against the hardwood as I tapped my toe in frustration. Disgusted by his lack of answers, I decided to dial Clarence again. Before I could reach for my phone, the door flew open and in came Cyril.
“Just perfect! Why don’t you come on in, Mr. Aristin? So nice to see you again. Would you like a cup of tea? Thank you for showing up, so I can have the pleasure of asking you to leave.”
He ignored me. He didn’t even glance in my direction. He and Overton had some kind of silent exchange, and Overton pointed toward the bookcase. I wanted to scream fucking narc.
I focused my sneer on Overton. “And here I thought you and I were starting to get along.” Somehow I didn’t think shouting at him would make this situation less tense.
“How did you get here so fast?” Overton asked as Cyril turned away from him, heading toward the bookcase.
I scoffed and answered, “I’m sure he sprouted those big black wings of his and flew his grumpy ass right over.”
Cyril’s head snapped around and he shot me a death stare.
Overton laughed. “Linden, dear, Cyril can do a lot of things but flying isn’t one of them.”
I knew something Overton didn’t. Interesting.
Smirking at Cyril I said, “Oh, I beg to differ, I remember one night when…”
Then he was on me. His hand wrapped around my throat, forcing me against the wall. In a voice, low and threatening, he said, “I don’t think Stanton cares to hear your ridiculous fairy tales, thief! Besides, you need to save what little breath you might have left to explain why that is on your shelf.” He pointed an emphatic finger at the bookcase. His hold was firm, but not crushing. A warning I did not heed.
“You see it’s a bookshelf and those are books.” His grip tightened and eyes narrowed.
“OK. OK. Let go of me and I’ll tell you.” He released my neck but held onto my arm as though I might try to escape.
I stared at him trying to decide what to tell him.
“Any time now, Miss Hill.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”
Overton snickered.
Cyril’s nostrils flared.
“Fine! They are crystal figurines. Michael made them for me. Remember Michael, my husband?”
Cyril growled and clinched my arm tighter, still blocking me with his massive body and condemning gaze.
“Each day in the hospital Michael brought me one of those figurines and left them in my room with a note. Immediately after trying to save your life, I fell into a coma. Isn’t it funny, Mr. Immortal? Remember how I tried to save you? Oh, that’s right, you don’t. What is the big deal? He made me a present and you can’t handle it, is that it?”
“How long have you been conspiring with him?”
“Who?”
“Myghal. You recognized him in the garden, didn’t you? It was all a setup. Well played, Miss Hill. It’s not often someone can get one over on me. Maybe I should applaud you. But I am curious. Do you know what the statuary is made from? I think you don’t or you wouldn’t have it displayed like a layout for Better Homes and Gardens .”
“What is it? Tell me, since I couldn’t possibly have a clue.”
He smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Acknowledgment is half the battle, is it not?”
He didn’t wait for my response. “It’s shifting residue. Since you obviously don’t know what they are made of, let me educate you. Your husband Michael is a shifter. He can transmute from one form to another, looking like anyone or anything he wishes. Real shifters don’t just change at will like in the movies. It takes effort and can be quite uncomfortable, but oh, the benefits. It’s really quite convenient. Wish I had that talent. One of the unfortunate side effects of shifting is the milky white residue that dries into a clear, crystalline substance. It’s excreted through the pores during the change. So essentially you have statues made of excrement on your shelf. Expertly crafted excrement, but excrement nonetheless. Now tell me how do you feel
“Just perfect! Why don’t you come on in, Mr. Aristin? So nice to see you again. Would you like a cup of tea? Thank you for showing up, so I can have the pleasure of asking you to leave.”
He ignored me. He didn’t even glance in my direction. He and Overton had some kind of silent exchange, and Overton pointed toward the bookcase. I wanted to scream fucking narc.
I focused my sneer on Overton. “And here I thought you and I were starting to get along.” Somehow I didn’t think shouting at him would make this situation less tense.
“How did you get here so fast?” Overton asked as Cyril turned away from him, heading toward the bookcase.
I scoffed and answered, “I’m sure he sprouted those big black wings of his and flew his grumpy ass right over.”
Cyril’s head snapped around and he shot me a death stare.
Overton laughed. “Linden, dear, Cyril can do a lot of things but flying isn’t one of them.”
I knew something Overton didn’t. Interesting.
Smirking at Cyril I said, “Oh, I beg to differ, I remember one night when…”
Then he was on me. His hand wrapped around my throat, forcing me against the wall. In a voice, low and threatening, he said, “I don’t think Stanton cares to hear your ridiculous fairy tales, thief! Besides, you need to save what little breath you might have left to explain why that is on your shelf.” He pointed an emphatic finger at the bookcase. His hold was firm, but not crushing. A warning I did not heed.
“You see it’s a bookshelf and those are books.” His grip tightened and eyes narrowed.
“OK. OK. Let go of me and I’ll tell you.” He released my neck but held onto my arm as though I might try to escape.
I stared at him trying to decide what to tell him.
“Any time now, Miss Hill.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pain in the ass?”
Overton snickered.
Cyril’s nostrils flared.
“Fine! They are crystal figurines. Michael made them for me. Remember Michael, my husband?”
Cyril growled and clinched my arm tighter, still blocking me with his massive body and condemning gaze.
“Each day in the hospital Michael brought me one of those figurines and left them in my room with a note. Immediately after trying to save your life, I fell into a coma. Isn’t it funny, Mr. Immortal? Remember how I tried to save you? Oh, that’s right, you don’t. What is the big deal? He made me a present and you can’t handle it, is that it?”
“How long have you been conspiring with him?”
“Who?”
“Myghal. You recognized him in the garden, didn’t you? It was all a setup. Well played, Miss Hill. It’s not often someone can get one over on me. Maybe I should applaud you. But I am curious. Do you know what the statuary is made from? I think you don’t or you wouldn’t have it displayed like a layout for Better Homes and Gardens .”
“What is it? Tell me, since I couldn’t possibly have a clue.”
He smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Acknowledgment is half the battle, is it not?”
He didn’t wait for my response. “It’s shifting residue. Since you obviously don’t know what they are made of, let me educate you. Your husband Michael is a shifter. He can transmute from one form to another, looking like anyone or anything he wishes. Real shifters don’t just change at will like in the movies. It takes effort and can be quite uncomfortable, but oh, the benefits. It’s really quite convenient. Wish I had that talent. One of the unfortunate side effects of shifting is the milky white residue that dries into a clear, crystalline substance. It’s excreted through the pores during the change. So essentially you have statues made of excrement on your shelf. Expertly crafted excrement, but excrement nonetheless. Now tell me how do you feel
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