Page 102 of Ophelia's Vampire

“Someday I hope I see myself the way you do.”

The words are more honest than I mean them to be, and Ophelia’s brow furrows as they sink in.

But before she can say anything, her phone vibrates where I’ve tucked it away in the pocket of my jacket so she didn’t have to carry a purse. I fish it out and hand it to her, and all those furrows deepen.

“Audra?”

She says very little as Audra speaks on the other end of the call, though her expression grows more and more troubled.

“We’ll be there,” Ophelia says succinctly as she hangs up and turns to me. “We’ve got a problem.”

33

Ophelia

Devin is going to confront Haverstad’s campaign manager.

Tonight.

Even though he agreed to talk on the record and take Cas’s payment for his tuition, apparently he still feels like shit for the part he played in the hoax and wants to do more to try to make it right. And, with all the certainty and recklessness of a twenty-year-old committed to a half-cracked idea, he needed to make it happen as soon as possible.

Audra couldn’t talk him out of it. The best she could do was convince him to wear a wire when he did, and collect some evidence that would help him further assuage a guilty conscience for ever agreeing to be part of this mess.

I relay the details to Cas. The meeting with Derham, the campaign manager, will take place in a cemetery of all places in just over an hour.

Unsurprisingly, Cas takes it all in stride, even when I get to the part about my offer to Audra to provide some backup at the cemetery in case all of this goes ass-up.

“Come,” he says, offering me his hand and leading me back toward the stairs. “Serra’s downstairs. She can help.”

I balk at that. “I don’t want to put her in harm’s way. We shouldn’t—”

“Believe me,” Cas interrupts. “I’ll never hear the end of it if I don’t include her.”

Beyond the brief words we exchanged after the debacle at Philippe’s office, I haven’t gotten the chance to get to know Serra, but I suppose I’ll have to take Cas’s word for it as we find her in the gallery.

The three of us find a spot to talk away from the crowd. Like Cas, Serra’s in immediately, though she looks around our little group with one brow arched.

“We’re going to need to change,” she says, pointing out the obvious.

That sends us on a race against the clock, piling into Serra’s car where it’s parked a few blocks away and making the short drive back to Casimir’s house. Once we’re there, I find something for Serra to wear and she ducks into the bathroom to change while Cas and I head upstairs, feeling every second sliding away.

I shimmy out of my dress and reach for the pair of black athletic pants and black pullover hoodie I’ve got tucked into one of his drawers.

I try not to think too hard about that—the fact that I’ve got clothes tucked into his drawers because it made more sense than leaving them in my van.

There’s no time to think about it, not now. Not when, depending on how the next few hours go, this case might be coming to its end, and Cas and I might finally be forced to talk about all the unspoken questions we’ve been dancing around for weeks.

As I slide the skin-tight pants up over my hips, I turn to find him watching me with half his shirt unbuttoned and a look onhis face caught somewhere between hunger and tenderness and regret.

“You’re putting that back on,” he mutters. “Later. When all of this is over and we’re home safe, you’re going to put that damned dress back on just so I have the pleasure of taking it off you.”

Despite the tension in the air and the seriousness of the situation, a pulse of warmth sparks in the bottom of my belly.

“Only if you do the same and let me peel you out of that tux.”

“Deal.”

We finish changing quickly and climb back into the car for the drive to the cemetery. Parking a couple of blocks away, the three of us make our way slowly through the shadowed streets, monitoring our surroundings and keeping a lookout for Devin or anyone from the campaign.

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