Page 29 of The Sin Eater

I’m halfway through a big bite of cupcake, savoring the perfect balance of chocolate and sugar. Blink to get myself back in the moment. Chew and swallow. “You’re not going to let her tell your future?”

“Fuck no.” Most of the laughter fades from his voice. “The present is enough for me.”

He shuts down almost completely and it reminds me of when Geneva and I busted him praying over the corpse. There’s something there, something I want to poke at, something he doesn’t want me to know. It’s even more apparent that Ezra Morgue has a secret. I stifle my curiosity since the goal is to have fun rather than get into anything uncomfortable.

We’ll have to get into it at some point, though. I’m pretty damned sure his secret is something serious, maybe dangerous, and I grew up with a mother who couldn’t find the truth if it bit her in the ass. If he can’t be honest with me, Ezra Morgue is the last guy I want to get involved with.

Yet here I am. Maybe there’s some truth to the dumb jock stereotype.

I pass him the cupcake, taking a moment to admire the way his hair frames his face. At work, he wears a headband. Tonight his hair is loose, artfully disheveled, a curtain he can hide behind when he needs to.

He takes another bite, licking the frosting from his lips, the action less coy and more lewd. Heat starts to build down low in my belly. If he’s trying to distract me, it’s working.

One more bite and he pretty much finishes the frosted part of the cupcake. He hands me the bottom. “Here. You can have the rest.”

“Dude.” I laugh at his smug expression more than anything else. “You would eat the best part.”

“You had some of it.”

“I did.”

We grin at each other for a moment. He’s over whatever upset him at the dog show, and I’m almost done with my coffee. “Are you ready to find the psychic?”

Tossing off the rest of his own coffee, he pushes back from the table. “Sure. Let’s do this.”

By the time we’re both on our feet, his easy smile has grown tense and I wonder if maybe we should do something less fraught instead. “Look, if you’re not into it, we can get in line for one of the rides.”

Ezra waves me off. “Nah, it’s cool. You want to know when you’re going to find the big house and the dog, so we should do that.”

“With housing prices these days . . . “

“Let’s go, Big D. Maybe she can tell you what kind of dog.”

“Big D,” I snort, shaking my head. It’s close to D-Clem but I like it better. He prods me with an elbow, giving me a burst of cigarettes and lavender. “All right,” I say. “Let’s go find the psychic.”

So far, we haven’t come across anything close to a map. There’s a line of people waiting to get into the big top—our new friend Rafe the Ringmaster is at the front, singing the praises of whatever act is going on next—and we wander in the opposite direction.

The next tent we come to isn’t quite as big as the big top, though maybe the dense black color makes it look small in comparison. A little guy with a big handlebar mustache stands in front of the door flap like some Mario cosplayer. When I slow my steps, Ezra clutches my elbow and drags me forward.

“What? I was just going to ask him where the psychic is.” I glance his way, surprised that his eyes are so wide open that I can see the whites.

“Just keep walking. We’ll find someone else.”

“Hoo-kay.”

We walk.

The next closest attraction is another ride. It’s a tower that’s at least as tall as the Ferris wheel, with bright neon outlining the structure and rows of bulbs on each corner that flash in succession. Riders are strapped into a capsule in the center and the bulbs flash slowly as the capsule lifts.

Then the capsule drops and the bulbs streak down the sides. It stops about a foot from the ground, close enough that I almost yell.

“Damn.” Ezra exhales hard. “We should do that later.”

I side-eye him. “Sure. I might need to blow off some steam.”

Laughing, we approach the next kiosk, where a young woman is running a shell game of some kind. “Wanna play, gentlemen?” Her smile is friendly and her eyes glow like a cat’s.

“We were looking for your psychic,” Ezra says. I stand slightly behind him, my hand on his shoulder making it very clear this one is mine.