Page 184 of The Darkest Chase

“What did you want for dinner tonight?” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way back to his lathe. “I thought I could make pierogis.”

I watch him with that hollow ache I get every time I remember I’m having a conversation with a lovely man who thinks I’m someone else.

“Pierogis would be great,” I tell him. “I’ll pick up everything you need. Be back soon!”

He waves quickly, already sinking back into his work. I linger on him for a few seconds before I step into the morning sun that feels far too bright for the darkness of my mood.

I’m lucky Mrs. Brodsky will be by in the next hour or two to check up on him.

As I walk down the street, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

For a second, I glance around, searching for the freaky scarecrow figure of Ephraim Jacobin or the black silhouette of his Iron Maiden wife.

But there’s nothing, just familiar faces moving down the street, soccer moms chatting with each other or babysitters herding toddlers while they do the household shopping. Old folks out for their morning power walks. A couple kids skipping school and pointedly avoiding the small police precinct station so they won’t get hauled back in for truancy.

I avoid it, too, turning one street sooner than I need to so I won’t have to walk past and see a flash of ivory skin and quicksilver eyes through the window.

My heart couldn’t take it today.

I’m trying to be steel.

But steel takes time to forge, and it’s been less than a day since the man I love threw me into exile.

I distract myself by Googling what I’ll need for pierogis as I make my way to the bank and step inside. The line’s short, and I’ve already got a grocery list by the time the teller beckons me forward.

I’ve already signed the check—nine hundred thousand dollars just for the first installment.

Who said a deal with the devil doesn’t pay well?

When I pass it over, though, the bank teller—a girl my age named Sarah—stares at the check with wide eyes.

I smile sheepishly.

“Um, it’s a deposit for a big contract,” I explain. “Mostly going to materials. I didn’t win the lotto or anything.”

I don’t know why I feel the need to explain.

I guess it just feels like that kind of money isn’t meant for me, especially with their name attached.

Once I’m done with this job—or Micah hauls Xavier Arrendell into custody, whatever comes first—I think I’ll stay away from that house for the rest of my life.

I fiddle with my bag strap and look around idly while I wait for her to finish, but when she clears her throat nervously, I glance back at her.

The look on her face makes my heart sink before she says a single word.

“Miss Grey?” She clears her throat. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the check just bounced.”

20

DARK MINDED (MICAH)

I’m about to murder someone.

Surprisingly, I don’t mean the Arrendells or one of the hillfolk.

I can’t believe it. After everything I’ve done, after everything Talia did, everything she put on the line to get that damned evidence…

I’m sorry, Micah, Jane told me. This is still rather circumstantial. I might be able to get a judge to swing a warrant, yes, but it’s far from guaranteed. I’ll try, but… give me some time.