Page 13 of Graveyards & Greed

Their carpet was a bit worn, and they had second-hand, mismatched furniture. But they’d brightened the space with colorful throw cushions and Mexican folk art. Their home usually felt happy and welcoming, but today, sadness and anxiety seemed to linger in the air. I knocked on Camilla’s bedroom door.

“You eat dinner without me,Abuela,” Camilla called out.

“It’s Sylvie. Can I come in?” She didn’t answer for several long moments.

“I brought you something, and I want to talk to you. Get decent.”

“I’m decent,” she mumbled.

When I opened her door, darkness and stale air greeted me. My eyes adjusted, and I saw her lying in her bed, wrapped up in her comforter like a burrito. Piles of clothes lay on the floor, and a few half-empty water glasses sat on her bedside table. My heart squeezed.

“Hey, honey. You were in the same spot when I came to see you last week. Will you talk to me?”

“I’m tired. Can you come back later?”

My shoulders slumped, and worry and heartache slid through me. She was fading away, and I didn’t know how to help her.

Walking over, I sat on the edge of her bed. “Please talk to me. Your grandma is worried, and your school is going to file a truancy report if you don’t start attending again.”

She curled tighter into herself. “I just… can’t. Not yet.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes. “I brought a new wireless Play Station controller. Will you play with me? I bet your online friends miss you too.” Thanks to my cousins, I was a decent gamer.

“Maybe next time.” Camilla shifted to her side and tucked her arm under her head, and that’s when I saw the small horizontal cuts along her forearm.

My stomach lurched, and I wanted to drag her out of bed and hold her tight, then shake her and scream some life back into her small, gaunt body. If there was a way to bring Samuel LeBaron back to life and torture and kill him slowly this time, I would’ve done it.

Frustration and anger bubbled inside me, but I locked it down and rubbed her back. “Sweetheart, yourabuelais kinder and more patient than I am, and you deserve a warning. I’m giving you one more week, and then I’m going to drag you out of this bed and back into your life.” She tightened under my hand, but I just patted her back, got up, and walked out.

After visiting Camilla, I planned to go home but instead found myself standing in front of Drakos’s loft. I rang the buzzer several times to be annoying. Maybe he wasn’t home, or worse, he might not be alone. But we needed to finish our talk about Luna and Roman Fowler.

His neighborhood and residence weren’t what I expected. I knew he lived in an industrial part of town, but his building featured a distinctly urban rustic design with its exposed brick and lead-paned windows. Based on Drakos's attire, profession, and wealth, I envisioned him residing in a high-rise penthouse or a sleek, modern home. His partner, Ivan Knox, lived on the other side of the building, and they’d apparently rehabbed it together. A large garage occupied the first floor, and I wondered what he did with that space.

As I waited, I tapped my foot and stared up at the camera impatiently above the steel door. A few seconds later, the lock snicked open, and the intercom buzzed.

“Hello, Killer. You’ve tracked me down twice in one week. I’m flattered. Come in.” I swung the door open and looked around.

The garage held a full-on mechanic shop with three vintage cars in various stages of repair. Footsteps echoing on the metal staircase to my left caught my attention, and I gazed up to see Drakos coming down dressed in gray sweatpants and a thin white t-shirt that showed off his pecs. It didn’t matter what he wore—Drakos always looked like a damn wet dream.

“I was just starting dinner. Eat with me.”

Spending more time with him than necessary, especially in his own home, was a horrible idea. But he smelled so good, and I was tired and a little heartsick. We also needed to talk, so I let him pull me up the stairs. He pushed open another metal door, and we walked into a large, light-filled space with a modern kitchen at one end and a great room with two plush couches on the other.

I stopped short and looked around. Two thick barn doors hung on the far wall, probably leading to his bedroom and bathroom. The entire space felt airy and well-designed. It wasn’t like anything I’d imagined, and I loved it right away.

He pulled me into the kitchen area. “At the gym, I didn’t have time to ask you what other injuries you have.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter.”

He crossed his arms and leaned toward me. “Itdoesfucking matter. What else did they do to you?”

I jerked my shoulder and stared out at the city view. “Carter punched me in the ribs, but it wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been. He had his arm around my neck.”

His jaw went tight, and he hung his head for a few seconds. “You’re going to let me see.” It didn’t sound like a request.

Slowly, he stepped in front of me and lifted my shirt, keeping his gaze fixed on mine until he’d raised it to my chin. Then he looked down at my torso, his eyes narrowing dangerously. My cream-colored lace bra peeked out from beneath my bunched-up shirt, and the sickly purple and green bruise on my ribcage stood out sharply against my pale skin.

Drakos stared at my ribs as he ran his thumb softly across the bruise, his mouth turning down. Finally, he pulled my shirt down, led me to a kitchen stool, and poured us both a glass of wine.

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