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If one were to ask an immortal creature of the night like Circe the motivation for doing any number of things, nine times out of ten, her answer would boil down to amusement. Why had she antagonized that notoriously dangerous and foul-tempered vampire? Why had she spared the life of the snarky young man who’d driven a stake through her ribcage with trembling hands. Why had she infiltrated Elysium thirty-six times within the first three years of her lifetime ban from the establishment? Why? Humans always wanted to know, to parse the ungraspable into fragments smaller than a bread box.
After an eternity of experiences, mundane stimulations lost their lustre in favour of the dramatic, unpredictable, and impish. It was no surprise many vampires turned to mortal vices in their chase for diminishing thrills. The chemical buzz of alcohol, skin, pills, powders, capsules, syringes, dissolvable strips—who knew recreational drugs came in so many forms? Perhaps Lazarus had taught her one thing after all—and, her poison of choice,
Fun. There were few worthier pursuits in her time off, and on, the clock.
Messing with her partner in crime (solving), Edgar, often fit the bill. His reactions serving muse for small jabs or teases to leaf out down unforeseen conversational branches, kindle adventure. With him, even everynight mundanities oft bore amusement.
Take for example, the current situation: a rainy night plus initial round of complaints about her flicking water on him had led to a black furry shape hitching a ride on the back of his head like a helmet. One thing gave way to another and a quarter of an hour later Edgar still hadn’t managed to pry her off by the time he asked for tickets at the theatre counter and the bored looking cashier charged him for one.
“Actually, I need two—”
Thank you, have a good night. She cut in.
“No problem. First door to your left.” The cashier’s attention was already back on his book.
“I can’t believe you.” Hastening out of earshot, Edgar lifted his lapel for her to crawl in out of sight.
Is it so unbelievable? The honour of spending the night with your favourite person too good to be true?
“What’s the point of this?” Edgar mumbled as he settled into his seat, pulling his coat tighter around himself as if that would make him less conspicuous. “Budget’s not so lean we can’t afford two tickets. If they kick us out we won’t get to see the end of the movie.”
Pressed between his collar and the side of his neck, Circe adjusted her weight, ensured the miniature claws tipping her wings were digging just enough into his skin to be mildly annoying. Two troublemakers in a trench, a classic is it not?
“We could get banned from the theatre.”
It was either Edgar’s pessimism or his neuroses, perhaps a touch of both, which somehow always led him to the worst case scenario of any given point in time. Useful for their line of work, risk mitigation and all, less so for a night out with a friend. Relax a little. She assured. No one’s watching. Frankly, it’s probably more suspicious you’re talking to yourself.
Cosmic timing on Edgar’s side, the lights started to dim, draping a concealing curtain over the red flush beginning to crawl over his face. If she weren’t in her chiropteran form she would’ve chuckled. It was something he never would’ve conceived of a mere two decades ago: becoming so chummy with a vampire it slipped his mind, even if briefly, their abilities were abnormal. At this rate it might become difficult to release him back into the wild, Circe mused.
“And you call me old.”
In the hour and change they’d spent in the cinema somehow the weather outside had gotten fiercer. Loathe to battle winds that nipped straight down to the bone, Circe was more than content to huddle up in the alcove of Edgar’s shoulder as he made a beeline for the office.
Film not to your liking? The stark black shapes composing each frame in The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari moved once more in negative forms upon the backs of her eyelids, visiting ghosts from a time long gone. Seeing them again brought back the hill two figures had stood atop, their red eyes cast down on the burning village below. Ashes danced like snow on the wind. A burnt sugar aftertaste.
“Actually found it quite artful. Could’ve warned me it’d be silent…” The slight creak of the entrance door separated his words once more from the low rumble of them passing up his throat. “Probably wouldn’t have watched it of my own volition. Why that one? Not for the genre, a contemporary would’ve done.” It was a vote of confidence he didn’t accuse her of choosing a psychological horror film to get in his head about compulsion. She wasn’t sure if that made her happy or regretful. The benefit of the doubt was unnecessary, it’d merely been a whim.
When Edgar opened his coat, Circe fluttered out onto the downstairs sofa, a worn grey thing she’d had brought in after he fell asleep at his desk for the umpteenth time. Against the woven expanse of the upholstery, her transformed shape could’ve been mistaken for a dark stain, a missing chunk of cushion.
Felt… nostalgic.
