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  “You’ve been everywhere,” she murmured, shaking her head as she absentmindedly flipped up the oven to twice its recommended temperature. “Bolivia, Japan, Scandinavia...I’d kill to go to some of those places.”

  He retraced her steps with a thoughtful smile, adjusting the temperature back down to where it was supposed to go. “As someone who did kill to go to some of those places, let me assure you there are easier ways. To start, you can just buy a plane ticket.”

  She snorted sarcastically. “Yeah, with all my extra money to travel the world.”

  “I could take you.”

  Gabriel spoke without thinking. Spoke before he could stop himself. His hands froze over the cutting board as she looked up at him in surprise. “I mean, in exchange for this memory retrieval,” he amended quickly. “I feel like you’ve already done a lot more than the worth of a few shelves.”

  She stared another moment before nodding quickly. The conversation lapsed into awkward silence, so Gabriel made a valiant attempt to get them past it.

  “So, this is really sweet of you.” He gestured around the messy kitchen to where the duck was simmering in the oven. All they had left to make was the sauce.

  “You sound surprised.”

  “Well, you’re not really a sweet person...”

  She spritzed him with some orange juice, returning to the mixing bowl with a nostalgic kind of smile. “Canary used to bring me food, too. When I first moved in with my foster dad,” she clarified at the look on Gabriel’s face. “Before I discovered Pop Tarts.”

  He flashed a quick grin, but stayed quiet. Silently urging her to continue.

  “My parents had always done all the cooking. After the first few times I almost burned the house down, I was officially banned from the kitchen. But Bill...he never cooks.” She left it at that, closing the subject as quickly as it had opened.

  Gabriel shot her a sideways glance, secretly watching while she stabbed the spoon into the bowl with a little extra force, but kept his litany of questions to himself. It would do no good to press her for answers—she was too much like him. A person who’d been burned before they were taught to recognize fire. A person who had to open up a little at a time.

  They continued working in silence for a while before a sudden grin lit her face. Without saying a word, she dropped the spoon and came up behind him, putting both hands on the sides of his face. His shoulders tensed as he was accosted with a sudden, recent memory. A memory of the two of them ‘fighting’ at the park. A memory that wasn’t his own.

  His own face stared back at him. As seen through her eyes. He was smiling. Pinning her down on the grass with the sun haloed behind him, and the light of it dancing in his eyes. It was impossible not to feel the warmth of the image. The way it had made her feel.

  The picture faded as quickly as it had come. Leaving only the glow of it behind.

  Gabriel turned his head with a little smile. She smiled back. Neither of them said anything. Neither of them had to.

  They simply proceeded to cook the rest of the meal.

  Chapter 10

  It looked like a perfect Norman Rockwell image. Handsome boy. Lovely girl. Walking down the street on a gorgeous New York City evening. Carrying a steaming tray of well-wishing food.

  But the image shattered when you got close enough to hear...

  “How is it possible that you’ve never stolen anything?”

  Natasha threw up her hands, inadvertently frightening off a flock of pigeons. “Oh, I’m sorry. Not all of us were raised with the same Oliver Twist mentality as you. I didn’t have to steal to get food, orphan. My parents happened to have instilled a moral code in me before—”

  “—before their subsequent demise?” Gabriel raised his eyebrows with a caustic grin. “It takes one to know one, orphan. And I’m not talking about stealing out of necessity. You’ve never done it just because you wanted something? Done it for the rush?”

  “I can get a rush without pocketing lip gloss, thank you very much.” She shot him a dirty look. “And why exactly is this still a thing for you? Don’t you make an insane amount of money stealing secret flash drives and tracking people through the Yukon?”

  He acknowledged this with a casual shrug. “Where I come from, we can basically write it off for tax purposes. My little sister does it on occasion just to keep her skills sharp.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  “How is it possible that you work for the British government?”

  A slightly longer beat.

  “...it’s complicated.”

