“I am the one who missed you.” I lift her knuckles, kissing each knob of bone. “Forgive me. There’s a lot on my mind, and I know there’s as much on yours. We need to talk.”
“We do.” She sighs, rolling her lips as she squints out the window at the passing city lights. “I’ve been thinking about what we found in St. Aurelius’s tomb. I told my parents about Sebastian, not that it changed anything. Papa knows as much about Leviathan as us. I truthfully have no idea where to go from here.”
“What about Quinn?”
“You already know my stance on that subject.”
“Oui.But we’ve surpassed the point of pussyfooting around Leviathan. She’s a loose thread, and we need to pull it.”
“Your pal Scull already did all he could: tailed her, rummaged through the campus library, combed her house from top to bottom. Short of kidnapping Quinn and tying her up for questioning—whichwill only end badly—she’s not worth pursuing. Unless you truly wish to harm or possibly kill your own friend…?”
There’s a pang deep in my chest as I imagine putting a bullet in Quinn’s brain. “She’s not my friend anymore.”
“Easier said.” Her fingers pulse mine. “Trust me on this, Brontë. Something about her being a member of Leviathan doesn’t feel right.”
“What do you mean? You saw the same video I did. We caught her red-handed.”
“You said she was raised by a cop and does most things by the book unless otherwise requested by a close friend like you. Why would she be willingly involved with a cult whose ideals are the very opposite of hers?”
I shake my head, not entirely following. “What are you saying, Poppy?”
“I’m saying you know what it’s like to be forced by Leviathan into doing things you wouldn’t normally do. What if she’s living the same nightmare you and your siblings were in Sleepy Hollow?”
I never considered the possibility, but there’s no evidence to support her claim. “Quinn isn’t in captivity like we were.”
“No, but blackmail is a powerful weapon to wield and achieve the same results. What Sebastian did to his students is proof of that.”
The raging beast inside me doesn’t want to hear it, but she could be right.
“I’ll try talking to her.” Noting her frown, I add, “Calmly and at work, where nothing can happen.”
“Fine, but promise me you’ll be careful.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Poppy snickers, nibbling on her bottom lip. “There’s someone else I want to chat with after seeing his ancestor in the crypt.”
“Mm. Does thissomeonehappen to be a Russian merc who’s lucky to be alive and not sitting beside his cousins on a lonely housewife’s shelf?”
“I know you don’t like him, but he deserves to know about Katerina.”
“You aren’t concerned that shedding light on his legacy status will turn him against you?”
“If it does, then”—an audible swallow—“I guess I’ll have to kill him.”
The prospect sounds as enjoyable to her as killing Quinn sounds to me.
“Or,” I counter in a lighthearted drawl, “you can watch as I tear off his balls and shove them down his throat.”
Poppy snorts, jutting her chin at the traffic light ahead as she sends several texts. “Take a right. We’re going to Indigo first.”
“And after?”
“Are you working tonight?”
“No.”
“Is Quinn?”