“Never a good thing,” he said.
You might be right. Inside the office, everything was just how they’d left it, papers and pens and folders scattered all across the top of Edgar’s work desk. It was warmer than outside, naturally, and though the feeling gradually began returning to her body, Circe didn’t move.
“Sleep on your own couch.” Edgar frowned, tightening his coat back up in preparation for stepping out onto the street. He too seemed to perpetually run cold. Another thing they had in common.
Thanks for accompanying me this evening. The very picture of a young gentleman.
“A ‘young gentleman’ tonight, am I?” He stuck his hands in his pockets, then took them out and sandwiched them under his armpits. “Remind me to take you to the movies more. Must be some sort of magic.”
Enjoy my mood while it lasts. Was it not fun breaking some rules? Plus you smelled really good… If sentiments projected directly into his head could take on a wistful tone, she gave it her best shot. Almost like maple syrup.
Edgar snapped out of his embarrassed flush mid eye-aversion. “What?”
Bats didn’t have to hide their facial expressions. Another useful pro of the form. “When was the last time you checked your blood sugar?”
Edgar sniffed his shirt. “I do not! …Do I really?” He turned her way, brows furrowed, to find her watching him, large eyes round and exceptionally innocent. “Oh bugger off. Don’t scare me like that!”
Ah ah ah, admitting the premise of the risk is valid? Not very wise old man of you, Eddie.
Pulling the curve of his scarf up over his face, he turned away. “Goodnight Circe. See you tomorrow.”
Outside the wind howled, prowling around the old brick exterior searching for a way in. The light pitter patter of rain was a near permanent fixture in the city’s ambience. She didn’t need to open her eyes to hear Edgar hesitate on the threshold.
“Are you going to stay there like that?”
It’s fine, you’ll lock the door. The office was plenty safe. And if someone broke in to attack her, well, it would be a nice change of pace to watch them try.
Edgar oscillated between annoyance and something else. “Hurry upstairs, it’s cold down here.”
If you’re so invested in where I sleep, I wouldn’t mind a ride.
It had been one of her first little amusements after they’d begun traipsing around North Haven together two decades prior, a little untruth, just a small one. The first time she’d transformed in front of Edgar she’d told him not to get used to seeing her so docile. If she stayed in that form for too long, she’d forget how to turn back humanoid.
She almost would’ve felt bad if it wasn’t so amusing that to this day he still seemed uncertain if it was a complete lie and there may be consequences of remaining in her shifted form for an extended time after all.
“I am not carrying you upstairs. You can fly.”
Astutely said.
As he frowned, Edgar was already slipping his loafers back off and crossing over to the couch. Even chilled, his fingers were warm to her as he lifted her up, slow and wary with his thumbs pressed firmly against the bases of her wings as a guard against mischief. Amusing, though not completely warranted. Transformation for vampires was for transportation, escape, not fighting. Weighing barely more than the air itself, nearly ten of her together would’ve taken up less space than a loaf of bread. The soft velvet of her skin betrayed the entirety of the thin skeleton beneath. And the creature Edgar carried up the steps was more soft fluff than flesh. She was fragile like this, small, and even a hand as slight as his could inflict upon her papery wings serious damage.
Trying not to look around the room, he set her down on her own couch, this one carved of dark wood, the cushions upholstered in rich purple velvet. She blinked. He shuffled silently. It wasn’t syrup that Edgar smelled like but windswept cigarette ash, the cheap bodywash that he favoured. To think she used to hate the scent of tobacco. Now it only made her nostalgic.
He stared, she stared, it was a stalemate she only broke when Edgar made to open his mouth, some sort of chastisement no doubt. One second a bat sat upon that ornately sculpted couch, the next, a beautiful lady with dark hair, rich skin, and eyes the colour of congealing blood. It was this woman who rested a hand on his nape, leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. “Goodnight… sweetheart."
Perhaps the brilliant heat which flushed up the back of his neck would warm him all the way home.
“To twenty more,” Edgar had said on their anniversary night. Leaning back into the cushions as the sun rose, Circe closed her eyes and considered it. Another twenty years and the fierce young man she’d met in the alley would truly be ancient by mortal standards. An old geezer. With the increase in life expectancy over the centuries, many humans blasted through life like they’d naturally make it to one hundred, often future discounting for a future that might not exist. In reality, from causes natural, medical, or supernatural, it was some small miracle to reach that age, many only lasting three-quarters or even half a century. What to her was change to humans was a fortune in the currency of time. Twenty years felt an era. Forty even more so.
