Page 65 of The Love Scam
“Could be.” Blake was almost eerily calm, which was finally a mood Rake understood. Sometimes when you’ve pulled the switch, the relief is incredible: You’ve done the worst thing. You’ll live or die, but either way, things will change. No more suspense and dread. “But watch yourself, little brother. It’s probably genetic.”
“Great. Just keep my name out ofeverything. I’ll figure out my own mess on this side of the world, and you and Nonna stay over there on your side, and we’ll meet up in the middle during Christmas or something and, I dunno, shake hands or hug or something, and that’ll be fine until our birthday.” Rake shivered. “Assuming you even survive.”
“Yes, there’s every chance this will get me killed, and that’s only if I’m not dying at the bottom of a canyon.”
Huh?“Blake. Seriously. Call someone. You’ve lost it, dude.”
“Don’t call me ‘dude.’Godere Venezia.”
Rake managed a smile, which was progress. Anything was better than free-floating dread. Messing with Blake was just a plus. “Sorry, what?”
A sigh. “It’s ‘Enjoy Venice’ in Italian.”
Sometimes he wondered if Blake was only pretending to forget Rake was octolingual. “Oh, shut up. Fucking show-off.” He heard a chuckle, and then Blake was gone.
He sat up and looked for Delaney, then realized she was gone, too. And in a hurry—she’d left her laptop.
Hmmm.
Thirty-six
She was reaching for the door handle to their room
(My room, dammit!)
when it opened and Rake filled the doorway. And boy, did he… thoseshoulders.
(Oh, Christ, stop drooling like a besotted teenager, please!)
“Come for a walk?” he said by way of greeting.
“Uh…” She looked at him the way she’d watched adults when she was a kid. You could keep an eye on them without them tumbling to what you were doing; peripheral vision was about 150 degrees. “Okay. How’d—how’d it go?”
“He wasn’t kidding about being cut off by our mother, and he’s tattling on her by activating the nuclear option.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “He’s calling our grandma.”
“That’s bad,” she guessed. (Knew.)
“Atlantis disappearing into the sea bad,” he confirmed. “Come on.”
She fell into step beside him, irrationally glad to see him wearing the tacky sweatshirt she’d gotten him yesterday.
(“I can’t afford it!”
“Yes you can, it’s unbelievably cheap. Don’t wear it near an open flame.”
“I hate the color!”
“I know. Shut up and put it on, it gets chilly at night.”)
“So, the other girls—women—they’re off doing whatever it is they do when they’re not helping you be mysterious?”
“Uh. Yes.” She was trying to put a name to his mood, and failing. He didn’t seem angry, or sad, or afraid. Just quiet.
Yes.Thatwas what was creeping her out: He was being calm and thoughtful and quiet. It was more alarming than if he’d burst into flames.
“And Lillith?”
“She’s with Elena. What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing exactly what the problem was and, even now, too chickenshit to say anything.
