Page 22 of A Breath of Life (Shadowy Solutions #4)

Diem

T allus slept against my chest, his hair brushing the underside of my chin, one arm secured tightly around my waist as though he feared I might escape.

Echo snored on my other side, her warm body pressed snugly against my leg.

I wasn’t sure whether either of them had slept the previous night.

The former tore the city apart, trying to find me.

The latter barked and howled for hours, either from her own distress or sensing mine from a distance.

The sun hung low in the sky as the dinner hour approached, but both the dog and my boyfriend were out cold less than ten minutes after we lay down.

Despite my exhaustion, I couldn’t join them. A tsunami raged under my skin, and my head raced as I replayed everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. The initial attack. The strange room with even stranger men. Being tied to a chair.

The conversation.

The threat .

The demands.

I’d woken in the same alley, under the same fire escape, in the exact same spot as we’d found the dying man on that fateful night we’d first come in contact with the card. A coincidence? Not likely.

His name was Clarence.

Clarence, whom I had to find.

Clarence, whose last name I never learned.

Clarence, who had a target on his head by some guy named Ace because he broke a deal or some shit.

Echo’s persistent licking had revived me a few hours ago, and I’d peeled myself off the ground, disoriented and confused but with a sense of lingering fury.

My muddled brain had taken a second to identify its cause.

Recalling my captivity, I had spun, intent on putting my fist through a wall but stopped short when the memory of six fucking weeks in a cast resurfaced.

Instead, I’d bummed a couple of cigarettes from some guy at a bus stop and stumbled home, body vibrating and with fear knotting my intestines.

Would I find Tallus hurt or gone? What about Nana? The urge to race to the nursing home and check on her was almost too much to bear, but the Consigliere’s warning sang in my ears on repeat.

“You will not go to the nursing home. You will not call there, and you will not send anyone in your stead.”

Every painful step to the apartment, I remained alert for a tail, but if anyone followed, I didn’t see them, and I was skilled at spotting stalkers.

I discovered the leather pouch and its treasure nestled in a pocket, along with my cell phone—which had been powered down—and a slip of paper with a phone number.

Switching on the device, a steady stream of frantic messages and voicemails from Tallus filled the screen.

All had been sent throughout the night .

Dismissing them, I inputted the phone number under the name Asshole and saved it to my favorites for easier access. I didn’t know if the Consigliere or his boss or the Bishop would respond if I had questions—and I had so many fucking questions—but losing the number could mean Nana’s life.

Or Tallus’s.

Seven days.

Nausea roiled my gut. I’d had to stop several times on my journey home to lean against a building, bile climbing my throat.

Not once did I consider what I might say to Tallus about my absence or injuries.

While Tallus slept, I reexamined the ornate playing card for the hundredth time.

Mr. Jeweler hadn’t mentioned a tracking device, and he’d examined it thoroughly, but it was there somewhere.

I had no doubt. I suspected whoever made the card had inserted it between layers or that one of the onyx stones was a fake.

The advancement of technology meant tracking devices were getting smaller and harder to pinpoint.

Tampering with the card to locate it felt risky.

Whoever these people were, I didn’t want to test them or push their buttons.

Maybe they were empty threats, but if they weren’t?

If they had eyes on me. If they knew my every move and I didn’t comply with their demands, then what? No. I couldn’t risk it.

Careful not to jostle my boyfriend or the dog, I slid the card back into its leather pouch and looped the drawstring cord around my wrist, creating a new knot so it wouldn’t slide off. The Consigliere had warned me to keep it on me at all times.

I had to find Clarence. Whatever he had done to piss off Ace wasn’t my problem. I had my own fucking problems, and if it meant giving him up to these psychotic assholes, so be it. He made his bed. He could fucking lie in it. I should have let him die in the alley.

The longer I lay, quietly composing a plan to uncover Clarence’s whereabouts, the more my thoughts strayed to the men behind the ordeal.

Who were they? Where had I been held? Muddled memories from my short captivity drifted in the foggy expanse of my brain.

A room. Vintage décor of a style I couldn’t identify.

Cool, damp air. No windows. The rumble and vibrations of a nearby subway line.

It wasn’t solely the furniture that seemed out of time and place.

