Page 20 of Bent Out of Shade
6
A moment later,I found myself on the sock pile, dazed but alive and dry. “Pyotr?”
The gargoyle ran over to me, wringing his hands. “Where you go?”
“I met the Leviathan.” I mimed a scary face and Pyotr’s eyebrows shot up.
“Is shy. You’re lucky. And no scar.” The gargoyle gently touched my side. “Does it hurt?”
“Not at all.”
Emmett yelled out in triumph to the sound of explosions. The golem sat at Pyotr’s table playing some old game involving alien spaceships.
“Don’t disturb your space battle to worry about me,” I said.
His thick clay fingers jabbed the controller buttons rapidly. “I knew you’d be back.”
His utter confidence in me eased a knot of tension in my chest. A very small knot because apparently, I was going to attempt my half-assed plan to retrieve the Ascendant.
I swung my feet onto the ground, dislodging socks, lifted my torn jacket, and inspected my camisole. Damn it, I liked this suit.
Podium music played from the television.
“All right. Emmett, time to go.”
“One more game,” he whined.
“Now,” I snapped. My day wasn’t over and it had already lasted two lifetimes too long.
“Sorry, Miri.”
Nodding at his contrite tone, I snagged a sock off the pile for the trip home.
Emmett gave Pyotr the controller back. “Come see me sometime. Bring the game.”
Pyotr swung his stone head back to me. “Miriam, you arrange, yes?”
“Sure thing,” I said wearily. They could provide their own snacks, though.
A couple minutes later, Emmett and I entered Tatiana’s foyer. I kicked off my shoes and took off my ripped blazer.
“We’re back,” I called out.
“I’m in the kitchen.”
Emmett went to his room to quickly change since the heels were killing his feet, so I headed in by myself, hoping the typewriter keyboard had been retired for the night.
“The triumphant associates return with news of our new client.” An asshole one. Rubbing my throbbing wrist, I stepped into the kitchen and pulled up short.
The first thing I saw was my boss standing at the island in a 1950s-style shirtdress with a white ruffled apron over it.
The second was a very fine male denim-clad ass sticking out from under the sink. Next to him was a wooden toolbox, the tools all jumbled together. My fingers twitched, longing to organize it properly. At least that’s the story I was going with.
“You’ve got drain trap problems?” I said. The oath’s warning signal fell dormant. “I could have fixed that for you.” I may have let Eli deal with my garden, but I’d learned to do small home repairs back when we were still married.
“Always nice to see a woman fending for herself,” Tatiana said.
The man’s upper body was wedged into the cupboard, the rest of him sitting back on his calves.
