rocks.
“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” Roxy groused as she took the proffered hand
EVE SILVER
117
and let herself be dragged back to her feet. “You know,
locks were invented to keep intruders out.”
“I’m sure they’re usually quite effective,” the intruder replied. She disengaged from the shadows as
Roxy turned on the bedside lamp.
If Roxy was colored in shades of coffee and bronze,
Calliope Kane was painted in hues of a snowy winter’s
night. Her skin was pale, her hair almost black, hanging
in a straight, thick curtain halfway down her back.
Accented by straight-cut bangs and dark lashes, her
eyes glowed cat-green, the color too vivid to be natural.
But it was. Roxy knew because she’d asked, years ago.
And while Calliope might evade or conveniently omit
information, she never outright lied.
“Hey,” Roxy greeted her mentor.
“Good evening.” Calliope glanced at her watch. “Or
rather, good morning. You look tired,” she finished
without malice.
“Thanks. I am,” Roxy replied with a wry smile. “I
need sleep.” She needed blood, but sleep would do. “Is
this a formal interview?” In which case, she’d remain
at attention to give her report.
“Informal.”
“Thank Aset.” Roxy blew out a sharp breath and
sank down on the side of the bed. “Kid’s back with her
mom. The mom’s a ditz.” But a loving one. She’d been
sobbing and laughing, hugging Dana. Hugging Roxy.