  Together, the two of them make their way down the block before coming to a stop at the top of the subway stairs. Rather, it was Gabriel who came to a stop while Natasha kept right on walking. She realized what was happening a second later and doubled back, looking curiously at his guarded expression as he stared down into the darkened tunnel. A second later she raised her hand, hailing a passing taxi without saying a word.

  They made it to Canary’s in record time and stood side-by-side on the welcome mat as Natasha rang the bell. Gabriel glanced around with casual interest at the predictably eclectic decorations circling the door frame. It wasn’t enough that Canary happened to live in the only residential house on a commercial block—a rustic cottage that had somehow defied decades’ worth of zoning laws as skyscrapers sprang up on every side—but she had to make it unique.

  Incense, tapers, a tiny army of porcelain dogs—the woman had it all. If he didn’t know better, he’d say there was a serious hoarder instinct going on. It was something he hadn’t noticed the first time he was there. Granted, on that night, she had been recently drugged and he was stalking off to Stryder’s apartment with slightly more important things on his mind...

  “Who is it?” a crackling voice called from inside.

  Gabriel’s eyes snapped shut in an automatic grimace as he was assaulted with sudden flashbacks of a puddle, a jail cell, and a deceptively-ethereal fish. “This was a bad idea.”

  “What are you talking about?” Natasha abandoned the ringer and knocked with her hand. “This is a great idea. She’s going to be so surprised.”

  “Emotional,” Gabriel clarified under his breath. “She’s going to be so emotional. And it’s not like the woman’s a real pillar of stability as it is—”

  “HOLY GUACAMOLE!”

  Speak of the devil...

  The door flew open with Canary standing in the frame. Her eyes bulging out and her jaw hanging wide open, like she was witnessing some Brooklyn miracle.

  “Well, if it isn’t my two favorite delinquents in the whole bloody world!” She threw open her arms with a beaming smile. “Come here and give old Canary a hug!”

  Natasha did so, reluctantly, while Gabriel took a strategic step back, holding the ceramic dish in front of himself like a shield. “Yeah, I...uh...don’t really do hugs.”

  “What a shocker.” She stretched up onto her toes anyway, kissing him loudly on the cheek while making sure to transfer a great deal of lipstick in the process. “I said the whole ‘bloody’ thing for you, Gabriel. Honoring your English roots.”

  He rolled his eyes with a reluctant grin. “Thanks. I brought you a duck.”

  Her eyebrows lifted slowly as she considered the two people standing in front of her. “A live duck?”

  Gabriel shrugged innocently. “It was when we left the apartment...”

  Natasha smacked him on the shoulder then took the dish herself, waving it carelessly in the air like it hadn’t taken the last nine hours to make. “We cooked dinner for you.”

  If Gabriel thought Canary’s eyes had bugged out before, they now tripled in size. It looked like she didn’t know what was less likely—that they had cooked, or that they had indeed brought a live duck to offer as some kind of pet. Deciding to just wait and see, she opened the door with a warm smile and took a step back, beckoning them inside.

  “That really is too thoughtful!” She shepherded them down the hall like sheep, taking the dish
for herself so she could no doubt check it for radiation. “Why don’t you children take a seat in the living room, and I’ll brew us up some tea to drink with it.”

  They did as they were told, settling a bit awkwardly on the leopard-print sofa as Canary rushed off to the kitchen. The eyes of a dozen misshapen cuckoo clocks followed their every move, watching and judging in their mistress’ absence. Gabriel stifled a shudder.

  “You remembered to turn the oven off, right?” Natasha asked suddenly.

  He turned to her with a shrewd stare. “And what if I hadn’t? Do you know how many times I had to stop you from burning down that entire apartment complex in just a single afternoon? I’m starting to think your parents were right to ban you from the kitchen.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “At least I have a kitchen.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he folded his arms across his chest, leaning back with a dangerous smile. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning at least I’m not travelling all over the globe in an attempt to hide the fact that I’m recently homeless.”