At this rate, Edgar might never save up enough minutes, hours, days to pursue the usual human milestone experiences. Perhaps he’d come to regret it.
Without the need for sleep, vampires in their undeath were robbed of even the ability to dream. In that vacancy, memories filled the role.
Cool night air wafted in from the open window. Circe looped around the room once before flying out, catching the side of Edgar’s face as she passed him, her wind-chilled fur brushing against his cheek.
“You’re serious this time? It’s over? You and Lazarus are done?”
“What do you mean ‘this time’?” She scowled, dumping the shopping bags in her hands on the couch. “Anyways I got you dinner so put away your digestive biscuits.”
“Alright, one, I am not that old. Two…” Edgar dug through the bag she handed him and fished out a roll. “What finally did it?”
“It’d make more sense if there was a final straw, hmm?” Whatever they’d had going on had been dead for a long time if she was being honest. After the first night was when she should’ve cut it off. The rest was just foolishness, boredom, undeserved optimism. Watching wheels spinning hadn’t felt as damning when there wasn’t any particular destination she was in a hurry to get to. In the rearview, all those months may as well have been fed down the offal grinder. “Wish you could’ve heard him. Moaning like a beached whale all ‘My heart leaves me! My capillaries will crawl in whatever direction you are, searching! Forever searching for the blood to fill them!’ The outstretched hand, the running mascara, the whole nine hundred yards. Then sat up and banned me from Elysium like he lost a piece of his brain mid-meltdown.”
“God, what a prick.” Edgar swallowed his mouthful. “Network dead spot’s not great. Think he’ll forget after a few lines?”
“Just because Lazzy puts up a blacklist doesn’t mean I have to read the sign.”
“Ah yes, only the most brilliant strategy. Would expect nothing less from such an advanced mind.”
“Glad you understand,” she nodded, turning back to the bags.
Edgar opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head. “Honestly never understood what you saw in the guy. He was crazy for you though, that’s for sure.”
“A relationship built on need is no good.” Circe smiled wryly, the curve of her mouth sharp, harsh. “Want has a role to play.”
Edgar hummed in response. He’d gotten halfway through a second bread roll when Circe pulled out the final of her shopping purchases, an egg-shaped crystal bottle of perfume encrusted with gold and amethyst flowers. The budget spreadsheets on his desk practically quaked. His appetite vanished like shadows come dayfall. “What I want, if you value the non-grey hairs of your friend at all, is a little financial restraint.”
“Is it really so bad?” She sprayed a little on her wrists and dabbed them together, holding one out for his olfactory perusal. “Thought it smelled nice, what do you think?”
“That it does…” He rubbed his temples at the feeling of his anger giving. It would’ve been less annoying if she’d used compulsion on him, then he would’ve had an excuse at least. “We’ll make it work… somehow.”
“Always do,” she smiled.
A heartbeat, loud and straining struggled in the space where two should’ve been. Something wet slid down the curve of her chest beneath the fabric. Pain blossomed at the back of her skull where it hit the ground, but Circe didn’t feel it the way humans would. It was nothing but a minor annoyance. This entire thing could be considered an annoyance. And it felt like deja vu.
“Yeah, I owe you.” Edgar spat. “But this? I don’t owe you this.”
Humans were always so… expressive. He was more riled up than the first time he’d stabbed her in the alley. The hesitation wasn’t necessarily a surprise, but at this rate, it’d take a miracle for her mentee’s initial vampire slaying aspirations to come true. Some days she wasn’t sure why he was still sticking around.
“You always think you’re so clever.” The blade jammed up against her throat was impressively stable for how badly his shoulders were heaving, a vivid blend of anger and fear rouging his pale face. The wound he’d made in her chest with the same weapon, one that she’d pressed into his hands, wasn’t healing. Actually, it was sizzling at the edges, undead flesh glowing faintly orange where it seemed to burn away from within. Witch magic was something else. The ability to imbue an ore with the sun’s latent warmth had crafted a weapon which sounded like it came from a fantasy book. The knife was undoubtedly a powerful tool in the right hands, a decent plan C even in a compassionate idiot’s.
“You’re right. I am.” Slowly sliding the sheath back over the switchblade, Circe rested her hands on his. “Consider it… insurance. Might come in handy some day.”
