Page 131 of Throwing Shade
Her silver pixie cut framed her oversized red glasses, but today’s outfit consisted of a one-piece purple jumpsuit with enormous white buttons. Spry and alert, she was the most youthful eighty-year-old imaginable. Despite my reservations about why she’d asked me here, there was so much to admire about her.
“It was thoughtful of you to spray Max with the odor eliminator,” Tatiana said, handing me the basket of sugar packets. “He did love a good lavender shpritz.”
Uh, everything in that place smelled of lavender. How did she know what I’d done?
“Shpritz, fire hose, same same.” I poured some coffee, adding milk and sugar, and took a sip of the rich aromatic brew. Breaking open a flaky croissant, I slathered on some raspberry jam from the small ceramic pot. “This smells incredible.”
“Vikram employs a pastry chef from France.”
“Is that standard speakeasy fare?”
Tatiana laughed. “Nothing about the Bear’s Den is standard. But I didn’t invite you here for breakfast.”
“I suspected as much.” The croissant was buttery and melt-in-my-mouth light.
“You’re an interesting woman, Miriam. You have life experience and magic that most of us don’t.”
“She has a job.” Laurent slid into the booth next to me. “Back off, Tatiana.”
The fizzy feeling at seeing him again warred with the bristling desire to tell him that he was the one who should back off, crashing my private meeting like this, but Tatiana spoke first.
“Don’t you think Miriam should decide for herself, nephew?”
“Let’s just say I’m here to make sure she understands the fine print.”
I looked between them, my brows creased. “Decide what? Now I feel like I’m caught in a pissing contest. Explain yourself, Tatiana. Laurent, keep quiet until I ask for your input.”
Laurent crossed his arms, fur bursting out over his hands.
I rolled my eyes and the fur vanished.
“I have a side business helping Ohrists who find themselves in a bind,” Tatiana said.
“She’s a fixer,” Laurent said sullenly.
I shot him a Did I ask for your help? look and he snarkily mimed zipping his lips.
“Isn’t that a mafia thing?” I said to Tatiana.
Laurent took a sip of my coffee and made a face. “Consider her a mafia of one.”
“You always were such a flatterer, Lolo,” Tatiana said.
“So much for staying quiet.” I nudged Laurent’s leg with mine.
“Maybe if you’d modeled it for me, I’d be better at it,” he said.
“You’re impossible.” I pulled my coffee away.
“If you two are finished quibbling?” Tatiana raised an eyebrow and I nodded for her to continue.
“I assist people who for one reason or another can’t go to the Lonestars or the Sapien authorities,” she said. “All the travel I did with my art career provided a good cover to carry out my assignments, but as I got older, I had to subcontract out.”
“Tell her about your high turnover,” Laurent said, pouring himself his own cup of coffee. “About how your subcontractors,” he sneered the word, “are eventually killed by blindspots from all the magic they expend.” He drank his java black today.
Tatiana helped herself to a croissant with the silver tongs, placing another one on my crumb-filled plate. “Eat.”
“That’s why you want me.” I spread jam on the pastry. No point wasting these puppies because they were far superior to anything I’d ever bought. “Banim Shovavim are immune to blindspots.”
