They were all staring at me, probably because I was standing next to the table gaping like a moron. I went to Juliet and accepted a warm hug. “Hey, ladies,” I said over her shoulder, turning on my brightest smile. It wasn’t really all that bright. “Good to see you all.”
“Here, you’re by me,” Juliet said, removing her purse from the chair next to her. My sister-in-law looked so happy and excited that I felt a stab of guilt over the whole undercover ruse thing. She gestured toward the stranger. “And I don’t think you’ve met Laurel, my best friend from college. She couldn’t make it to the wedding, but she actually lives here in Vegas, so this works out great.”
Laurel half-stood so she could reach across the table and shake my hand. “Nice to meet you,” I said. The witches I know tend to accessorize a lot—they love amulets and protective charms, all that stereotypical crap—but Laurel’s arms and neck were bare except for a wristwatch and an antique-looking necklace. It was a chunk of silver, carved in the form of what looked kind of like an ocean wave. Laurel didn’t strike me as a big-time surfer, but what did I know?
There were a few minutes of small talk about their flight and my drive, and what everyone wanted to eat. The waiter brought out some warm bread that was so good that I basically forgot my own name for a few minutes, and by the time I finished my second slice, I’d missed a question from Laurel. “Sorry, what?”
“I was just curious about your job,” she said pleasantly. “Juliet says you clean houses?”
I nodded. “And a few offices for a handful of clients, kind of a word-of-mouth thing.” I didn’t mention that I was also now licensed to clean up actual human crime scenes. We had set this up with the police as a precaution for when I needed to hide a supernatural incident. “I also help clients get their homes set up for parties and events, so I work a lot of nights.”
“Did you go to school for that?” Bethany asked sweetly.
“No, I dropped out of college when my parents died,” I said in as pleasant a voice as I could manage.
There was a moment of awkward silence, then Tara asked, “Did you ever think about going back to school? I mean, that’s probably not the kind of job you want to stick with forever . . . right?” She immediately looked flustered.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. They meant well—at least, I thought Tara did—but I’d run into this before. Educated white people just could not believe that a white kid from the suburbs would want to clean houses as a career. They were equally shocked that I’d gotten into a perfectly good college and didn’t want to go back for a degree. So then I was expected to defend what I saw as a perfectly reasonable career choice—except it wasn’t actually my career. It was my cover. The whole situation was just weird.
Luckily, Juliet jumped in to save me. “Scarlett started her own business when she was just twenty,” she said proudly, “and now she has employees. She’s doing just fine.”
I had to smile at that. It was cute to hear her bragging about me, even if it was about my human cover. “Just one or two,” I said. “I had a regular part-timer, but she went off to college. I keep meaning to hire someone else, but I’ve just been calling in freelancers.” This was more or less true, if you counted Jesse, who I did not actually pay. He didn’t need the money.
“What do you do?” I asked Laurel, mostly to get the conversation off my job. As far as I knew, my cover story was bulletproof, but there was no reason to test it.
“Well, I used to design fountains for some of the casinos,” Laurel replied, “but now I run a nonprofit devoted to preserving Las Vegas’s history. We had our big gala event the same weekend as Juliet’s wedding, unfortunately.” She shot Juliet an apologetic look, which Jules brushed off with a smile.
Fountain designer? That was a real job? I filed that thought under Things Not to Say Out Loud.
“Tara, honey, are you all right?” Juliet asked, looking across the table with concern. Sure enough, Tara had turned a little green.
“I thought I was past the morning sickness,” she said with a shaky smile, rising from the table. “Excuse me.” When she stood up, I saw the baby bump and remembered how at the wedding, she’d been talking about finishing her first trimester. Right.
She speed-walked toward the bathroom, and as my eyes followed the movement I spotted a familiar face hanging out at a table for one. Cliff, sipping from a glass of water, holding a book. He had changed into a charcoal suit with no tie. I tried to smile at him, but he ignored me.
Tara returned a few minutes later, looking much better. The others began chatting about pregnancy, so I pulled out my phone and surreptitiously sent Cliff a text. Do you want to come meet everyone? You are the “driver.”
When you’re all done, he sent back. I want to make sure no one is watching you.
I shrugged and went back to the conversation, at least as much as I could. I didn’t know anything about pregnancy, or babies, for that matter. Nulls couldn’t have kids, so there had never been any reason to learn. But Bethany had two teenagers, and Laurel’s wife was apparently eight months pregnant with their second. Laurel turned to me. “Do you have any kids, Scarlett?” she asked.
Juliet shot me a sympathetic look. She opened her mouth, probably to stick up for me, but I answered before she could. “Nope.”
“There’s still time,” Bethany said, in a voice that sounded sympathetic on the surface, but was really just bitchy. Tara, who was maybe a year younger than me, nodded encouragingly.
“Actually, I’m totally barren,” I said, keeping my voice pleasant. “Pass the bread, please.”
That was the end of that conversation.
When everyone was finished eating, Cliff came up to the table, as though he’d just wandered in from the casino. The suit wasn’t flashy or particularly expensive-looking, but it had been beautifully tailored. If I hadn’t known Cliff was carrying a gun, I’d never have suspected it.
I introduced everyone—the others knew that we’d driven together, although I’d claimed it was because I got airsick—and he gave each of the women a polite smile. In that moment he reminded me of Lex, and Jesse when I’d first met him. All three of them had that cop thing where they were completely polite—friendly, even—while remaining so guarded that you never quite trusted their authenticity. Intense, that was the word. Intense people freaked me right the hell out.
“Where are we heading this afternoon, ladies?” he asked after the introductions.
Bethany frowned. “Didn’t Beatrice give you a copy of the itinerary?” she asked, in a tone that I recognized. It was the same voice LA women used when they addressed landscapers who spoke poor English.
Cliff’s smile never wavered. “Yes, ma’am. As I recall, the next few hours are blocked off for shopping. Is that correct?”
Bethany settled back, pacified. “Yes.”
I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose. Personally, I’d glanced at the itinerary that Bethany had messengered to my house, like we were rich people in Manhattan or something, and then tossed it in the general direction of my suitcase. I hadn’t thought to take it out since.
Juliet was looking at me, and I reminded myself that this weekend was supposed to be about her. Or at least, I was supposed to be pretending it was about her. Undercover was so confusing.
But there were only, what, five hours until we had to be at the theater? How bad could this be? I put on a cheerful smile. “Sounds fun,” I said, in what I hoped was a bright voice. “What are we shopping for?”
All four women chuckled, like I’d told a mildly amusing joke.
Uh-oh.
Chapter 8
Four interminable hours later, I staggered into my room, feeling like I’d just done back-to-back training sessions with Marko. Groaning, I fell face-first on the hotel bed, trying to summon the strength to kick off my boots. I wore boots pretty much whenever I wasn’t training or out for a run, but for the first time ever, my feet were aching. I’d been betrayed by my own Fryes.
The other women were doing a quick change and then getting drinks and appetizers in one of the restaurants on the Venetian’s shopping level, but I wanted to be away from people for a while more than I wanted food. There had just been so. Much. Shopping. The other four women had spent the whole time trying on clothes and giving one another opinions about the “cuteness” of each outfit. Molly liked to do that too. When had “cute” become the preeminent term to gauge the attractiveness of adult female clothing?