Page 60 of The Sin Eater
The overarching question is why I care about either of those things. By the time I reach the ER security desk, all I really know is that Ezra’s going to have to reach out to me first.
Self-preservation is a thing.
I’m working with Zach today, and after we get sign-out from the night shift, we play rock-paper-scissors for who gets the ER desk and who gets to walk.
I get to walk, though it’s possible I deliberately lost so I’ll spend less time navel-gazing. I hope. I’ll get steps in, at least.
A new message in my Gmail account makes my phone ping. I’m about to take the stairs from the eighth floor to the seventh and waiting for the elevator will give me a chance to see what’s up.
It’s Mo and they’ve got nothing. They’ve managed to link the news stories they found to a name and a photograph, and the woman’s not fair-skinned and blond.
Well, damn.
They say they’ll start searching missing persons reports. I reply with a sincere thank you. They get right back to me, saying they haven’t had this much fun on a Monday in a good long time and promising they’ll be back in touch.
I thank them again and get on the elevator. Got the rest of the hospital to wander, though I feel better knowing Mo’s on the case. They’re a damned librarian, which is as close to a superhero as this world gets. If anyone can uncover our missing beauty queen, it’ll be Mo.
Finishing my lap of the hospital, I let Zach know I’m going to run to the Brew. Caffeine is now an essential thing. WhenI get there, the line is borderline long, and I use the time to thaw out from my run through the freezing rain. I also continue my ongoing debate regarding whether or not to get another cappuccino for Ezra.
Yeah, I’d promised myself I’d wait for him to reach out first. But I suck at keeping promises to myself. The rational part of my mind keeps saying,He was lying about something, so maybe he did have another date. The irrational part of my mind keeps dismissing that possibility. Unless I have the rational and irrational parts reversed. Honestly, Ezra’s enough of an asshole that he’d probably tell me if he did have another date.
It takes so long for me to reach the counter that I add a muffin to my order to bring back to the ER desk for Zach. And I order Ezra’s cappuccino, too.
It’s possible I’m an idiot.
Jett puts my drinks in a cardboard tray, the muffin in a bag between them. They then hold out their card deck. “Pick one.”
My initial eye roll is cut short by something more serious in their demeanor. They haven’t asked, they’ve told, so I take a card.
Strength.
The image shows a woman with her hands on the jaw of a lion, one of those sideways figure eight symbols over her head. “What does this mean?”
Jett’s gaze is thoughtful. “It symbolizes the command of the mind over earthly desires. Power with a side of mastery. When’s your birthday?”
“August tenth.”
“You’re a Leo, then. It’s a good card to draw.” They say it like my choice was random, although like Ezra, I half believe they fix the deck so we get whatever cards they think we need.
“It’s my lucky day, then.” I take my tray and turn to go.
“Could mean you’re about to be tested in some way,” they say. I pause, glancing over my shoulder.
“Keep your priorities in order and you’ll be fine.”
Muttering “thanks, I think,” I head for the door. Jett may mean well, but it’s Monday morning and I haven’t had any coffee. I’ll worry about my priorities later. Or now. Now is good.
The first priority that comes to mind is Ezra, and I have to think he’s already testing me. And if he is, I’m failing.
I have to let this guy go. After I bring him his coffee.
Roger would smack me upside the head, if Dorinda didn’t get there first.
With Zach sitting behind the ER security desk like some permanent installation, I have the whole day ahead of me. I leave him the muffin of truce and, cappuccino in hand, take the stairs to the morgue.
Geneva’s at the desk.
“Is Ezra around?”