The room itself gave a dated vibe. Colorful terrazzo flooring beneath my feet.

I remembered its glimmer in the low light of the room.

Images of colored glass above the sideboard came to mind, like those lamps.

What did they call them? Texturized wooden arches built into the walls.

They served no purpose but were a popular design from a time period I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

The lighter, less imposing aesthetic boasted a post-Victorian mood. Roaring twenties? No. Maybe?

Pinching my eyes shut, I recalled Clarence’s clothing and how we’d made fun of them. Tallus’s slack-jawed observation came back to me. “He was wearing a full Edwardian wardrobe.”

Was that it? Edwardian? How the fuck should I know?

The Consigliere’s outfit felt similar in style. Too smart and ridiculous for the twenty-first century. His posh tone. His manner of flouncing about like he was heir to the throne. Not quite a Great Gatsby feel, but close.

Edwardian. When was that? Post World War I? Pre? I couldn’t remember. I doubted I ever knew. Where in Toronto did they have buildings that old?

I huffed, jostling Tallus on my chest. “Old Toronto, you fucking idiot.” It was a stone’s throw from the office. Not too far from where we lived and regularly walked Echo. The guy from the alley, Clarence, had been out walking. It made sense that he might have been coming from their lair.

“But where is it?”

Tallus stirred, so I tightened my grip and kissed his head, urging him back to sleep. He settled quickly, his soft exhales fanning my chest. What the fuck was I going to tell him when he woke? This was a nightmare.

I pushed the concern aside for now and resumed compiling data.

Those aged buildings were not exclusive to Old Toronto, but the chances were higher that I’d been held there. One of the subway lines ran in that area. How close did it have to be for me to have felt its vibrations? Another answer I didn’t have.

A flash of memory came and went like a broken shard of glass piercing my brain unexpectedly, and I sucked in a breath at its sudden appearance. A long, dark passage. A hallway? Uneven ground. Tripping. A smell. What smell?

I inhaled, trying to bring the scent back, but it had long ago abandoned me.

A stairwell. I remembered a stairwell. Men supporting my limp body on either side. A carpeted hallway. The blinding light of day. “He’s waking up. Do something.”

Cold cement stairs. A clear blue sky slashed with a fading contrail. A solid wooden door with strange markings.

The silhouette of a man blocked my view.

Impact.

The alley.

“Goddammit.” I rewound the damaged reel and tried to see it again with more clarity, hoping to pick out the missing details, but the memory remained unchanged. Broken. Missing too many parts .

Two men had carried me along a corridor of some sort, up a flight of stairs, and down a carpeted hallway.

Musty air? A stench of some kind. As we got outside, my semiconscious state caught their attention.

They lay me down on concrete stairs beside a wooden door with markings.

The bright sun shone overhead. The clear blue sky slashed with the mark of a long-gone airplane.

Then nothing. They had knocked me out a second time. Nothing but the desolate alley and Echo licking my face.

I wasn’t sure when I fell asleep, but movement awoke me.

Cold air hit my chest where a warm weight had been a moment before.

A steady, throbbing pain radiated through my face and down the back of my neck.

The room was draped in darkness. From the window, the weak yellow glow of the city gave shape to furniture and forms. I didn’t know what time it was, but I sensed it was late.

Lifting my head took effort and increased the throb at my temples and behind my eyes. I squinted into the room. The lean and mostly naked silhouette of a man moved toward the door. I knew that body like I knew my own face in the mirror. I’d spent months memorizing, touching, and savoring it.

Worshipping it like it might one day vanish.

“Tallus?” My voice cut like a rusted tooth saw into the quiet. I cleared my throat to no avail. All the shouting while captive had left its delayed mark. “Where are you going?”

“I’m starving. I don’t remember when I last ate, but my stomach is screaming. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.”

Groaning, I dropped my head onto the pillow and narrowly avoided scrubbing a hand over my face. That would have been hell with a busted nose. “Don’t leave the apartment.”

He stopped and lingered at the door for a long moment. I sensed more than saw him staring, likely wondering at the demand. He had questions. So many questions, but how was I supposed to answer them? I couldn’t.

“Tallus… please.”

“Yeah. I heard you the first ten times. Relax. I’m just going to the kitchen.” The snap in his tone wasn’t hidden.