Page 97 of The Wicked

“Why are we stopping?” Tiredness coated her voice as she stretched.

“There’s a change of clothes in the back seat,” I told her, unbuckling my seatbelt without looking her way, even though I could sense her stare. “By the side of the building, there’s a washroom. You can freshen up; I’ll get things for you to clean your arm wound. There’s a local mobile restaurant near here; since you’ve not eaten anything all day, we’ll stop by.”

Her gaze shifted from me to the back seat, probably seeing the folded clothes and the fake chihuahua painting, and then she looked back at me. “When—when did you have time to get the clothes and check the area?”

“Before I reached the shed. I’ll be back.” I was already opening the door and getting out, making my way into the drugstore. A mild headache paid a visit as I picked out the little things she’d need to take care of the wound. I knew I was about to scare the person behind the counter due to all the dried blood on me.

Or… I might be scaring the person humming and turning towards the shelf I was standing in front of.

I glanced in the voice’s direction and frowned, doing a double take at who emerged, my attention focused on pulling out a drug from one of the shelves.

“Gemma?” I called.

Her blond head snapped in my direction, eyes widening as she froze, staring at me. Her gaze took me in from head to toe—surprise, confusion, and caution shining in her eyes, but there was no trace of fear.

“Elio? What a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Are you following me?”

She blinked out of the daze she seemed to have been in. “No? My grandma and I decided to hit the road early. I’m refilling her meds… Areyoufollowing me?”

“No.”

She swallowed. “Is that… blood on you?” She eyed the things in my hand. “Oh my God, are you hurt? Or did you hurt someone, and now you’re trying to help them? Are you—are you really some kind of serial killer?” She whispered the last part.

“No.”

She nodded. “So… what—what am I looking at here?”

“If I told you it was paint, would you believe me?”

“Nope.”

I nodded. “My…” I trailed off, wondering what to refer to Zahra as. I couldn’t exactly usehostage, friend,orwomanlike I’d used in that exhibit to get Grace off my back. So, I went with my generic answer when I didn’t want to expatiate. “Someone I know is hurt.”

Her lips formed an “O” as she nodded. The warning bells that usually alerted me to be cautious didn’t go off in my head. “Well… this must be the universe… Maybe it wants us to exchange numbers,” she said with a grin.

“I’m covered in blood.”

“What does that have to do with numbers?” she said, fishing through her purse as she approached me.

“You still want to talk to me?”

She smiled, confusion dancing in her eyes. “Of course I want to talk to you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You are not… scared… of me?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it earlier today.” She outstretched her phone to me. “Type in your number.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“Ah… you’re one of those types.” I watched her search inside her purse for a pen and a piece of paper, and then she quickly scribbled a phone number on it, extending it to me. “There, you can text or call me whenever you get a phone?”

“What if I never get a phone?”

“Then, if the universe wills it, we’ll see each other again.” Wide eyes shone with amusement.

I took the paper.