Page 101 of Throwing Shade
There was just enough light coming in through the window to safely creep down the darkened stairs behind him.
“Her son is a vampire,” I said. “Don’t you think she’s suffered enough?”
“Have you forgotten why we’re here? Your friend is missing and a large shipment of clay was delivered to this address.”
“Of course, I haven’t forgotten,” I snapped. “But our odds of rescuing Jude are a lot better without a vamp hanging around.”
Laurent shot me a disdainful look over his shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that’s the reason.”
The basement held a laundry room, furnace room, storage room, a pantry with rows of strawberry jam in neat glass jars, and a locked door.
Laurent rapped on the wall. “Concrete, not drywall. Could be a cellar of some sort.” He sniffed and winced. “Something stinks in there. Not like dead,” he said at my flinch. “More like really dirty. You want your shadow to check it out first?”
“Her name is Delilah.”
He snorted. “Is my strength in peril?”
“Like I’d give you a heads up. We don’t need to check the room out. Jude is in there, I’m sure of it.” She had to be, because I had less than a day to keep Zev from going after my baby girl.
Laurent made quick work of the lock and I stepped inside and flicked on the light, revealing a makeshift potter’s studio.
There was a pyramid of sculpting clay on an industrial metal table, a kiln the size of a fridge in one corner, and Jude, blood caking one nostril on her battered face, handcuffed to a radiator.
Jude’s lips were cracked and when she said my name, it was more of a croaked whisper. Three fingers on her right hand were taped to a small ruler as a stopgap splint.
She was alive. That was all that mattered right now. I let out a deep breath.
“Don’t speak.” Pulling out my phone, I snapped a photo, making sure to get both Jude and the unused clay.
“Souvenir pix, Mitzi?” Laurent said. “That’s dark.”
“Proof,” I said. “That Jude didn’t come here willingly. Nor did she make a golem.” Maybe Jude had been coerced by Zev into making Emmett and I’d misjudged my friend. “Can you pick the lock on these?”
“No need.” He tossed me a small key on a ring. “Universal handcuff key.”
“Aren’t you the Boy Scout?” I uncuffed Jude, giving Laurent my car keys when I returned his key ring. “Could you please drive the car up?”
“No problem.” He took off at a trot.
Jude grabbed my sleeve, her eyes slightly unfocused. “Are you really here?”
“Yeah,” I said, helping her up. “And I gotta say, your choice of getaway leaves a lot to be desired. I know you always meant to visit Sweden, but this budget Stockholm Syndrome vibe isn’t quite the same thing.”
She gave a broken laugh then winced, cradling her injured hand to her chest. Her face drained of color. “That woman—”
“Isn’t here,” I said. “I’m busting you out.”
Much as I wanted to hurry the fuck out of there, convinced her abductor would show up like Annie Wilkes in Misery to thwart our escape and break our legs, our progress was slow going, especially since every tiny noise made Jude flinch.
I kept one arm around her shoulders, encouraging her in a gentle voice to keep going.
Jude couldn’t see out of her swollen eye, and she was dehydrated, making her dizzy. We rested for a moment in the kitchen, until she said it had passed.
Miraculously, we made it out and around to the front of the house without further trouble.
Laurent pushed away from my car, coming over to help.
I motioned to the sedan. “Okay, Jude get—”