  “I’m not homeless. I sold my flat!” he hissed. “There’s a big difference!”

  “You say tomato, I say—”

  “You say it wrong, America. It’s pronounced tomahto. When your country makes up a new word, then you can decide how to say it.” They were perched on the edge of the sofa, knees touching as they went jab for jab. “And, for the record, I could buy a new flat whenever and wherever I want.”

  “And yet, you choose to live in the back of someone else’s Chinese restaurant.” She nodded innocently, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Very classy.”

  “Well, that’s just—”

  “Can I offer the two of you any kombucha?” Canary’s voice rang out from the kitchen. “I was just going to put on a pot.”

  “That tastes like death.”

  Gabriel and Natasha answered at the same time, then slowly turned to face each other. The quick back and forth came to an abrupt pause as their joint words rang out in the tiny room.

  Finally, Natasha shook her head with a weary sigh. “Did we just fall in love?”

  Gabriel laughed quietly, tossing his coat over the nearest cuckoo clock. “Pretty much.”

  Despite overwhelming odds, the meal was delicious. After the table was set and the drinks were poured, the three of them sat down like old friends. Swapping gossip, laughing at old stories, and passing around the dishes as if they shared family meals all the time.

  While the scene was strange enough, the most telling by far was Canary. Usually the one to take conversational point she kept to the background, letting the younger generation take the reins while she watched with a knowing twinkle in her eyes. Prompting only when necessary. Taking mental snapshots with her eyes.

  “That is not what happened!” Gabriel insisted, slamming his hands down on the table while the two women erupted in fits of laughter. “I was letting her win! I was showing her how to flip somebody over! It was a freaking training exercise!”

  Natasha shrugged, stabbing her fork into a slice of duck. “It felt a lot like winning.”

  “Yeah?” He lifted an eyebrow, dangerously. “You remember what happened the last time you started talking like that, don’t you, champion?”

  She took sudden interest in her food as Canary leaned forward with a toothy grin. “Don’t pay her any mind, Gabriel. She’s always had a free spirit. You should have seen her back when she was in ballet. Brooklyn’s prettiest ballerina.”

  Natasha’s face paled and she set down her fork with a deliberate clatter. “Eliza—don’t.”

  “All those little girls in pink tutus tiptoeing one way, our little Natasha always went the other.” She ignored the way Natasha face-planted right into her plate as Gabriel leaned forward with an eager grin. “I’m sure I have a picture of it here somewhere—”

  “Yes!”

  “NO!”

  She snatched away Canary’s phone in the blink of an eye, throwing it full-tilt into the living room where it shattered before the eyes of a dozen solemn clocks. The other two turned to her slowly as she flushed beet-red, muttering under her breath as she severed the heads off her spears of asparagus.

  “...have Hans build you another one...”

  The rest of dinner passed without further incident. The duck was delicious, and when they finished with that Canary disappeared to the kitchen to dig some ice cream out of the freezer.

  “So, this is a sick day?” Gabriel murmured, staring after her with a frown. Despite her laughter and smiles, she did look a little subdued. “Does she have a lot of those?”

  “Sometimes.” Natasha stared for a moment as well, shrugging it off with a forced smile. “The woman is nine-hundred years old and living in Brooklyn. She deserves a break every now and then. You would.”

  Gabriel nodded quickly, lowering his eyes to the tablecloth. “Sure.”

  As if on cue, the old woman screeched again. “Gabriel, would you help me carry out these bowls? Sakes alive, it’s like pulling teeth trying to teach you kids manners!”

  He pushed to his feet with a grin and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Natasha to discreetly ponder over the remnants of the broken phone. He found Canary hunched over a counter, trying to dig a spoon into what looked like a frozen vat of chocolate. It was a thankless task, but she lit up like a beacon the second she saw him.

  “So, this is going well!” she gushed in an excited whisper, shoving the spoon and everything that went along with it into his hands. “When I first paired the two of you up, I figured you could brood together. I didn’t think there would actually be laughter!”