It took a long time for his pulse to slow. That was fine. The warehouse floor against her back was a hard expanse of cold concrete. She’d chosen the abandoned building for their training sessions specifically so they would not be disturbed. If anything had happened, Edgar would’ve had plenty of time to collect himself afterwards. Initially, she’d planned luring a vampire here one day so he could practice. That day in March seemed like an entirely separate reality.
When Edgar finally spoke again, it was through the curtain of hair over his lowered head, his voice faint. “It’s too heavy.”
His grip was so limp he would’ve dropped the blade if not for hers around it. Circe shrugged the best she could. “I suppose it can’t be helped. Do you think witches have a return policy?”
He cracked a weak smile at that. “How much did you spend on this bloody thing anyway?”
“Now there’s a question you should never ask a lady.”
It was a while before Edgar stopped shaking. Longer still for her flesh to mend leaving a thin silvery scar upon her breast. And her maker said it couldn’t be done. A permanent change.
Alighting upon the windowsill of the detective agency, Circe transformed, perched there for a moment as her eyes adjusted to the lowlight, picked out the shape on the ground behind the desk. Settling down next to the supine form of her partner, she watched the ceiling, feeling floorboards beneath her. “What are you up to?”
“Seeing if there’s a hollow tunnel under here that leads to the bank.”
It was raining outside. Again. She studied the side of his face and unshaven jaw. Again. It was raining outside. Edgar looked paler than usual after a winter of New Haven’s infamously overcast weather. With his nocturnal schedule, how long had it been since he’d seen the sun? Precipitation pattered upon the sill collecting slowly on the floor. She’d forgotten to close the window. With the dampness seeping into the building from every microscopic niche they may as well leave it open at this point. It was raining outside.
Again, and they laid like that in silence for a spell.
“You’re getting water on the floor.” Edgar eventually said. Which was true, the condensation which had collected in her fur on her flight around town was now weighing down the curls of her hair.
“A little mold on the walls might be a nice change of pace. New Haven chic.”
Slowly, he sat up, body following a few frames behind his mind. Sliding the window shut instantly warmed the room by several degrees. Edgar fetched a towel and began drying her hair as she yawned. “Learn anything of note?” He asked.
She complied, so they didn’t get mold and all. “As much as you.”
Outside it rained on.
It was just one of those nights.
“You’ve got your own…” Edgar grumbled, watching her with slitted eyes as she encroached upon the space he’d claimed on the office couch for the night having to wake up early the next day.
“There’s plenty of room.” Circe said as she pushed him over with her hip, laying down beside him, their limbs and bones pressing together to accommodate.
“Comfortable?” Edgar sighed. Despite his best efforts, a small smile touched his mouth at the knowledge one of them could make this situation vastly more so and chose not to.
“Eddie, when was the last time you got pounded good?”
“What?!” He choked, breaking into a coughing fit which left him red from a lack of oxygen.
“Oh? The other way around? Sorry for presuming.”
“No! I mean, what?” He looked rather good like this, Circe always thought. Flustered and out of sorts. It was no surprise women occasionally approached him on the street, only that it never went anywhere.
“No harm in blowing off a little steam sometimes.”
“Do I look that stressed?” He asked, already recovering back into detective mode. Over the years he’d gotten better at parsing the threads of substance from her teasing. A smile naturally touched her lips.
“Say Eddie, some women find inexperience rather endearing.”
“It’s weird when you try to be nice. Don’t strain a muscle.” He muttered. “Plus, rule one of detective work, assumptions lead to incorrect conclusions.”
“Not a denial.”
Edgar shifted, his shoulder digging into the edge of her scapula. Perhaps his arm was beginning to go asleep where it was wedged beneath her. Circe didn’t make an effort to readjust, they’d been in worse positions, squeezed into tighter spaces on jobs.
“It’s not that… easy for me.” He gradually turned into the couch cushions until she was talking to him and he was talking to the accent pillow. “When strangers approach you for your looks, they tend to have… expectations.”
“Could it be?” She blinked owlishly. “There’s medications for that.”
“What?! No!” The flush was back. “I just don’t really ever… want to.”
“There’s medications for that too.”
“There are?” Edgar filed it away as an interesting fact rather than an actionable item, “I don’t know why I’m humouring you on this topic. Weren’t we talking about how this case is abnormal if even the SSF won’t touch it and therefore potentially dangerous?”
