How to Kiss an Undead Bride by Edwards Hailey

Author:Edwards, Hailey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

Eight

The book had lost Linus’s interest thanks to the woman in his arms. Grier twisted her fingers in the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him even in sleep. He watched over her for hours, waiting for a sign the dream would enthrall her again, and envisioned the portrait he would paint later.

The Goddess Sleeps.

That’s what he would entitle the painting, not that anyone would see it. He kept his art supplies and his work in the attic at the carriage house where Grier wouldn’t have to stumble across the sketches he made of her to purge his mind when it overflowed with a need to express in paint where he failed with words.

Once her breaths turned long and slow, he eased away from her and left their room to fetch clothes from his old one down the hall. Woolly opened the door for him, used to his daytime wanderings, and he took the opportunity to catch her up to speed.

“I’m going to meet Gilly and drop off the evidence for processing.”

The floor register nearest him sighed warm air that curled up his leg.

“Everything will be fine,” he promised the old house. “We’re on top of this. Grier won’t go anywhere alone, and we’ll put sentinels in charge of package acceptance until the danger has passed.”

A ticking noise chastised him, warning him not to get too full of himself.

“We’ve both failed her before, Woolly. You can’t blame yourself for Volkov’s actions.”

The old house had fallen into disrepair after years of abandonment while Grier was imprisoned, her wards a fraction of their normal strength. Volkov had exploited Woolly to gain access to Grier, but it had never been her fault. She had been victimized every bit as much as Grier.

“I might stop by the tailor’s while I’m out, but that’s all.”

The stairs creaked as he took them down, but Woolly fell quiet before she woke Grier.

“It will be all right,” he assured her as he dialed the car service. “Between us, we’ll keep her safe.”

Strolling out into the daylight, eyes squinting against the brightness, he went to meet Morrison at the gate. The driver exited the car, trotted around the hood, and opened the door. “Morning, sir.”

Linus nudged the fence open, slipped out, and made sure it caught behind him. “Good morning.”

Once Linus was seated and his door shut, Morrison circled the trunk and let himself in. “Where to?”

“The fountain.” There was no question of which fountain, not in Savannah. Forsyth Park was iconic, and its moss-hung oaks drew tourists eager to walk its paths in droves. “I have a meeting, and then we’ll need to visit the tailor.”

“Yes, sir.”

They encountered little traffic, and it took no time to arrive.

“Make the loop twice.” Linus gathered his things and opened his own door to avoid congesting traffic, though it appeared to cause Morrison physical pain to allow it. “That ought to give me enough time.”

Arms loaded with evidence, Linus strolled the tidy path toward the fountain. The robed woman atop its upper tier gripped her staff and held court over the other denizens of the park.

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