  When she paired the two of us up? Gabriel’s spine stiffened, and he felt the sudden need to defend. Against what? He wasn’t exactly sure. “Yeah, uh...she’s been really helpful. Her ink is exactly what I needed.”

  Canary’s eyes locked onto him with a knowing glow. “Her ink. Right.”

  He cast a reflexive look out towards the dining room before lifting a threatening finger between them. “Keep your diabolical schemes to yourself, you maniac. I told you once, I’m not above beating an old woman.”

  “What was that?” she shouted, lifting a hand to her ear and raising her voice to a near-deafening volume. “I’m sorry, this old woman couldn’t hear you.”

  He flashed her a pained look, finished quickly with the ice cream, and vacated the kitchen as quickly as possible. Natasha was just putting the repaired phone back on the table.

  “So,” Canary settled down with a grand flourish, gesturing to the bowls of chocolate, “how is the memory quest coming along? You see the one of me groping his pants yet?”

  “YOU CAN’T BLAME HER,” Natasha said as they wandered back, hours later.

  Gabriel shot her a quick look. “For feeling me up? What? You think I was dressed too provocatively? Sending out all those dangerous signals?”

  She snorted and shook her head. “You can’t blame her for trying so hard to save you. For being unable to let it go.” The smile faded from her face as she lowered her eyes to the sidewalk. “She tried to warn a guy once. He didn’t listen. She didn’t go after him. He died. Now she can’t stop going after people. She’ll hound you to your grave the second she sees a specter.”

  Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, then bowed his head. He remembered the way she’d taken after him in the dark, hobbling down street after street. He remembered how he’d yelled at her to leave him alone. How he’d almost walked away when she’d fallen in that puddle.

  “What about you?” he asked softly. “She ever see a specter over you?”

  There was an imperceptible tightening to Natasha’s jaw as her eyes locked hard on the dark horizon. “She always sees a specter over me.”

  THIS TIME, WHEN THEY got to the subway steps, they didn’t shy away. Natasha slid her hand into his and they went down together, riding the train all the way across town. In what seemed like no time later they were getting off at their stop, just a few blocks from
her house.

  They walked slowly, kicking at stray pebbles and empty cans of beer. Extending the night as much as they could. Unwilling to say goodbye.

  “Well...” she said, when they could put it off no longer, “this is me.”

  They came to a stop in front of the dilapidated house.

  Gabriel could already hear her foster father from outside. Yelling and swearing at the television in a drunken rage. His eyes locked on the front door as his shoulders fell with a quiet sigh. “Do you really have to—”

  “Hey,” she cut him off, “I’ll be fine.” Then, in a move that surprised them both, she jumped up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for today, Gabriel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She was off before he could say a word. Before he could see the blush spreading up the sides of her cheeks. In hindsight, that was probably for the best. Seeing as how, for one of the first times in his entire life, Gabriel Alden found himself temporarily speechless.

  “Yeah...” he echoed, long after she had disappeared inside, “see you tomorrow.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and headed back down the street, rubbing his face, a little smile on his lips. Thinking about everything and nothing in particular. Wondering how tomorrow could possibly top today.

  He was still grinning absentmindedly five blocks later when his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. Home was calling. And if he had to guess, it wasn’t very happy news.

  It could have been worse. It was Julian.

  “Hey, Jules, what’s—”

  “Why don’t you ever bloody answer your phone?” the psychic interrupted. “I’ve tried calling you eleven times. I was right about to hop on a plane.”

  “Don’t do that,” Gabriel said quickly. These people thrived on momentum. Give them an inch, they’d go all the way to Brooklyn. “Now, what’s up? Is Angel okay?”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Yeah, she’s...she’s fine.”

  Reassuring words, but his voice sounded strange. The kind of strange that made Gabriel’s phone bend ominously in his clenched fist. He was about to hop on a plane himself, when Julian spoke again, sounding more guilty than anything else.