“We’re talking, because we’re friends, as you said.”
“Too late to take it back?”
“Already know you can’t.” She grinned. “Just tell them what you told me. Any relationship takes effort, yeah? Not even supernaturals, let alone humans, can read minds.”
“When I win the time lottery I’ll give that a shot.”
“Worst that can happen is you never see each other again. An outing’s at least an excuse to try out a new café together, perhaps.”
The wordless sadness ghosting across Edgar’s face folded into a small smile and she knew the topic had run its course. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a sleepover,” he said.
“Oh? How should we mark the occasion? Do our nails? Gossip about hot guys until the sun goes down?” Her mouth curved up, feline.
“So the same thing you do every night?”
Huh? Usually she just vented about work and how infuriating Abr— “Yeah? Is that so?” She rolled over onto her stomach, set her elbows on his chest, her chin upon the backs of her hands. “If I didn’t know better I’d almost suspect there was competition to be had. Have we been looking at the wrong sex the entire time?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Edgar’s grin was toothy even in the lowlight.
“Know what? Could be fun.” Tilting up his chin, Circe studied his face. “Don’t come back to me in pieces. Any business worth its salt can’t do without its bookkeeper.”
“Right back at you. Wouldn’t want to lose my favourite vampire to whatever surfaces when he takes that stick out from up his ass.”
She hummed appreciatively. “We’ll see.” Abraxas was an entirely different case. An annoying, infuriating— “Hold on… You know other vampires?”
The strangest characteristic of the companion she’d picked up wasn’t that he was fearless, but rather, fear, for some incomprehensible reason, made him inquisitive. Seemed like a poor survival adaptation, the itch to pose endless questions to a hunter, but there they were, Circe making her way through the rain dampened streets of this new city, Edgar trailing behind cross-checking the vampire mythos he’d probably gotten from some children's book against her answers. Used to traveling with a seasoned member of her own kind, she’d never realized just how loud humans were. Every step he took seemed to rebound off the stonework, his breaths laboured after only a few miles. If they’d been tracking anything, their prey would’ve long fled the vicinity. When they finally reached the destination, a darkened chapel atop an overgrown hill at the edge of town, he slumped onto a bench, relief evident in his posture. Surveying his build by candlelight, Circe felt like heaving a sigh as well. How could something so scrawny decide to go out and fight a vampire, a species infamous for its death-given strength. Though, as Edgar had stared wide-eyed at her when they passed through the chapel’s doorway, true knowledge about vampires was probably less common than she’d thought.
The wooden pews were empty, cold. And the flickering light she’d sparked for Edgar’s sake more than her own barely illuminated their small corner of the building failing to drive away the shadows which no doubt writhed in the corners of his imagination. Pulling at his sleeves, the human suppressed a shiver. How valiant.
“How often do you need to…” He averted his eyes, “feed?”
“About as often as you would.” She smiled just wide enough for the tips of her fangs to catch in the candle light. His silence was a response all on its own. “If I were going to drain you, I would’ve done it by now.”
“...does it…”
“Mmm?”
“Does it have to be human? What about livestock?”
“Not sure.” She considered. “It never came up.” It was half truth. The level of desperation needed for a vampire to drink the blood of cattle or chickens had never touched her when she’d traveled with her maker. And afterwards, well, she’d been skilled enough with compulsion to usually have her pick of a given crowd. Those vampires they’d come across on their travels who’d been hungry enough to feed upon rats, he had hurried her past their gaunt and slinking frames, shielding her gaze from the worst of the sight. So it was true she’d never before seen a healthy vampire on a non-human diet. Despite her vague answer, Edgar didn’t look hopeful, he looked ill in his skin, somehow paler than when the blood had drained out of his face when he’d recognized the futility of his attack.
“There’s no way to undo it?” The light went out. He fidgeted in the darkness as she reached for another candle, lit it.
This time it was her silence which replied.
“How long has it been…?” That was one she would not answer. He amended, “since you ate?”
“Two nights,” she said, watched in satisfaction as the gears started spinning on his face. There was something amusing about answering his questions, watching the revelations and further questions develop in real time. In such an observation, she caught the resolve and the offer before he voiced them, stopped them at the pass.
“But you’re hungry…” Edgar twisted a lock of hair around his finger, a nervous tick. Really it seemed he had too many to support a normal level of nervousness.
