Rumor had it he had been a desk jockey prior to my arrival. Halfway down Peachtree Street Northwest, I got a text from Bishop, who might as well have been my parole officer given how often he required check-ins when the boss was out of town. Thankfully, indulgences at that price tier came magically treated against melting in my pocket. Now they were the only currency the shadow accepted as a reward for good behavior. Flavored with champagne and dusted in pure cacao, they were heaven in the mouth and hell on the wallet. I never should have fed it one of the single origin chocolate ganache squares my boss gave me on my birthday. The void swallowed my offering and snapped back into shape, mimicking me once again. “Are you serious?” I lifted my cup and got a thumbs-up in response. The fingers shifted into a hand and formed the letter C. “Don’t come whining to me if it makes you sick.” “Fine.” I tossed my half-eaten meal, wrapper and all, into the darkness. The shadow pretending to be mine unspooled its grasping fingers across the sidewalk in front of me and made a gimme motion. The Italian ice stand the next block down made for a good palate cleanser, but they served at a glacial pace worthy of their product, and I wanted to finish watching Robot Space Tentacles Attack Earth before I called it a day. Rinsing my mouth out with a gulp of flat soda of undetermined flavor, I was tempted to chase this bad idea with another one. He was trying to lure in a new crop of suckers, and my forehead must have looked freshly stamped.
Goddess only knows what he had fed his regular customers until the health department caught up with him. Frak. Sal swore on his mother’s grave he had used real chicken this time, and I bought it. Regret tasted like a discount food truck taco. But that rope starts to feel more like a noose as they come closer to discovering not only the rogue’s identity, but each other’s darkest secrets. When a bloodthirsty rogue begins hunting the city’s paranormals, Hadley ropes Midas into letting her work the case. Even if it means playing nice with Midas Kinase, a shifter whose mysterious past might just be grimmer than her own. Goddess willing, she’s going to be the next Potentate of Atlanta. Some days it’s hard for her to tell fact from fiction, but only one truth matters. Or maybe she’s just getting better at them. Hadley Whitaker is a liar, a killer, and a chocoholic, but she’s getting better about the first two. The Black DogConnected SeriesReading Order.
0 kommentar(er)
