathy, Too” echoed in her head.
Taken all at midnight, Black berries done all right.
It seemed that as Griffin had sworn, those lyrics weren’t a reference to Cerise’s black cherry hair.
Black berries…Black Beri’s done all right.
Had Griffin actually woven a reference to Tamberi Jacobi into his song?

Cerise felt sick and precariously close to tears.

God, I thought he was hurting, that he needed my
support.

He made such a fool of me.

How did I not see it? Not sense it?

She slapped the fixture hard, and it swung in a long arc. Unfortunately the chain wasn’t long enough for it to shatter against the wall. She passed the swinging glass on her way out from behind the bar.

Stop. Just stop.

He was a liar and a cheat. She’d given him her time, her talent, her heart…All those months she’d grieved for him—that she’d worried that she might have done something to make him hurt himself. She’d felt so guilty, so responsible. She’d even lost the thing that mattered most—her muse magic.

Her eyes burned and she blinked.
Don’t you dare cry over him! Not now!

“Hey, Cerise—” the bartender said, grinning at her.

“I wouldn’t,” Merrick said in a low voice.

At Merrick’s warning, the guy shrugged. “She asked.”

Merrick’s stare was diamond hard. It held the promise of a painful death. She loved him for that. The remnants of the bartender’s smile evaporated.

“Get you another Scotch?” the bartender asked.

Merrick said nothing. His eyes did all the talking, and the bartender ambled to the other end of the bar.

She swallowed past the pain in her throat. “There are some nights—like this one—when I’d like to be able to crush someone with a look,” Cerise said. “You’ll have to teach me that trick.”

Merrick nodded. “Need another drink?”

“No,” she said, glancing at Lysander’s face and then down his chest to the flat muscles of his stomach. The archangel watched her with interest. He hadn’t interfered in her exchange with the bartender, and she was glad. He had faith in her ability to take care of herself in most situations, which meant a lot to her. But she did desperately want to escape the pain and frustration she felt, and Lysander had proven himself an excellent distraction.

“You know what works better than skulking off to a corner to lick one’s wounds?” she asked Merrick, her voice full of false bravado.

“What’s that?” he responded.

“Skulking off to the corner with someone pretty who’ll do it for you.”

Merrick flashed a smile. “True.”

“If a fight breaks out and you need a wingman, or woman, give a shout.”

Merrick nodded toward his glass, and the bartender materialized immediately to pour him another shot.

“Take your time. I’ll cover my end.”

“I don’t care what they say about you, Merrick,” Cerise said and pulled out an expression Merrick was rumored to use, “you’re a peach.”

Merrick laughed and glanced at Lysander. “You’re lucky I met my muse before I met yours. Things might’ve turned out differently.”

She didn’t believe that for a minute, but when her pride was in shreds on the floor, it was a cool thing for Merrick to say.