“Vampires are always hungry.” If she was serious about this mentor thing, it made sense the first lesson was the most important. Vampires were not creatures to pity, hear out, or ever trust. Internalize that, and he’d instantly be leagues above the average human in an altercation, mental fortitude the strongest bulwark against compulsion.
“Sounds painful.” He scratched his neck. Another for the list.
“Thought you’d resolved to fight. Are we back to rolling over and showing our stomachs?”
The unease in his posture gave way to annoyance. Irritation was good. Anger, she could work with.
Under her guidance, Circe was confident, in a few short months he’d be off on his way to hunt monsters or take on the teaching role himself. While she had him though, she’d happily amuse herself to her heart’s content. For her there was but one question:
What kind of reaction should she draw out of him first?
The night North Haven had one clear spring Tuesday was the night hell would freeze over. Blowing on his hands, Edgar rubbed some feeling back into them before fishing a cigarette out of his coat pocket. The lighter didn’t spark. He tried again, resisted the urge to chuck it into the darkness.
A hazy fog obscured the main thoroughfare. Tucked just out of sight around the corner, he’d stepped beneath the overhang of a shuttered store for a smoke break. The night had been brisk, wet, and fruitless featuring several instances of his favourite detective interactions (getting yelled at) and after all that, no leads on the initials. Runoff swirled in lazy eddies down the side of the alley carrying detritus and fallen flower petals toward the nearest storm drain. His boots probably needed a new waxing, he could feel the city’s dampness in the toes of his socks. And on his cigarettes apparently. Edgar tried the lighter again. His half-frozen thumb skidded off the wheel.
“Having some trouble there, handsome?”
The scent of cherry leather loosened the wound-up tension in his shoulders. Freshly applied, she’d returned to the office before flying back out. The reason? Anyone’s guess. Turning to the svelte figure which for all intents and purposes had just materialized out of thin air, he grinned. “Inclined to help?”
“Not particularly,” Circe sidled up beside him, her smile perfect and practiced. “Sometimes watching is just as much fun.”
“Didn’t think I’d have an audience today.” Exhaling over his fingers again, Edgar rubbed his hand on his thigh, made a show of wiggling them dramatically before trying again. The flame lit, a soft, flickering blue. “Thank you, thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He mock bowed, took a drag.
“Like magic,” she said. From his view, for the briefest moment, her features shifted behind the smoke obscuring them. By the time it dissipated she was watching the sky. Grey and overcast, an almost perpetual petrichor wafted through the streets. Neon lights and gasoline blooms formed a ghostly otherworld across ever-materializing puddles. The sights weren’t much different from usual, faintly mesmerizing at one angle, downright dreadful in most others.
“Nothing much on my side of town.” He glanced her way. “Fare any better?”
“Might have a lead.” Circe eventually said. For a moment he’d thought she was going to lie to him. She didn’t elaborate. Not a great sign because she loved hearing herself talk. He brought the cigarette back to his mouth. There would be time to worry about that later. A smoke break was a break after all.
“Whatever he’s paying us, it’s not worth it.” He exhaled, pursed his lips. There was a reason the SSF were taken off the case. If those in charge didn’t want official investigators digging around they’d have more than a few nasty words for any third party.
“Fret not dear accountant, we’ll wring a couple months rent out of him yet.”
Now that, he could get behind. “Generational wealth, was it?”
Just outside their sliver of overhang, rain pattered incessantly, slowly forming miniscule dimples upon the cobblestone. At some point their shoulders had touched. Circe leaned into him lightly, pretended not to hear an agitated heartbeat slow gradually to resting. “Say Eddie, why does he get your knickers in a bunch anyway? It was never that way with Lazzy.”
Perhaps it was because Abraxas got in the way of the numbers by hindering their work. She was about to bring up Edgar’s one true love, his record books, when he rolled his head her way.
“Maybe because Lazarus was never a threat.”
“Yeah?” Circe’s mouth curved of its own will, the sharp whites of her fangs gleaming, the skin scrunching up on the bridge of her nose.
“Yeah.” Edgar smirked back, toothy and lopsided. And oh so punchable.
Twenty was a stretch, but perhaps she had a couple more years of this profession in her. And who knew, in the end she might not decide to let Edgar go free after all.
What a conundrum, it seemed she’d grown rather fond of him.